Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers
Characters: Matthew Williams (Canada), Alfred Jones (America), Mentions of Francis Bonnefoy (France)
Warnings: Character Death, Violence, Craziness
Disclaimer: I own nothing but this plot.
AN: Second posting of one of my fics. Comments make me happy as does constructive criticism. Also the last Crazy!Canada fic I'll post for a while. Please enjoy~
Matthew Williams watched the city before him burn with some sort of childlike glee while the screams from the helpless people filled his ears like music. "Yes…Yes, that's right. Run, scream…You'll never escape in time." He whispered excitedly, eyes fixed on the small people as they ran frantically for some kind of help, only to be shot down by a bullet or wiped out by a bomb. When had he gotten this way, he wondered? Had he cracked from all of those years of being forgotten? More than likely. Or was he doing this because of all of the recognition he was getting? Not quite. There were many other ways to get attention. Or…Maybe because of all of the attention he was getting from Ivan? The attention was different with the possessive touches along with harsh kisses that left bruises on his neck and wherever else they touched. It was something he'd never had before…But, no, that wasn't it either.
He had a label now; Crazy. Everyone was calling him crazy, saying he had a screw loose, or that he had lost his mind. In his defense, he hadn't thought he'd been acting crazy. But apparently, talking to yourself, believing that polar bears could talk, and randomly lashing out with words and violence made people think you were crazy. They had attempted to help him, but he denied it. They tried to give him medicine, but he threw it all away. They tried to send him to the hospital, but he fought them, kicking and screaming. And when they tried to force feed him pills, in his rage, he broke England's arm. They called him crazy; and if they wanted crazy, he was going to give them crazy. And so he joined Ivan and they showed them all together just how crazy he could be. So many countries had fallen already; falling to their knees and begging for some sort of mercy that he refused to give. So many people died; staining his conscious with blood.
Matthew was pulled from his thoughts as the barrel of a gun was pressed to the back of his head. He went tense for a moment but soon smiled, knowing who it was. "It's so nice of you to finally show your face on the battlefield." He said, not even bothering to move out of the way of the gun. "Have you come to kill me, Alfred?"
Alfred went tense when he heard his name and scowled, pressing the gun more firmly against his brother's head. "Yes. You're killing innocent people, capturing countries who are unwilling and forcing them to become a part of your…your monstrosity!" he exclaimed, thinking specifically of all of his friends who had already fallen to the Russo-Canada Alliance. England and France included. Though…France hadn't just fallen, it had been wiped off the Earth completely. More situations like that could be easily avoided in the future, if he just had the courage to put a bullet through his brother's head. "I have orders from my leader to take you out, Mattie. And I can't disobey them."
Matthew continued to smile, lifting his arms up in mock surrender as he turned to face his brother, violet eyes sparkling with excitement, not fear. He saw the look on his brother's face turn from determination to shock when he saw how he looked; Blood spattered. The blood of slain countries and slain citizens stained his war uniform, his face and his hair. He hadn't been kind when he slaughtered those people, just like Ivan hadn't been gentle when they became one for the first time. "Well, if you have orders, then be my guest. Shoot me. Kill me. Put me out of my misery." He said, eyes closing as he awaited the gunshot, which never came and caused his brow to furrow. "I'm giving you a free shot, so take it. You always cared more for your country than you care about anything else, so shoot me to protect it!"
Alfred continued to point his gun at his blood stained brother, wanting to take the shot, wanting to somehow save Matthew from himself before any of this got worse. "Do you feel any guilt for killing Francis?" he demanded suddenly, lowering the gun and soon holding it in one hand, clenching his free hand into a fist.
At the mention of his father figure, Matthew's eyes snapped open, eyes bright with rage as his hands fell down to his sides. "You think I wanted to? I didn't! But, Papa said that I was crazy. Papa said that I needed help! I have needed help for so long and it took a war for him to notice! For all of you to notice! I-Ivan said Papa didn't care about me…That if he cared he wouldn't have called me crazy; he wouldn't have tried to kill me…" His smile suddenly grew wide as insanity briefly took over, reflecting the small happiness he had felt when he silenced his Papa's mean words forever. "So…So I showed how crazy I could be and I killed him. I killed him, Alfie! And he deserved it! You all deserve it! You've all treated me like crap my entire life and this is what you have coming!" He held out his arms, presenting his brother with the burning buildings and screaming people, laughing hysterically. "This is what is to come to everyone! Fire, death, pain, all of it! And there is nothing you can do about it, Alfred Jones! Nothing!"
"You don't have to do this. You know I don't think you're crazy! Francis didn't either! He just used the wrong word! You're just sick, Mattie! Really, really, sick. I can help you because I know you're not really like this!" Alfred argued, voice starting to sound desperate. "Look at yourself! You're covered in the blood of innocent people, some of them even countries who you knew and cared about! You set fire to countries, get a kick out of watching people suffer…This isn't you, Mattie! It's not!"
Matthew stared at him for several moments, the deranged smile still on his face but it was slowly fading into a frown. He looked at his hands with confused violet eyes and a animal like noise escaped his throat. He…He had actually killed people. The blood of people, his papa, and his friends was all over his hands and body. He was crazy; incredibly sick and crazy. And it took a war for even himself to notice. "I-I'm sick…" he whispered, voice hoarse and shaking with disbelief. "I'm sick!" His voice got louder with every word he spoke. "I'm sick, Alfie! I'm…I'm so sick…! I killed my friends! I-I killed papa! I…I killed papa…" The realization hit him hard and a heartbroken wail ripped from his throat as he fell to his knees onto the cold, hard ground. "W-What kind of a person am I? What kind of son am I? I'm sorry! I-I'm so, so sorry!" He buried his face in his blood stained hands and sobbed loudly while his brother watched him, stunned. "Alfie, I've made so many mistakes…I-I don't want to do this anymore…Please…Please kill me. Kill me before I kill someone else!"
Alfred watched his brother break, not knowing quite what to do. This was Matthew; Innocent, soft spoken, and now broken Matthew. This was his Mattie. The Mattie he had grown up with. And his sweet, innocent Mattie wanted to die. He was begging to be killed. What was he supposed to do? Shoot him? "I-I…can't. You're my brother, my baby brother! And no matter how sick you are I'm not going to shoot you like some sick animal!" he exclaimed, not wanting to believe what he was being asked. He didn't want to believe that the only way to save the world was by killing his only brother. "Mattie…Don't make me do this. Don't make me end your life. I can't do it."
"Jesus, Alfred! This isn't the time for your heroic crap! Just…Just put an end to me! Please! Before I lose control again and-and I end up hurting you!" Matthew looked at his brother for several moments and finally came to the conclusion that his brother wasn't going to do it for him. To save the world from more suffering, to save his friends and remaining family from more death; he would have to kill himself. "Give me the gun. Just give me the gun, turn around, and leave. Don't look back, Alfred. Go home and tell everyone that…that they won't have to worry about crazy little Matthew anymore." He whispered, voice wavering just slightly at the last word but he continued to hold out his hand, eyes set in determination.
Alfred didn't have to ask to know what his brother was thinking and he didn't have the heart to tell him no. What kind of brother would he be if he forced his brother to live in a world where he was a tortured soul? After a moment of hesitation, he nodded, walked toward his brother and briefly hesitated before putting the gun in his hand. He swallowed with some difficulty, feeling tears bite at his eyes. "You…You sure you don't want me to stay with you?" he asked hesitantly, looking at the ground as his brother smiled. The first true smile he'd seen in a long time.
"No. Don't stay. It'll hurt you too much and I've hurt you enough already." He said sadly, eyes fixed on the gun in his hand before looking up at his brother once more, eyes filled with pain and regret. "You can go now, Alfred…And I'm sorry."
Alfred watched his brother for a moment with a pained expression before managing his own weak smile, ruffling his brother's hair affectionately before turning away, beginning his walk back to camp. "I never thought you were crazy, Matt." he said, because after all, he never really had. His brother had needed help all along and they had been too blind to notice. "I'm sorry it got this far."
Matthew checked the gun, making sure it was loaded before turning off the safety and placing the barrel to his temple. Just one shot…And it would be over. One pull of the trigger and the pain would stop. He could see his Papa and apologize for what he'd done. And then his brother could be the hero and help restore what he had destroyed in his anger. He watched his brother's retreating back and thought about how much he'd hurt him, how much he would hurt him even after he was gone. He hoped Alfred could forgive him for everything he'd done. "Goodbye, Alfie."
Alfred flinched violently as the sound of the gunshot rang out through the empty battlefield and felt two hot trails of tears make their way down his cheek. Mattie was gone. Gone because he and every other country in the world drove him to the brink of insanity and hadn't bothered to make the effort to help him until it was too late. He couldn't bring himself to turn around and look at his brother's body, because he knew what he looked like. Matthew had died with a smile on his face. And if Mattie was happy, so was he. Wiping away his tears, knowing Mattie wouldn't want him crying, he merely smiled sadly and kept walking.