A/N: I wasn't feeling very good today, and it manifested into this. Enjoy, or don't, but please R+R, it would mean the world to me.

Matthew Williams was not a name that anyone connected to the small, quiet, polite, and utterly forgettable young man. This particular Canadian had a skill that ninjas would envy. He was mysteriously able to disappear into the background, seemingly turn invisible. The only down side to this was that he was always in the background, never noticed. His own brother would connect his name to Lady Gaga's boyfriend before the shy Canadian. Matthew worked for an unusual government organization. Each country had a representative that embodied the stereotype of the country to the letter; it was almost spooky, really. Matthew always had the best solution, and would always voice it, subtly and softly, as if it floated through the air and was a collaborative thought of everyone and no one. Therefore he never got credit for his ideas, and most people had no idea what a "Canada" was.

When he was noticed, one of two things happened, without a doubt. Either he was mistaken for his a fore mentioned brother, or he was asked "Who are you?" Any comment directed to him was that; "Who are you?"

When he was younger Matthew had figured out that because he was so unnoticed he would never get in trouble. For a while he had fun with this. Pulling pranks and practical jokes, he ran amok. But that just wasn't funny without someone to laugh with. And there was no adrenaline rush if there was no one who could catch him, so this soon became boring and saddening.

There was only one person who remembered him. Gilbert Beilschmidt, representative of Prussia. It wasn't exactly a typical friendship. Gilbert often forgot the times they planned to hangout, and would come to Matthew demanding pancakes, no matter what the time of day, and leave just after he finished. But Matthew didn't mind. To him, this was as close to friendship he had ever been. Sure, sometimes Gilbert forgot they had made plans, and sometimes called him Marvin or Marcus, but that was okay because . . . it just was, right?

Through it all, the invisibility, the namelessness, the lack of credit, the being called Alfred Marvin or any name besides his own, the loneliness, and most painful, the "Who are you?"s, he had one rule. One strategy. One motto. "Smile through it." No matter how much it hurt or how desperate it became, just smile through it.

That was what Matthew always did, smiled. When he wasn't praised, smile. When he wasn't scolded, smile. When he wasn't seen, smile. It was true that even though he had given up pranks and other similar things, he never went to lengths to make others think better of him. When the other "countries" came to meetings in suits, he would come in jeans and a sweatshirt. It was maybe the only perk to his 'situation'.

It was one of those days. Those days where it was hardest to smile. Matthew was a naturally optimistic person, so it was always easy to start the day with a smile. However that day was different. It started out like any other world meeting day. But it went downhill, fast. Before he even arrived at the meeting building he was ignored by two buses and five taxis. He finally went to a crowded bus stop and crept on just as the doors were closing. Getting off was much easier, because the bus driver stopped when he pulled the stop cord, but Matthew felt bad for the other passengers as he heard them get minor lecture on only pulling it when they were actually getting off.

By the time Matthew arrived at the meeting he was very late. Not a single person noticed when he burst through the doors apologizing profusely. Not even Ludwig, the rep. of Germany, who was extraordinarily strict and detested tardiness. The meeting was going even worse than usual. There tended to be a lot of screaming, yelling, fighting and molesting. This day there were things being thrown as well as bloody noses from both punches and other causes.

Sighing softly the Canadian smiled gently, and took his seat, the place the other countries had dubbed, "The weirdly empty seat that no one wants to sit in except Russia." And it was true. All the others had an inexplicable aversion to sitting there that they themselves sometimes wondered about. Several times Germany tried to get order, until finally achieving success. Even then when Canada tried to voice his opinions he always being talked over by other, louder countries

There was only so much meeting the countries could handle in one shot, so a break was called about an hour after Matthew had arrived. He had just started down the hall when he ran into Carlos, the rep. of Cuba. The likely hood of Carlos seeing him was 100%, which was great, except that there was about a 50-50 chance that he would mistake Matthew for Alfred and beat him up. Ever optimistic Matthew greeted him with a smile and small hello, hoping that just this once Carlos would recognize him before punching him.

No such luck. Matthew stumbled back to the meeting bruised and battered. Sometimes he hated Alfred.

The meeting continued in the same awful fashion it always did, but Matthew took diligent notes. Very diligent notes, on almost everything said. Someone who had not sat through one of their meetings would be utterly dumbfounded but the sudden topic change and complete randomness of the recorded words.

When lunch rolled around he got locked in the conference room. After lunch the others came back, and Russia sat in Matthew's chair. Not just in his chair, but on top of him, and didn't notice at all.

Canada spent the next three hours trapped under a very large, very heavy, Russian. When he was finally able to escape his legs were numb so he tripped and scraped himself on the table. Of course no one noticed. Yet still he smiled. He just stood and borrowed a band-aid from another country. Canada sat in the chair that was supposed to be Russia's and didn't even bother trying to talk again.

The meeting was still a ways away from finishing and Matthew had a killer headache and his smile was wavering. A break was called when everyone was on the verge of insanity and Canada was going to finally get some food. He was breaking. He was unseen, ignored, forgotten, beat-up, locked in, sat on, and hungry. Even so, he smiled. Had anyone actually taken the time to look at the smile they would not have seen joy. It was the saddest, angriest, most broken smile they would have ever seen.

Suddenly a hand was placed on Canada's shoulder, and he turned to see Arthur, rep. of England. This man had helped raise him, much more his father than Matthew's biological father was. Hope glimmered in the back of his mind. Today was the day. Today he was remembered. Arthur was about to speak with him, even after such a rotten day this possibility made it seem ten times better.

"Alfred. You can't possibly want more food." The voice was disbelieving and disapproving, but more importantly, the comment was directed at Matthew's brother, his own father figure had forgotten him, again.

"Actually Dad," Matthew started, "I'm not Alfred. I'm Matthew."

"Who?" okay that stung.

"Matthew." No response. "You know, Canada." Nothing. He sighed, "Alfred's brother."

"Alfred doesn't- oh! I'm terribly sorry my boy. There's just so much on my mind right now. Well good day to you." And with that he left, leaving Matthew feeling even worse than before. There was one last thing to do. One place he was sure to get a lift from his awful mood.

"Hey Prussia, long time no see." He greeted his friend with fake cheer.

"Who are you? And how do you know my awesome name? Of course why wouldn't you know my awesome name? Everyone should know my name. I am the awesome Prussia!" And of course the rant went on but the Canadian didn't hear it. That was it, the final straw. He cracked, his smile dropping, tears filling his eyes. Canada turned fast and ran into the conference room, desperately concealing his silent tears.

Huddled in a corner Canada watched all the other nations file in, not a single one so much as glancing in his direction. Even through his tears Canada was a sharp observer and noticed his salvation almost concealed on Alfred's belt. Matthew waited about five minutes until slowly creeping behind his brother before sliding the thing off his belt and holding it to Alfred's head.

America felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed to his temple and shrieked. The entire room turned to the noise and was greeted with a terrifying sight. America sat ridged in his chair, pale-faced and petrified. A .177 single shot pistol was being pressed to his right temple by an eerily familiar young man. He was smiling. Not crazily, it was a small, gentle smile that would be cute in other circumstances. Now, it was terrifying, the soft, serene smile seemed so out of place on the man holding a gun to another's head.

"My name is Matthew Williams." He stated loud enough for the room to hear, but not yelling, and utterly clam. "I am the representative of Canada. For those of you who are too stupid to know what that is, it's the second biggest country in the world, just north of the United States of America.

I just wanted a chance to speak, and apparently holding a loaded gun to someone's head is the only way to make any of you shit-heads listen. I just wanted to thank all you bastards- and bitches-" He said almost apologetically, looking to the few females in the room, "For making my life a living hell. Not one of you has ever fucking remembered me even long enough to greet me. I guess today you could say I snapped. I am sick and tired of you dolts forgetting about me and making me feel invisible. I ask that you please at least have the decency to remove the body from the conference room before continuing your meeting. Goodbye." And with that Matthew took the pistol off his brother's temple and onto his own. Before anyone could react he pulled the trigger and let a sickening shot ring out in the silent conference room before collapsing, blood pouring from the wound.

The countries never again forgot Matthew Williams and never forgot that when he shot himself, when he died, he died smiling.