Disclaimer: I do not own the World. That belongs to Hidekaz...

51st State

America kisses him on the brow. His lips are pale and cold.

"I love you."

Canada cannot look at him.

"I… know."

Today, Canada is allowed to walk outside the compound for five minutes.

He tries to escape twice.


Canada hates the sounds that come out of his mouth when America fucks him.

"Unhh…ahh, Alfred!"

America smiles against his younger brother's hair.

"I love you, Mattie. I love you."

There is no response.

America frowns.

England and France are arguing, but for once, not between themselves.

They argue with America.

"Where the bloody hell is he, you prat?" England spits, venom lacing his words.

"You may be powerful. You may be our son. But I tell you, it will be unwise to tangle with us, boy." France's voice is softer, but holds no less menace in it.

"Seriously, you guys! You think I would do something like that?" America laughs.

In the room next door, Canada screams.


As punishment, America chained him to his bed once.

He struggled against the shackles; tore through skin and flesh, screamed insult after insult till his throat was raw.

After England and France leave, America enters the room and slams the door behind him.

The wood rattles on the hinges.

Canada looks into icy blue eyes, and knows that the worst is yet to come.


Speaking is an effort for Canada.

So is staying conscious.

So is staying alive.

"Why? I love you, Mattie."

It hurts the most because America is not lying.

America stares at the country lying on the floor.

Canada's hair is matted and tangled. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy. He wears a thin, cotton shirt and thin, cotton shorts. He trembles in the December cold. His arms and legs are scarred, bruises and cuts and wounds overlapping.

It's like looking into a broken mirror.

"He'll die."

America hears the words. He does not hear them.

"Bullshit. Mattie's tougher than that."

"He's no use to us dead, Mr. Jones."

America grabs the man by his collar and with inhuman strength, lifts him off his feet.


Canada is not moving.


America nudges him with his foot.


America nudges harder.

"Mattie? Can you hear me? Can you?"

No response, no movement. America kicks his brother in the chest and smiles as he hears ribs crack.

And as Canada coughs out a mouthful of blood and whispers, "Alfred."

"Yes, Mattie?"

Canada can't remember what the sun looks like any more.

He can't remember the bright yellow of its light, glaring and glowing with more brilliance than he can describe. He can't remember the feeling grass beneath his feet, or the softness of Kumajirou's snowy fur. He can't remember what the sky looks likes, the vivid blue of it, clear and beautiful and filled with possibility, like – like…

Canada pulls his legs up to his bandaged torso, buries his head in his arms, and sobs.

It is impossible for the world not to notice that one of their fellow nations has gone missing.

The world, however, comes pretty damn close.

It takes a month before anyone question's Canada absence again, and even then, it's hardly a question of concern.

"Now that little Matvey is gone, Russia takes the North Pole, da?" Russia's smile is cold.

America does not comment on how much it resembles his own.

"Kill me."

America has the audacity to look surprised.

"Mattie? What are you saying?"

"Kill me, you sick fuck. Why are you keeping me alive?"

"Because I love – "

"Don't give me that," Canada is crying. "You fucking liar."

Alfred does not reply. He cannot.

Canada's voice is weak, but stronger than it has ever been.

"Kill me, America."

"… Okay."

Three days before the first of July.

That will be the day Canada becomes the 51st state.

His 51st state.

In front of his dying brother, America falls to his knees and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Two days.

Canada cannot move now.

He lies on his bed.

His pillows are stained with blood and bile and spit.

America brushes his hair out of his eyes and places a hand on his burning forehead.

Canada coughs. And for the first time in more than a year, smiles.

One more day.


They storm America's house in the middle of the night, wrench Canada out of his arms and take the unconscious nation away. America screams as if they've ripped out his heart.

"MATTIE! GIVE HIM BACK YOU FUCKING BASTARDS MY BROTHER MY MATTIE GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!" It's all one sentence – one word running over the next. His boss, afraid to touch him, watches from afar. England stands to the side and looks at him with a mixture of disgust and pity.

"You would have killed him, wouldn't you Alfred? And for what? Glory? Power?" England mutters as America shakes his head, fervently and desperately. "We were almost too late to stop you. Thank God we – "

And then there's another scream, like a heart being ripped out.

America stops. His eyes are filled with tears.

"Too late."

America kisses him on the brow. His lips are pale and cold.

"I love you. So much."

The little boy on the floor – with violet eyes and blonde hair, who is but isn't Canada – looks at his older brother with adoring eyes.

"I know!"

New Canada wonders why America weeps at night.

A/N: Just a short, simply and slightly disturbing little piece. Why do I torture you, Canada? I love you! And yet... :(

Also, unrequited America/Canada incest is hotter than it should be.

Also, this would probably never happen. Ever. Realistically, that is...