Disclaimer: I don't own anything, nor do I get any profit from writing this. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, the drawing at the top of the chapter is from momor9 (momomor9.tumblr.com)
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Chapter Two
Dying wasn't like Canada had expected. Not at all.
He had thought that his consciousness would fade slowly, peacefully, instead he felt something grab his tunic, yanking him, and a moment later his body was enveloped by a strong arm and pressed against a lean chest.
How odd. He had always imagined it to be gentler, the arm was clutching him too tightly, just shy of being painful. Not to mention the fact that it seemed to be moving upwards.
There was definitely something amiss there. Part of Canada wanted to open his eyes to check what was happening, he wasn't even sure he was dying anymore, but his lids were like lead, his body limp in the other's hold, and his oxygen-deprived mind was too sluggish to process anything.
Suddenly, he felt his head break the water's surface. The cold air stung against his cheeks, along with an icy hand.
Canada found himself coughing, gasping big gulps of air that hit his deprived lungs like daggers. He couldn't understand what was happening, his chest and throat ached fiercely, protesting against the cold air, the waves still hit his body and face, but the arm kept him firmly above the surface. He could have sworn that somebody was talking, but couldn't make out any word above the loud ringing in his ears, and he was too weak to open his eyes.
The person holding him suddenly stopped swimming, and Canada's body was hauled over the river's edge only to collapse on the mercifully unmoving soil.
Canada curled into a ball, coughing and shivering. He knew that he needed air, but his lungs were filled with water, he couldn't stop coughing, everything was spinning and ringing around him...
A strong arm slid under his chest and lifted him, immediately followed by a hand hitting him between his shoulder blades.
Canada gasped at the sudden pain, but he was too weak to struggle. Besides, he dimly realized that the hand was actually helping him: he was retching and coughing, pain flaring up in his chest, but his lungs were starting to empty.
After what seemed centuries, Canada could breathe again, the big gulps of air that finally filled his lungs tasted sweeter than maple syrup.
The ringing in his ears started receding, letting the child make out the voice that had been present at the corners of his auditory perception since he had been rescued.
"Mattie, Mattie, please answer me! Can you breathe? Can you hear me?"
He nodded shakily, his eyes still tightly shut, and the arm holding him relaxed slightly.
The hand stopped hitting him, and the child was turned over, both of his brother's hand holding his shoulders, the fingers digging into his flesh in a way Canada was sure would leave bruises.
A few small coughs bubbled up his throat as he tried to regularize his breaths, but he finally managed to gain control of himself. His chest and throat were burning fiercely, and his body was shaken by strong tremors, but at least he could breathe again.
Canada blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at America's face.
The older boy was completely drenched, his hair stuck to his head, water dripping in his widened eyes. He was shaking slightly, panting.
"Mattie, are you okay?!" he asked immediately, tightening his hold on Canada's shoulders.
The boy could only nod mechanically, unable to speak.
America had been the one who had saved him. America, who barely had time to do anything anymore, who should have been studying.
"Good," muttered the older boy.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep intake of breath, his hands finally loosening the death grip on Canada's shoulders.
When America opened his eyes again, they were bright with rage.
"What. Were. You. Doing," he spelt out slowly. His nostrils were quivering, his hands trembling slightly. "Why were you at the river?! Don't you know it's dangerous?!"
Canada cowered, his insides twisting with guilt. He had only wanted to do something nice for his brother... but once again, he had ended up being only a burden. His brother had had to rescue him, diving into the icy water, because he hadn't been strong enough to look after himself.
Canada swallowed, desperately trying to hold back the tears. Wordlessly, he held out the big apple still clutched in his hand. Maybe America could still appreciate it, right?
His older brother started at him uncomprehendingly, his eyes darting from Canada's pale face to the apple.
"I—it's f—for y—you," Canada stammered weakly, his voice wavering, "I—I wanted to get it for y—you. T—to make y—you h—happy... B—but it w—was s—so far away..."
America blinked and straightened slightly, taken aback.
"You mean," he said slowly, a note of bewilderment clear in his voice, "That you fell in the river because you wanted to get me an apple? That, in spite of knowing that the branch might not have held your weight, you still climbed on it to get that apple?"
Canada nodded, a seed of hope starting to blossom in his chest. Maybe America understood?
Suddenly, the boy felt a sharp pain in his hand. He instinctively clutched it to his chest, whimpering as the apple bounced three times on the ground before rolling through the grass.
"Jesus Christ, Matthew!" America swore loudly.
He was panting, his eyes burning holes in Matthew's still shaking form, the bright cornflower blue almost completely swallowed by his widened pupils. His right hand, the one he had used to hit Canada's one, was still raised, trembling.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His brother was screaming now. "What the actual fuck, Matthew?! You could've drowned! What if your bear hadn't gotten me in time?! You could have spent weeks drowning over and over before the river swept you to a bank! And where would that have left me, uhu?! Did it even cross your mind how much you would have made me worry?!"
Canada hung down his head in shame, whimpering, but America took hold of his shoulders, shaking him.
"Are you fucking retarded, Matthew?! I DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING APPLE! I—"
America's words were cut short as a scream resounded through the clearing.
"Young master!"
America and Canada froze, turning at the same time towards the noise.
Kumajiro was running towards them, a white towel in his mouth, and after him followed Jane and Eleanor, the other maid, looking unkempt and out of breath. Both of them stopped dead, their eyes widening in shock at the sight of their drenched and shivering charges.
Kumajiro ignored them and went to Canada, nuzzling him as he tried to clumsily put the towel over him. America suddenly released Canada's shoulders, gasping as if he had been scalded, leaving the child free to bury his shaking body against his companion.
Kumajiro gently licked him.
"There, there. It's all right now, you're safe."
A strangled whimper seeped through Canada's lips as he pressed his face against the bear's fur. He could feel a lump in his throat, hot tears pressing against his eyelids, but if he focused only on Kumajiro's smell of leaves and earth he could almost pretend that everything was all right.
The relief, however, was short-lived.
A moment later, Mrs Jane recovered from the shock and took charge, ripping the towel from Canada's body to wrap it around America's still shaking form.
"Young master, you're drenched!"
The woman pressed her hands to America's cheeks, her eyes wide with concern.
"Eleanor, take him inside and draw him a warm bath, quick!"
The younger woman jumped at the command and went to America's side, gently helping him up before tugging him towards the house.
The young nation stopped after the first step, digging his heels into the ground. Wide-eyed and clutching at the towel, he turned to Mrs Jane and Canada's quivering form.
"Wait, what about—"
Mrs Jane interrupted him with a sharp wave of her hand.
"I'll take care of him. Now go, we can't have you taking ill, young master. Just think about everything you have to do, and the Master is coming to visit soon..."
America seemed to hesitate a little, his eyes lingering on Canada's form, but he finally nodded and turned to follow a fussing Eleanor.
"All right then. I'll leave him in your hands."
Mrs Jane waited until the boy's back had disappeared before turning to Canada. Her cold eyes were shining with fury, her lips pinched and her hands clenched into fists.
Canada whimpered, curling up on himself. He was cold and miserable, his chest throbbing, but the physical distress faded before America's lashing out. He had never felt that guilty and useless in his whole life.
"You..." Mrs Jane hissed, breathing through her nose. "You little, ungrateful—"
"Stop!"
Canada and Mrs Jane jumped in surprise.
Kumajiro had stepped between the woman and his owner, his teeth bared and his body tense. In spite of being only a cub, his teeth were pointed and sharp as razors, and the determined glint in his black eyes made him look anything but unthreatening.
Mrs Jane paled and took a step back, bringing her hands to her chest.
"C—call him back!" she stammered, her eyes wide. "Call back that creature!"
Kumajiro growled.
It was the first time Canada saw Mrs Jane hesitate in front of anything, and part of him couldn't help but rejoice at the sight, taking it as a revenge for all the times she had been mean to him. Not to mention how Kumajiro's willingness to defend him left a warm feeling inside the child's chest, slightly alleviating the pain of America's words.
At the same time, however, Canada couldn't hide himself from the truth that had been laid in front of his eyes: he deserved that treatment. He deserved it because he was just a useless pretty thing, a burden. Because, with his selfish desire to be noticed by America, who had far more important matters to worry about, he had given nothing but trouble to the older nation.
"K—kuma, it's okay," he said softly, moving to the bear's side. "Stop growling at Mrs Jane, she isn't doing anything wrong. What I did was really stupid, and I might have even gotten Alfred hurt, so it's okay that she yells at me."
Kumajiro whirled towards him, his eyes blazing.
"Yes, it was stupid," he said haughtily, "I told you that you shouldn't get that apple. But—"
"Then leave her be," Canada cut him off.
He didn't mean to be ungrateful to Kuma, but he was exhausted and horribly cold, all he wanted was a dry change of clothes and a warm blanket. His mind felt too numb to deal with anything else.
Kumajiro harrumphed, but after a look at his owner, he moved to a side.
"You don't have to—"
Mrs Jane took her chance to quickly grab Canada's arm to drag him to the house. Her grip was too tight, her fingers digging into the child's abused skin, but he didn't let out a single sound of protest.
Kumajiro followed them, whimpering slightly in distress, but one warning look from Canada was enough to shut him up, and he finally stopped moving.
The boy gave a last, longing glance at the once red and bright apple as he was dragged away. Now it rested next to a boulder, dirty and bruised. Nobody would ever want to eat it again.
Just like nobody wanted Canada.
He didn't even feel like crying anymore. He didn't feel anything, everything was empty and dull. Just as useless as he was.
He barely listened to Mrs Jane, who kept berating him all the way to the house.
"You useless child."
"I can't believe the length you can go fishing for attention."
"How did it even cross your mind to disturb the young master like that? He doesn't have time to waste on you."
Canada let the poisonous words wash over him. He knew that Mrs Jane was right, he had come to accept it, but he still wished she would shut up. His body was numb with cold, he only wanted to sleep and forget for a moment how pathetic and useless he was.
Finally, after what seemed centuries, they reached the house.
Canada relaxed slightly, ready to sink into the embrace of a warm blanket. His feet ached and his legs were weak, threatening to collapse under his weight. The child wasn't sure he would have managed the walk back if Mrs Jane hadn't been holding his arm in a death grip.
The woman never relinquished her hold, her eyes still blazing with fury and her pale lips pinched.
"Don't think you have earned your rest now," she sneered, yanking Canada's arm to force him to walk quicker.
Only halfway through the corridor the boy realized that she wasn't taking him to his room or the bathroom.
"W—what..." he started saying, trying to talk through his chattering teeth.
Before he could complete the sentence, Mrs Jane pushed him into a small room. It was completely empty, and there wasn't a change of clothes waiting for Canada, not even a towel.
The boy turned to his caretaker, looking at her quizzically.
She was standing just outside the door, her features stony and pinched, but the glimmer in her dark eyes betrayed her anger.
"You have been a very bad child. And as such, you need a punishment."
Without any other warning, Mrs Jane slammed the door shut.
For a moment, Canada could only gape at the door, unable to realize what had just happened. This was a cruel joke, wasn't it? She would open the door and give him something to dry himself, he didn't demand anything more than a towel, but he was freezing in the cold, drenched tunic...
Only when he heard the latch slam closed Canada realized that Mrs Jane had no intention of taking him back.
With a panicked whimper, the boy flung himself at the door, pounding his little fists against the wood.
"Please, please Mrs Jane, I'll be good, don't leave me here, I'm so cold!"
"Maybe you should have thought it before deciding to throw such a tantrum, don't you think so?"
The woman's voice was muffled by the door, but it still managed to convey all her contempt.
"You'll stay here until this evening. And don't try to move me with your pathetic excuses, you're an immortal being. A little cold won't do you any bad. No matter what, you can't die. You'll always stay like a child, an ignorant, stupid child while we grow old and die and wither all around you. How is this right?"
Canada stopped moving, taken aback by the woman's venomous words. Was that why she disliked him so much? But he had never asked to be immortal, he was just born that way...
"And how could even think about mocking us that way? Human children die if they fall into rivers. They grow sick and die. How did you dare to use this as a way to get attention?! You knew you'd be fine. You only wanted to be coddled by your brother. Well, that's not going to happen. You'll stay here and reflect on your actions until I get you again!"
Before Canada could even think of an answer, he heard the woman's footsteps move away from the door.
Sighing, he let his weary and shivering body slide to the ground.
He was cold and miserable, his throat and chest throbbing, and he could do nothing but wait for Mrs Jane to come and get him again.
Was that what America had meant with 'take care of him'? To punish him? After all, he deserved it. He had been stupid and selfish, and that had resulted in bothering his brother. Probably, he didn't deserve to be coddled or even comforted after the fall, but it still brought a deep stab of pain in his chest.
Canada curled up on himself in an attempt to gain a bit of warmth.
He wanted to cry, but he felt like it would require too much energy.
He almost wished he had drowned.
The room was completely dark around him, only a small gleam filtered through the door. Shadows seemed to swirl and move around as if to mock Canada for his situation.
The child could only dully stare at them, almost unaware of the discomfort caused by the drenched clothes stuck to his skin. He did realize it in the back of his mind, and he knew he should have tried to dry himself or move to keep his body warm, but he couldn't bring himself to shift a single muscle.
He didn't want to think about anything. His brother's eyes kept popping up in his thoughts, cold and unmerciful. Canada buried his head in his knees and pressed his hands against his ears, desperately trying to block out everything.
He couldn't have said how much time he spent in that position, the darkness of the room messed with his perception of time, and maybe he had even fallen asleep at one point, he couldn't tell, but he was sure that it was much later when he heard a set of feet stomp through the corridor.
By then, the throbbing in Canada's lungs and throat had turned into a fierce pain, he couldn't draw a full breath without dissolving in a coughing fit and the cold had seeped into his bones, becoming a permanent part of him. He couldn't even remember how being warm had felt. In addition to that, he was slightly nauseous, his stomach churning, and his nose was clogged up.
He scooted away from the door when he heard the latch being removed, looking up to his saviour.
Mrs Jane looked back at him with an unreadable expression, her eyes dark and her features tight. She looked anything but welcoming, but at that moment Canada was ready to throw himself at her feet. He was sure that he couldn't have spent another single minute inside that room.
"Th—thank you..." he tried to say, but was interrupted by a small coughing fit that left him gasping for breath, his throat and lungs burning.
"Don't try to make me feel guilty, I know you aren't truly sick!" the woman snapped, but when she took Canada's arm to drag him to his feet she was far gentler than she had been before.
It was getting dark outside, the setting sun was casting orange shadows on the pavement. Canada had spent half of the morning and most of the afternoon in the dark room.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy was aware that he should have been angry at the discovery, maybe even sad or scared, but he couldn't muster enough energy to feel such powerful emotions. All he wanted was to get to his room and curl up under a blissfully heavy blanket, then slide to sleep. He wouldn't have to feel anything then.
Surprisingly, Mrs Jane didn't take him to his room, instead leading him to the kitchen.
"Sit down," she said stiffly, drawing out a chair.
Too spent to complain, Canada did as he was told. The table was bare except for a spoon and a wooden bowl filled with some smoking, thick soup that cast a faint smell of vegetables.
"Eat."
Mrs Jane looked nervous, her arms were wrapped around her thin frame and one of her feet was impatiently tapping the floor.
Deciding that upsetting her wouldn't be wise, Canada focused his attention on the food. The soup felt warm, promising to heat him up from the inside, but at the same time, the smell seemed to heighten his nausea. The child suddenly realized that eating was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.
However, since Mrs Jane was still looking at him, he hesitantly took a spoonful. Immediately, the food didn't settle in his stomach, he could feel it twist and churn in complain.
Canada managed a few spoonsful before he had to curl up on himself with a small moan, a hand pressed tightly against his aching stomach. To make things worse, the moan turned into another small coughing fit. It wasn't as bad as before, and Canada managed to calm it after a few moments, breathing in deeply, but that didn't help with his throbbing chest or churning stomach.
Defeated, the boy placed the spoon back on the table.
"Well? Aren't you going to eat?" retorted immediately Mrs Jane, harshly.
Without daring to look at her eyes, Canada gave a small shake of his head.
"I—I'm really sorry," he whispered feebly, "I'm not feeling well."
His faint voice sounded just as pathetic as he felt.
Mrs Jane huffed, stomping one foot on the floor.
"Don't try to fool me, I've already told you it won't work. But if you are so ungrateful that you don't want to eat, then fine: you can go to bed without supper! But don't you dare ask for some food later."
Part of Canada wanted to make her understand that he wasn't faking, that he was truly feeling horrible, but a rational corner of his mind told him that she wasn't going to listen, no matter what he said. Besides, he was far too exhausted to carry on a discussion, and sleeping was exactly what he wanted.
Wordlessly, the boy slid down from his chair, clenching his teeth to prevent them from chattering.
Mrs Jane huffed again.
"Well then, we've moved to the silent treatment, haven't we? Well, fine by me. Just go to bed and don't bother me anymore."
In spite of her words, she followed Canada to his bedroom, her shoes thumping loudly on the wooden floor.
Not knowing what to do, Canada ignored her as he finally wriggled out of his still damp, cold clothes and into a fresh nightgown, shivering when the cold air hit his bare skin. Mrs Jane kept watching as he added a woollen blanket to the pile already present on his bed and finally climbed under it, curling up on himself.
"Don't you dare leave that bed until morning," Mrs Jane said in the end, "And more importantly, don't you dare go bother the young master again. You've already been enough of a disturbance today."
Her last words made a wave of guilt stir in Canada's chest. He had almost managed to forget about the disastrous chain of events that had led to the present situation, but now his mind couldn't stop going back to America's drenched face, to his trembling hands and his light blue eyes wide with rage. With his careless actions, Canada had finally managed to fully sever the frail bond between him and his brother. He could feel the tears pressing against his lids, threatening to spill over, but Mrs Jane was still at the door. He was positive she would find something harsh to say if she saw him crying, and he couldn't possibly bear another scolding.
Finally, the woman turned away from the doorway and got out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her.
Only then Canada let the tears fall. He buried his head in the pillow to muffle his silent sobs, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach.
He knew he shouldn't cry, it was only making things worse for his tingling throat and throbbing chest, cutting off his already diminished intake of air, but he couldn't stop the fat tears from rolling down his cheeks. He was pathetic, useless and sick. No wonder nobody cared for him, not when he didn't even deserve to be cared for. Even worse, he couldn't do anything to improve his situation – crying was the only mean of comfort left.
The child was so engrossed in his misery that his mind registered the shift of the mattress only when a warm muzzle nudged his cheek.
"Hey," said Kumajiro, "Stop crying. It's going to be all right."
Canada turned to the bear, blinking away the tears.
"K—kuma?" he managed to whisper between the hiccups, "When..."
"I was under the bed," the bear said as he slipped under the blankets, pressing his warm body against Canada's. "I didn't want the mean lady to see me and scold you again."
'Mrs Jane isn't mean,' Canada wanted to say, but he didn't have enough strength to utter those words. Because if he did, it meant finally admitting out loud that he was the one in the wrong. The one not worthy of being loved. And Canada couldn't bear to do it in front of the only being who still cared about him, the mere thought made his airways constrict painfully.
"Thanks, Kuma," he whispered instead, curling against the blissfully warm form and burying his head in the soft fur.
The bear snuggled closer to him.
"It's okay now. There's no need to cry, you're just scared and tired. Now rest, tomorrow will be better."
Canada didn't agree – there was no way that everything would magically be fixed the following day, America was still pissed at him and he couldn't regain his affection, nor could he somehow become worthy of it – but he was too worn out to voice his doubts. He focused on Kumajiro's soothing presence, inhaling his scent and listening to the regular thumping of his heartbeat, and it wasn't long before the sobs died down, leaving him utterly exhausted, with his head aching and his chest burning. Canada felt as weak as a new-born kitten, his limbs as heavy as lead, he couldn't even fully lift his eyelids.
In spite of that, sleep didn't come as easily as he hoped. His chest burned fiercely, preventing him from drawing a full breath, and his throat felt dry and scratchy, often resulting in short coughing fits that left him breathless. The uneasiness in his stomach wasn't gone, if anything, it seemed slightly more intense, and his limbs felt heavy. The worst sensation, however, was the cold. It seemed to have seeped into his bones, and in spite of Kumajiro's warm body pressed close to his and the heavy blankets wrapped around them Canada couldn't stop shivering, he had to apply a conscious effort to keep his teeth from chattering.
Instead of sleeping, the child spent the following hours drifting in and out of a restless slumber, constantly suspended over the rim of consciousness.
At one point, he heard the sound of footsteps getting closer to his room.
He stiffened, suddenly completely awake. Luckily, Kumajiro was completely under the blankets and seemingly in a deep sleep, so hopefully, Mrs Jane wouldn't notice him... besides, he realized as the footsteps stopped in front of his bedroom, those weren't Mrs Jane's shoes. They almost sounded like...
The door was gently pushed open, through his half-closed eyes Canada saw a candle cast a faint beam of light over the floor.
"Mattie?"
America's voice was gentle, barely above a whisper.
Canada felt his heart burst at the sound. He longed to throw himself at his brother's feet and apologize over and over until everything was forgiven, but Mrs Jane words resounded clear in his mind.
'Don't you dare bother the young master."
With every inch of his will, Canada forced his body to relax, his breaths to take a heavy, regular pattern. He was good at faking to be asleep, he had done so numerous time to pretend he hadn't heard words not meant for him that had been uttered before the speakers became aware of his presence.
For how much he wished to apologize, he couldn't be selfish again. He couldn't demand his brother's attention. Besides, what was he even doing there?
America hesitated a few moments at the door before stepping in, his steps slow and measured as he got closer to Canada's bed.
"Are you awake, Mattie?" he asked again, peering over the edge of the bed.
Canada didn't answer. He had come to the conclusion that America wanted to scold him again, or maybe explain why his actions had been so dangerous and why he had deserved that punishment. And for how selfish it was, he couldn't bear to see his brother's eyes cloud in rage as he looked at him. He knew he was only postponing the inevitable, but right then he was simply too drained to deal with anything.
A soft sigh seeped through America's lips.
Canada hoped he wasn't going to stay for long, his throat was starting to feel uncomfortably tight again, he couldn't restrain the coughs for long.
America shifted on his feet, then bent down and his lips brushed against the top of Canada's head.
"Sleep well."
The boy turned and got out of the room, his steps still light and careful. Canada didn't dare to move a single muscle until the footsteps faded into the distance. Only then he brought a hand to the top of his head, blinking in confusion.
What was that for?
Could it mean that America wasn't angry at him anymore? Maybe the punishment had been enough. His brother was genuinely kind and helpful, after all, he didn't like to upset others. Canada knew that he didn't deserve his affection, and he was also aware that America's actions were probably dictated by a sense of duty more than real feelings, but the tightness in his chest had somehow lessened.
And at the same time, Canada couldn't help but feel guilty, for it wasn't fair. America shouldn't care about him, he was just a useless child. A burden. That was why everybody kept leaving him behind, and his brother had far more important things to worry about. He would only drag him down.
Smothering a coughing fit, Canada settled closer to his sleeping bear, burying his weary body against the soft fur. His head ached, and his mind was too confused to sort through all the emotions whirling inside him.
The child willed himself to stop thinking about anything and finally fell into a fitful sleep.
Sometime later, Canada jerked awake as a searing pain ripped through his stomach.
He doubled over, moaning, and in the process pushed away Kumajiro, eliciting a displeased growl, but he barely realized it. All his mind could focus on was the way his stomach was twisting and turning, pulsing in agony. He felt like he was being stabbed over and over, the knife twisting as it was embedded in his gut.
Kumajiro pressed a paw against his back.
"What's wrong?" he asked urgently, now completely awake, his voice laced with concern.
A pained whimper seeped through Canada's clenched lips. His breath was coming out in rapid gasps, and he felt hot and cold at the same time, his skin clammy and stick to the nightgown.
"Kuma..." he managed to moan through the pain, pressing his eyelids closed to prevent the tears from falling.
"What's wrong?!" the bear repeated, louder.
Canada couldn't answer. His churning stomach gave another excruciating twist, and suddenly the boy felt the acrid taste of bile to the back of his throat.
His eyes widened as he understood what was about to happen. In spite of the pain, Canada quickly scurried to edge of the bed and leaned over, retching violently.
He had hardly eaten anything at dinner and had completely skipped lunch, but for some reason his stomach couldn't stop emptying itself, accompanied by excruciating spasms. On top of that, the heaving left Canada out of breath, and the child soon found himself hacking and sputtering, unable to draw a full breath as a burning pain flared up in his chest, matching his throbbing stomach. Fat tears were rolling down the child's pasty cheeks.
And oh God he had tried to hit the chamber pot, but in the dark, he had ended up throwing up all over the floor, Mrs Jane was going to be so furious at him...
"Kuma..." Canada moaned feebly, his right hand blindly patting the mattress behind him as he sought his familiar's comfort.
Nothing answered him.
Canada was alone, cold and sick in a room that reeked of the foul smell of his own vomit, even Kumajiro, his most faithful companion, had left him.
Shaking with pain and dry-heaving, the child curled up on the edge of the bed and burst into tears.
(word count: 5,404)
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Notes:
Sickfics are a big favourite of mine, there's something about them I just love. Therefore, anything written by me can easily turn into one. I hope you people will appreciate it as well!
Anyway, next chapter will be up in a few days. It's from America's POV, and finally there is a lot of fluff and some explanations.
I hope you have enjoyed this, please review! :)