Welcome to my *very first* fanfiction! Canada is going to take quite a beating here, so watch out! Warning for any self-harmer: I used my own experience here to write, although the whole razor thing is new to me. Trigger warning for violence and explaining razors. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and/or actions. Trigger warning for depression.

With that being said, go ahead and read!

Canada sat in his usual spot, the countries around him seeming to ignore him. He usually tried to ignore the fact that he was, indeed, a forgotten country and worthless in everyone's eyes. Today, however, he just stared vacantly at the table that his arms rested on.

Am I really this worthless, this ugly? Why does no one notice me? Maybe I was right. Maybe I'm no longer needed. America could easily take care of my people for me. It's not like I'm that good at being a country; if I was, surely they'd notice me.

And so he sat, contemplating his worth like he was an object. Every breath became ragged and uneven, and Canada slowly felt himself slipping into yet another panic attack.

This has gotten worse each time… maybe I should get some help, or at least some pills… he thought to himself, wheezing quietly and coughing.

I need to go home.

Canada never seemed to run anywhere. Maybe it was because he was used to not having anywhere to go, nowhere to be needed. Running seemed like a waste of effort. He crept quietly to the door, hoping to go unnoticed as usual so no one would see the tears in his eyes. America, though, saw a silhouette ghosting toward the door so he cut off England in the middle of his sentence and ran over to Canada.

"Mattie, where're you going? The meeting's just finished! Wanna get some drinks?" America excitedly yelled, his eyes lighting up as he waited for Canada to inevitably say yes.

"Um... Actually… I have some business to attend to tonight, so if you'll excuse me…" Canada squeaked out, his hand reaching slowly for the handle of the tall doors, "But thank you for offering."

"Wait a minute, Mattie! I thought we always went out after the meetings!" America pleaded, and then noticed the small tears forming in Canada's eyes. "Mattie, are you okay?" Canada visibly flinched at the sudden question. His gaze dropped to the floor, trying to answer but fearing the possibility of his voice cracking and giving him away. So instead, he nodded, clearing his throat in the process.

"Yeah, I'm great… I have to leave, text me later Alfred…" Mattie turned and promptly sped off toward his car. Alfred watched him go with sad eyes, hoping his twin wouldn't have any more problems.

Once Canada reached his basic maroon car, he sighed.

America noticed me. That's only because I'm his brother, though, and nobody else ever cared...

He let his tears fall over his cheeks this time, at the thought of Alfred. Alfred was the perfect country in everyone else's eyes. He was strong and brave and he never gave up. Canada was just a wimp… Canada didn't want to stay any longer at the risk of being seen, so he quickly unlocked his car and locked it immediately after getting in.

Okay, you're fine, you're good, just drive home and stay there.

So he put his driving skills to use and got home in record time.

After he put his keys on their hook, he shuffled to the kitchen where Kumajirou was waiting for him with an empty bowl.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada, the one who feeds you. But I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

Canada sniffled lightly as he poured some basic chow into Kumajirou's bowl. Then, he left, forgetting to feed himself as well. Kumajirou watched Canada with concerned eyes as the nation took out his laptop and retreated to his room.

I need some help. Serious help. I can't possibly go to therapy, at least not here, since everyone will find out their country is seeking help for his mental illness…

Just then, Canada realized he was parched. He walked slowly to his kitchen and reached for the cupboard knob. When he went to get a glass, he accidentally dropped it, sending shards of glass to the floor. One sliced his hand. In that one moment, pain overruled everything that clouded Canada's thoughts. Then, the blood started to drip onto his grey countertop. After Canada successfully wrapped his hand, he looked down at the bloodstains on his counter.

What a pretty… Color…

He shook his head pitifully, sweeping the glass up and getting rid of it. He wasn't hungry, or mad, or anything. Just numb, and really hyper.

Is this an adrenaline rush? Why am I feeling so hyper all of the sudden?

He shrugged his feelings off, brushing his teeth meticulously and getting into bed. As he slipped blissfully into unconsciousness, his thoughts drifted to that feeling from earlier.

Such beauty comes from pain…

This thought jolted Canada awake. Now he was starting to feel scared. All of these violent images flooded his dreams, and now his own voice said such a thing? There must be something wrong with him; otherwise he wouldn't be having these problems. Was it so wrong to crave the pain? In that one, fleeting moment, he was free, flying, soaring up above everyone else.

But how do I recreate that moment? I don't get into accidents every day, but… Canada jolted when he finally made the connection. He was probably considered an "emo" already, enjoying the sensation that came with the pain. But… If no one noticed, and he was sure nobody would… maybe he could get away with this. It made him feel better.

Canada sat with his well-used laptop in his room, bed freshly made and hair newly washed. His internet search, "How to cut yourself", was just popping up reminders not to do it, to never ever get yourself into that, and warnings about the risks. He had seen a lot of razors, appearing to be from shaving razors, though, and he refined his searching considerably.

"Damn it all. Why can't the internet accept that I'm going to do it no matter what they tell me?" Canada muttered to himself, getting lost in the results. A YouTube video came up, labeled exactly what he searched for: How to get blades.

He watched with morbid fascination as the boy got the razors out, how he seemed so joyful about a stupid blade. Then again, Canada wasn't much better. He himself was amused in a dark way about this horrible habit.

Instead of eating breakfast, Canada marched out to his car, smiling a little at what he was about to do. He had this giddy feeling every time he did something he wasn't supposed to do, and the butterflies in his stomach multiplied when he arrived at the supermarket.

Okay, eh… I'm going to get these things and run out. No chit-chat!

Canada's parking skills got him a spot close to the main doors. As he hastily walked toward the store, he pulled a cart along with him. The only problem was the recommended brand for this particular purpose was… the female version of a shaving razor.

Shit! How the hell do I explain this if anyone asks?! No matter. I'm buying them. I'm buying them. That's final.

Razors in hand, he dashed toward the second section.

A flat candle… Just like the video.

He spotted a cherry-red one and decided that his flag would decide for him. Tossing three of those into his cart, he headed towards the last section and threw in the metal object.

Wait! I forgot matches! SHITSHITSHITSHIT I see Alfred. Why is he here?! No! Run away before he catches you!

Canada made a mad dash for the matches at the opposite end of the store, the wheels on his cart squealing in protest at his rather rude cart-driving skills. When he finally caught his breath, he realized that either way, he was going to run into America. The registers were at the section he saw Alfred in.

Fuck. No no no. I'm buying these. No matter what. I'm fine. I'm fine.

As Canada reluctantly trudged back to the front, he saw Alfred walking towards him, confusion written all over his face. Sighing, Canada plastered on a smile and waved at Alfred.

"Dude, why'd you run away before? I was about to talk to you!"

"Oh, I didn't see you…"

"Then why were you running…?"

"I forgot something," Canada said with hesitance. That was a stupid excuse no matter how you looked at it. Alfred took the time to look nonchalantly into Canada's cart.

"What's in there?" America asked suddenly, concern etching his features. America most likely figured Canada had gone nuts and bought the wrong razors.

"Oh, um, nothing, actually, I have to go now, so…"

"Wait Mattie! I'm gonna come over later."

"Oh, fine, when?"

"I don't know yet, probably in a couple hours…"

"Oh, okay, well, um, bye for now!" As soon as Canada turned away from America, the fake smile fell from his face. He hurried through the express lane and rushed out to his car.

I only have two hours. I can get this done. I will get this done.

As he sped home, regretting meeting Alfred there, he thought about how to get it done fast. The video said it took "patience" and Canada was running out of patience lately. As much as he'd love to try to do this alone, it was recommended to have a friend help.

No. I can manage on my own. I don't need anyone's help; besides, who'd help me?

And suddenly he noticed the cop behind him. As he pulled over, he took out his license so he wouldn't have any trouble later on. The cop looked sad for some reason. The officer noticed the license in his hands already and smiled.

"You were going just five miles over the speed limit, so I'm going to let you go, alright? You take care, son."

"Thank you so much, officer," Canada said with true gratitude in his voice. As soon as he continued driving, though, tears filled his eyes.

Why do I always get in so much trouble? Imagine how hard it is for everyone I know, to have to deal with me…

Once Canada arrived home, he sped his way to the only place he felt safe using fire in: the kitchen. As he sat down to start, he realized it might be helpful to watch the video again. He sighed pitifully. With another elongated sigh, he trudged over to his room where he'd left his laptop. After grabbing it and its power cord, he walked back into the kitchen with a sudden feeling of excitement. He was really going to do this!

Canada struck the match quickly and lit the cherry-red candle with ease. His fingers were shaking as he pulled out the tools he needed and he almost hurt himself a few times. But, after about fifteen minutes, the razors were all his.

Of course, that wasn't the last step. Canada boiled a pot of water and dumped the charred razors into it. The water cleaned them and killed any germs. After he strained the water and let the razors soak in soapy water for about twenty minutes, he realized Alfred should be arriving soon.

Shit. It smells like burning plastic in here, what do I do?!

Okay. Stay Calm. Stay. Calm. It's. Okay.

I'm just going to ignore the smell. And now I have to hide the razors. If Alfred says anything, I'll just pretend I don't smell anything. That'll confuse him for sure.

So, Canada cleaned up his house, spraying air freshener as he went. He was so giddy that he practically frolicked through his house, humming his national anthem on the way.

"..our home and native land!" sang Canada quietly as he gracefully moved the vacuum across the floor. "With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free..!" he sang a bit louder as he dusted his television.

I forgot to hide the razors, he thought suddenly. As he ran to get them, the doorbell rang.

"Just a moment, please! I'm... Um... Indisposed at the moment!"

"Are you okay, Mattie?!"

"M-hm!"

At this, Canada ran with the razors and hid them in his sock drawer for later use. Then, slightly wheezing, he trudged back to the door with weary eyes.

"Hello, Alfred. Come in, please," He said slowly, trying not to react to those concerned blue eyes that bore into his entire being. He stared carefully at the ground as he went to prepare snacks.

Alfred watched Canada with concern etched into his features. Canada wasn't looking so good lately, with his sunken eyes and pale skin, and it looked like he'd lost some weight. Each step seemed so painful for the poor honey-blonde.

I wonder what he's not telling me… Alfred thought to himself, eyebrows furrowing in stress. But I'm about to find out.