When Fear Takes Hold

Not Their Problem

Canada splashes water onto his face to cool off; the room had been uncomfortably warm. As he did, he heard the door creak open and shut behind whoever had entered. Canada, standing straight, looks up to see Russia.

"I—"

"I was under the impression that we weren't going to tell anyone unless it became a problem," Russia's voice is cold, not like when he had spoken to everyone before.

"It's just that," Canada take a step back as the taller nation draws closer, "I don't know what things are like for you, but it's getting bad at my place." Russia now stands over him, their violet eyes boring into each other. It's hard not to be intimidated.

They had previously discussed with each other before the meeting about how they should handle it, but Canada had not followed through with the plans.

They are face to face, and Canada could feel his own breathe quicken. He got a sick feeling in his stomach remembering how Russia always carries a lead pipe with him, and was known to often take things to extreme measures when he lost his temper. There were many times that the Baltics would show up to meetings black and blue, even little Latvia. But Russia wouldn't hit Canada over something like this would he?

Canada squeezes his eyes shut when Russia lifts his hand, only for them to fly back open when he feels cold fingers on the side of his face.

"Matthew, are you sick?"

Canada is taken aback more at the use of his name. He had never heard Russia use a human name for a nation before. Although, America claims that sometimes Russia calls him Fredca; America and Alfred put together.

"Well it's only natural. So many of my people are sick, so of course I would have some of the symptoms."

Russia actually appears concerned and places the back of his hand across Canada's forehead.

"You feel warm."

"I'm fine, I promise." Canada knows Russia probably doesn't care about him being sick, but rather that he now has the chance of falling ill as well. Russia's eyes narrow, then he stands strait up and smiles, everything threatening about him fading at once. His phony sweetness returns.

"You will tell me if it gets any worse," is all he says before turning heel and leaving the bathroom. Canada lets out a breathe of relief.

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"Yo, Mattie!" America waves enthusiastically to his brother. "Since we have to be back here in a week there is no point in going home, so we're gonna stay." America bounces over to him, voice echoing across the now empty hall.

"But we don't have a place to st—"

"France said we can stay at his place in Lyon," then America makes a sour face, "Arthur is staying with us though." England is kind of a buzz kill and him and America aren't getting along too well these days.

"I dunno Alfred, I really should get back to—"

"We are gonna go drinking tomorrow night," America babbled ignoring the Canadian. He has Canada's sleeve and is dragging him towards the door.

"I'm really not feeling to well."

"Hey! Francis, wait for us!"

Canada looks down and gives a sad smile. He doesn't know what he expected. He hears a voice inside of him; it might be Russia's or it might be Kumajiro's.

What do you want from them? What can they do? They won't listen because the don't care. This is not their problem.