Countryhumans Oneshots :D

Depressed!Canada (Pt. 2)

[A/N: See end for lore/inspiration c: (also I love you if you actually read these author's notes.)

See previous chapter for trigger warnings. Please note that this chapter will be much more 'intense' than the last.] 

IX.

The first time it happened, it was a mistake. Canada wasn't being careful. He was washing kitchenware obsessively, angrily. He was down to the last knife in a gift set from Japan when he wore through the cloth being used to dry the blade. The cut was quick and clean: Canada sliced open his thumb at a good angle.

Blood welled up and the country lifted his hand in astonishment, watching the droplet swell. It was a deep crimson, surprisingly rich in colour, and it wobbled on the pad of his finger, testing the strength of surface tension. Light reflected on it mesmerisingly, shifting with every minute tremble of his hand.

Canada quickly brought his thumb to his lips before the blood started trailing down the palm of his hand. He sucked harshly to stop any further bleeding, and then returned to the task of washing his kitchen utensils.

He tried to keep strange, nagging thoughts out of his head. He focused on everything but the strange calm that flooded through him as running water amplified the pain of his cut. He focused on everything but the solid certainty that he had just found an outlet. He focused on the movement of his hands as they rinsed a pan — not on the itching of his fingers longing to retrieve the knife. He focused on— his attention slipped.

X.

Nobody really took note of Canada's newfound fondness for loose-knit sweaters. Besides: Canada was a cold country and it makes perfect sense that he'd want to bundle up. His slim but tall frame made it so that most clothes long enough for his torso were also baggy, and as winter approached, the sudden commonality of maroon sweaters in his personal wardrobe didn't seem too out of place. They were festive, and kind of patriotic too: no one questioned them. At this rate, Canada didn't want anyone to notice. It was fine that they didn't.

XI.

It wasn't that bad, that common of an event ... until it was. Canada was always the meticulous twin, the one with the best planning skills. That, he muses wryly, in an increasingly common burst of cynicism, is why these rows are so neat and orderly, despite the large number. The cuts grew exponentially: healing into paper-thin scars before being reopened once room ran out. They were the one pristine, reliable thing in his life. Canada was good with that.

XII.

The passing of time was strange, and somehow New Years arrived. Russia was hosting a party, which was to be held on his eastern border: close enough for Canada to accept the invitation ( after ceaseless nagging from his brother.) Besides, Russia would probably have a large enough place that Canada could go wonder off by himself — if not to an upper floor or empty room, then out into the woods or onto the streets.

XIII.

Canada had successfully alerted the correct people to his presence (Poland, Britain, Russia, China), ensuring that they could vouch for his being there — but not give any directions to his whereabouts. Leaving his phone on a random table, the sweater-clad country donned his winter coat and tugged on warm gloves, slipping out a back door. At first, he was surprised at the ease with which he did so, but then he shrugged and stopped caring.

There was a small forest behind the house, thick with evergreens and 12 centimetres of fresh snow. Canada had checked beforehand — there was a winding path for joggers and such, with one of the street entrances located right by Russia's house. The quiet country stepped confidently as he began walking, unbothered by the snow and biting winds that matched his climate pace-for-pace. This area was more of a suburb, so the streets remained empty despite the number of parties that must have been going on at that moment. The vacant outdoors suited Canada just fine.