Notes: Hello everyone! Welcome to my first Hetalia fic! Just a heads up, I like the idea of Canada speaking french when he's not fully aware. So, the translations for these phrases will be at the bottom. Also, I like to think of Matthew & Alfred as brothers, nothing more. So, there will be no romantic references.

Also, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but apparently I am incapable of writing one-shots of an acceptable length, so this will be split into parts :)

Chapter One

Canada's skates glided effortlessly over the ice. Every time he would stop or make a hard turn, minuscule chrysalises of ice would fly out to the side, causing a snow-like powder to cover the frozen river's surface. There were two nets set up at either bank of the wide river, and several pucks littered the ice. The stick in the nation's hand felt familiar as he shot another puck toward the net.

After shooting his tenth puck, Matthew sighed in defeat. The sun shone down on him, making him uncomfortable in his jersey. It was warmer today than most winter days, but Matthew didn't mind too much - it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

That was exactly why Canada had invited some nations over to play hockey. It was going to be a warmer afternoon, but the temperature was supposed to drop drastically once the sun set, setting the perfect atmosphere for hot chocolate by the fire after some hockey. He thought it would set the perfect mood for the upcoming meeting with the nations.

But just his luck - it seemed as if everyone had forgotten.

"It's not the first time, you should be used to it by now." He grumbled to himself.

Although the rational part of his brain knew it was true, it still stung. It left a cavity in his chest - one that was formed a long time ago, and certainly wasn't going to be filled any time soon.

He sat down on the ice, tracing the skid marks left there by himself. His lungs filled with the crisp air, the kind that only appeared in winter, leaving your lungs feeling fresh and new.

Being forgotten wasn't new to Matthew Williams, it happened all too often. Even his own bear forgot he existed, muttering a "who are you?" before Matthew left for the river.

He knew it shouldn't affect him this much, lord knows he hates attention. Being given the spotlight was his worst nightmare. But part of him ached to have someone remember him, give him a call every so often to ask how he's doing, or even just for his name to be mentioned in passing conversation.

Although he knew that he could've just voiced what he was feeling, he never did. He knew he was insignificant, from the day he was born. His brother was always upstaging him, and he had this feeling that Britan and France had only kept him around for their amusement. Now those days were over, he was a nation now and no longer needed the care from his brothers. That meant that they no longer needed him either.

The only thought that comforted Matthew, was that if Alfred, Arthur and Francis had forgotten about him, they weren't worried about him.

He remembered the last time they worried about him. He had gotten into an accident, a stupid one, really. But he ended up breaking his ribs and left forearm. He skipped the meeting he was supposed to go to, and apparently, Alfred noticed he wasn't there. All three of the older nations came to tend to his wounds. And although you might think he should be happy they remembered him, he wasn't. They worried about him so much. He hated when they did that, the guilt and anxiety etched into their faces.

He shook the image from his mind. That's right, if they're not thinking about me they're not worrying.

It was sometime later when Matthew had decided to pack up and head home. The sun peeked out from below the treeline, ready to descend below the horizon.

It was almost supper, and Canada knew he should get home to eat, he hadn't eaten since breakfast, the anxiety and excitement from the knowledge that others may be coming over for once preventing him from eating lunch.

He had already removed his skates and was now tossing the nets over to the side of the bank.

Although he had convinced himself that it was no big deal that the nations forgot him once again, one thought still plagued his mind.

Am I really that forgettable?

He kneeled down and started to gather up the pucks when he heard a crack. Small at first, almost unnoticeable, but becoming louder.

Shit

Matthew froze.

He dropped the pucks he was holding in his hands and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He looked below him and several white cracks traced the ice.

Panic washed over him and he found all attempts to remember what to do in the event of an ice-cracking futile. Was he supposed to spread out flat? Or stand up? Or run as fast as he could to the closest bank? He scoured every corner of his brain, but he could not remember what to do.

He sat there, paralyzed by fear. He longed that Kumajiro was there to get help, but he remembered that he had insisted the small bear stay home.

He looked around for anyone, anything that could help him when he spotted a branch. Sure, it didn't look sturdy and might break, but it was better than just sitting there.

He slowly started to stand, afraid to make the ice crack more.

His legs were shaking beneath him as he struggled to reach the branch. His fingertips brushed it and finally took hold. He lifted his legs off the ice and started shimmying his way over to the nearest bank.

This is going to work! He thought This is actually going to-

Snap

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as the branch above him broke. His back slammed into the ice, knocking any air he had left out of him.

Before he had a moment to think, the ice gave way underneath his pressure.

The icy waters stabbed his body with a thousand knives, and his breath which had already been taken away was somehow taken away again.

Canada desperately tried to grasp onto the ice around the hole where he had fallen through, but his efforts were to no avail.

The current was too strong, pulling him downstream and bashing his head against several rocks. His hands flailed wildly, trying to find something to prevent the current from pulling him farther away from the hole, but it seemed as if the river was fighting back, slamming his body against anything it could.

He was so focused on getting back to that hole, that he almost forgot, he couldn't breathe. His lungs burned and black crept into the corners of his eyes as he tried to grab onto something, anything to stop the current from taking him farther from the hole.

His thoughts were suddenly no longer about trying to get back to safety but to get air. He knew it would be foolish to open his mouth underwater, but right now, his lungs seemed to have another idea.

He opened his mouth and tried to take in air, but the icy water filled his mouth and lungs instead, burning his insides. He tried to cough it out, but more water just filled his lungs.

He struggled to claw his way up to the surface, but his attempts to escape were becoming weaker. His frozen limbs would no longer obey his brain.

If the young nation would've been thinking straight, he would've known that it's impossible for a nation to die of drowning.

But Matthew wasn't thinking straight. Right now, he wasn't the strong, friendly country of Canada, he was just Matthew. A forgotten mortal who was going to die at the hands of a frozen river. What a pathetic way to die.

He stopped struggling as he realized there was nothing he could do. Frozen water pooled in the bottom of his lungs and the black had started to take over his vision.

He was about to accept his fate when he saw something ahead through the black dots scattering his vision.

There was a break in the ice! With all his will-power, he started swimming up, toward the hole.

His hand was the first to break the surface, clumsily trying to grip the snow on the riverbank. His head was next, erupting from the surface like a mole would in those whack-a-mole games at the fair.

His hand gripped a root, and he half pulled, half rolled himself onto the river bank. When his whole body was out of the river, he found himself coughing and sputtering, water spilling out of his mouth onto the snow below.

He closed his eyes as his mouth kept expelling water, occasionally getting rid of any food he had in his system as well. His throat and lungs burned, and as much as he wanted to take in air, he found it hurt just as much as when he took in water.

He stayed on his side for a while, wheezing and coughing out more and more water. His limbs felt like lead and his wet clothes clung to him - making it seem even colder than it was. Once he was no longer expelling water every two seconds, he turned on his back.

The sky was dark and decorated with stars, although most were covered by thick clouds. The air seemed to have a harsher chill than it did before Matthew had fallen in, although he couldn't tell if that was because the temperature had dropped, or because he had just been drenched in freezing river water. He reasoned it was probably the latter.

He stared at the sky for a few more minutes, marvelling that his glasses, although cracked, had managed to stay on. He took short shallow breaths, as that was all he could manage. He knew he should try to get home, it would be better there, but he didn't think he could even take off his glasses, let alone walk all the way home from wherever he was.

Before he could think of anything else to do, his brain decided for him. The lack of oxygen invaded his eyes in the form of black spots, letting him know it was time to rest.

A little nap couldn't hurt, right?

"Kumijaru, augmentes la chaleur, c'est l'hiver, mon dieu!"

At first, Matthew wasn't quite sure about his surroundings, something seemed off. There wasn't the usual aroma of maple that seemed to stick around the house or the warmth of Kumajiro by his side.

Then, as his consciousness slowly resurfaced, the first thing he noticed was that he was in absolute agony. He couldn't name a single part of his body that didn't hurt. His breaths were shallow and hurt to take in, made worse by the shivers that wracked his body. A strong throbbing was present behind his skull, although not as noticeable as the nausea that sat in his stomach. A small groan seeped past his lips, which turned into a louder moan, and eventually, a cry of pain

With much effort, he slowly pried open his eyes. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision when he saw something that appalled him. He was laying in the snow, beside a frozen-over river.

"Comment...?" He mumbled.

He took a look at his surroundings. The nation was covered in a light dusting of snow, surrounded by frozen vomit that made his nose sting at the foul smell.

Then it all came back. The memories flooded him and overwhelmed his brain. He couldn't believe that had actually happened. I must be dreaming, he thought to himself. But as he felt the cold seeping in through his bones, and the soft gurgling sound breathed, he knew it was real.

He groaned once more.

He wished with all his might that someone would remember him and come check upon him. Then when they realized he wasn't home, they'd come here and scoop him up in their arms, give him a nice hot cocoa and tell him he'd be alright.

But as quick as that feeling of warmth had come from imagining his family, it had disappeared - replaced with guilt. He could tell that they were going to blame themselves, especially Alfred. He couldn't do that to them. He didn't want to see their faces contorted with guilt.

So, the thought came once again.

If they're not thinking about me, they're not worrying.

He stared at the sky, painted with yellows, pinks and oranges. Maybe he could just stay here forever, eventually become part of the snow. But he knew that wasn't an option, he had to get home to some warmth. Normally, Matthew would've taken a -25 day over a +30 day any day, but now all he craved was warmth, all different kinds. The warmth of his bear's skin, the warmth of his fireplace, the warmth of his family members when they used to have a movie night-

No. He wasn't allowed to think about that.

Tears threatened to spill down his pale cheeks, but he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't cry right now. Not like this.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do. But nothing could've prepared him for the excruciating pain that came when he tried to bring himself to his hands and knees.

A scream tore through his already raw throat and the dull throbbing pain behind his skull brought itself forth full force. He tried to draw in a breath, but that proved to be next to impossible. He squeezed his eyelids shut. Maybe he should just stay here. Someone would find him eventually.

He debated laying back down when a paralyzing thought crossed his mind.

The meeting. He was supposed to leave for a meeting with the nations tomorrow morning.

It was being held in Ottawa, a mere twenty-five minutes from his house, which meant that he was the one that was supposed to let everyone in. Surely someone would notice that he was missing?

He knew the thought was stupid, but he also knew that if there was any chance someone would remember him, that someone being Alfred, Arthur or Francis, he knew they would worry their head off. So he had to show up. But he couldn't not only show up, but he would also have to show up as if nothing happened.

So, If his calculations were right, he had twenty-four hours to get home, maybe take a nap, make it look like he was all better, then get to the meeting in Ottawa.

Right. That sounded reasonable. Except there was one problem. Matthew had no idea where he was.

He scanned his surroundings, trying to find a familiar landmark or even a familiar tree. But it was no use. With his muddled up brain and the way his lungs seared with pain every time he drew in a breath, Matthew was afraid he was never going to get home. And to be honest, that thought scared him.

He sat breathless on his hands and knees, trying to get his brain to work for two seconds so he could get home and calm his violent shivers that made it harder to breathe.

He kept trying to think of a way to find his way back home when a bout of nausea settled in his stomach and rose to the back of his throat.

Before he knew it, he was retching all over the snow in front of him. The acid burned his raw throat, making tears spill out of his eyes, blurring the world around him.

After his stomach had emptied out its contents, it didn't quite seem content. Therefore, Matthew was stuck dry-heaving on his hands and knees, sobs wracking his fragile body.

He finally took control of his stomach and was able to take a breath of much-needed oxygen. He was wiping his hand over his mouth when he caught sight of the water flowing beneath the river ice.

Of course! Why hadn't he thought of this before? If the river was flowing south, that meant he had to go upstream. He was sure he hadn't taken his hockey stuff in yet, so he'll be able to recognize that part of the forest from that.

He mustered the strength to get up to his feet. Matthew's body screamed in protest at the sudden movement. He used the side of a tree to help him stay stable, as black clouded over his eyes, and for a couple of moments, he was blind.

Finally, when his vision cleared, he realized he had to get moving. The effort it took to get to his feet left him out of breath, the shallow ones he was taking not meeting his brain's need for oxygen.

But he had to make it home to have enough time to heal before the meeting. Even if everyone was going to forget he even existed as soon as the young country got there, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk worrying his family.

And that's what fueled him. That's what made the weak boy take those steps closer and closer to his house.

He felt like his arms and legs were dragging giant chains, each movement spiking a new pain. He couldn't tell what might've been broken and what was just bruised, or if he had a concussion or not. Or why his lungs still weren't taking in air, despite his several coughing fits and the amount of water that had already exited his lungs.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he was cold, hurt, and could barely breathe. Those three things didn't seem very pleasant to Matthew. But he was sure that he would manage to be just fine himself by morning. And if not, he should be well enough to make himself presentable at the meeting tomorrow.

Just the thought of a meeting with the nations brought a mix of emotions. He was a little happy because he loved seeing his fellow nations, even if they didn't notice him. He also liked watching the funny things that went down. Then he was angry, because nobody noticed him, or cared to listen to his half-decent ideas. But he quickly repressed that emotion. He didn't deserve to be angry at them when they did nothing wrong. Then he felt dread, because the majority of the time, these things were the definition of boredom. But he also felt kind of, sad? He was always useless at these things, and he's pretty sure if the other nations could have their way, they would ban him from the meetings.

He was never helpful, or loud, or opinionated, or useful. He was just... Canada.

He started crying silent tears again. But this time, they weren't only because of the physical pain.

He was wallowing in his own sorrows when he looked up and saw something else that could make him cry. His hockey nets and skates were sitting right in front of him.

He collapsed onto the tree beside him, half because of relief, the other half because he wasn't sure how much longer his body could hold himself up anymore. His lungs ached and he was no longer taking shallow breaths, but wheezing instead. It felt as if he had just run one hundred kilometres

He lifted his head up toward his house. The river was practically in his backyard, it should be no problem getting to his house now.

Keyword: Should.

He opted to leave his hockey equipment outside. Considering he could barely carry the weight of himself, he thought it unwise to try and carry his hockey stuff in too.

He stumbled away from the forest. No longer having the support of the trees made it difficult for Matthew to walk, each step more agonizing than the last.

By the time he got to his door, he could hardly breathe. It felt like his lungs were still full of water, although he knew they weren't. He fumbled for the door handle, his vision narrowing.

"Come on..." He mumbled as he jerked the handle around.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door finally burst open, startling Matthew who practically fell in.

He shut the door behind himself and leaned against it. He inhaled the sweet smell of maple and he was so relieved he could cry. He desperately wanted to collapse right there, it felt like years since he had last been in his home. But he knew he would be so much more comfortable in his warm bed, with the fireplace on, so he had to get to his room.

"Canada?" Matthew heard a voice call from somewhere in his house. It seemed like it was far away, but the nation couldn't tell because the black dots had blocked him from seeing. His hand suddenly slipped from its spot on the door handle, and Matthew fell.

Notes: That's the end of chapter one folks! I asked around to see what people preferred, and most said they would rather 6 3 000 word chapters than 3 6000 word chapters, so that's what I'm doing. I'm hoping to update weekly and seeing as I already finished the second chapter, I should be able to stay on track.

"Kumajiro, augmentes la chaleur, c'est l'hiver!" - "Kumajiro, turn up the heat, it's winter!"
"Comment...?" - The direct translation is "How..?" But in this sense, it means "What..?"

All of the french parts were written by me, using my knowledge of french. I think I'm pretty good at it, but that doesn't mean I'm fluent! Please correct any mistakes!

Lastly, feedback is appreciated! I will also answer any questions you have, so leave them!