I have no idea where this came from. One moment I was pushing myself to write something (USUK drabble, Details, is what came out of that.) and the next I was reading Wikipedia articles on BPD, and suddenly - THIS.

Sometimes, Prussia felt empty. He felt like he was un-wanted, like nobody needed him there. Sometimes, he wondered that if he died, who would come to his funeral. West, perhaps. Canada, maybe. Austria? Hungary? Who knew? Of course, after the emptiness was over, then came the anger. Uncontrollable, primal, rage. He would trash everything within him room, only to break down sobbing. He would reach for the pocket-knife in his room, hands trembling as they scratched bloody designs on his skin. It was all part of the routine. It happened frequently, and to Prussia's horror, more and more often. When it got really bad, Prussia would feel like something was pressuring him, pushing him over the edge. The cutting helped keep it under control. It was just another part of his life.

That was, until Canada walked in on him one day. Prussia hadn't noticed him in his "state." Prussia remembered it all too clearly.

Canada stared, walked over to him, grabbed the knife, and threw it out the (closed) window. Prussia said nothing, eyes empty and expressionless. After a few minutes, he snapped out of it. Prussia shook his head a few times to clear it and stared at his arm in shock. There were no bleeding cuts on it, and what was more, his window was broken, pieces of glass everywhere. He looked up, surprised to see Canada there.

"W-wait, Canada? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Canada hadn't answered that question. Instead, he only shook his head. "What have you been doing to yourself, Prussia?"

Prussia flinched. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Canada. The awesome me would never do anything to myself!"

Canada gestured to the broken window. Prussia looked out of it, and to his horror his knife was lying at the bottom of the 2-story drop. He looked up to see Canada giving him a sympathetic look.

"Wait, you-" Prussia was cut off.

"Yeah." Their eyes met for a brief moment.

"Prussia…" Canada muttered under his breath.

"Save it. I know what I'm doing. I don't need your pity."

"Prussia, is it even you that's doing it?"

Prussia was taken by surprise. "O-of course it's me doing it! Who else do you see in the room?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean…Prussia…you should get some help." Canada said softly, violet searching red.

"I don't need it! I don't need to see anyone! I'm not some wacked-out nutcase!" Prussia yelled.

Canada flinched. His gaze moved to Prussia's arm, and reached out. Prussia said nothing as the other nation rolled up his sleeve, revealing the many scars that crisscrossed his pale skin, tinting it a faint pink.

"You're telling me that this," Canada gestured to Prussia's arm, running his fingers softly across the scars. "is what completely sane people do."

"You'd think putting it more nicely would help…" Prussia muttered.

"Prussia, I'm serious. You should seriously see someone. Even Germany knows enough about this stuff to tell you –"

"Look, I'm not running to West for help, alright? If I see a fucking doctor, will you leave me alone?" Prussia snapped.

"…I guess so." Canada replied, eyes leaving Prussia's scars, instead eyeing his face cautiously. "I'm just…worried, I guess."

"Yeah? Well, worry about someone else for a change." Prussia sighed.

"I'm serious. Go see a doctor."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll go tomorrow." Prussia said, not planning to honor his words at all. After all, he was perfectly sane. Right?

"I'll pick you up." Canada said, not falling for it.

"Is that really –"

"Look, we both know you're not going to go unless I make you, right?"

Prussia hesitated then nodded slowly. "Whatever."

"A-alright then. I…should be going now."

Something in Prussia told him that Canada wasn't going to come back, that he was just like all the others. He found himself blurting out, "P-please stay…"

Canada gave him a soft look, and sighed. "I guess…but America's not going to be happy…"

"I don't care."

"Then that makes two of us."

After the doctor's visit, Prussia had been diagnosed with BPD, or borderline personality disorder. He'd been scheduled for a few psychiatrist visits, and Canada made sure of the fact that he went to all of them. West had been informed of his…"condition" a few days ago, and he had taken it surprisingly well. Something in his gaze told Prussia that perhaps, he had known. Prussia shrugged off the thought. West wouldn't do that. Would he? Prussia felt the familiar burn grow in his chest, anxiety threatening to spill over. He took a few deep breaths and looked down. Of course he wouldn't. West wouldn't betray him like that. The errant thought still ran amok in his mind, growing slowly. Wouldn't he?

In his panic, Prussia looked around the room erratically until his gaze settled on a certain blond sleeping on one of his sofas. Prussia calmed himself down slowly. Of course, Canada would never do that. After the visit to the doctor, Canada had lived with him for – how long had it been now, 3 months? Something like that. Having the quiet nation with him calmed him down, taking the anxiety away and replacing it with something sweeter. Something, Prussia thought, not too unlike that feeling right before a drop, the calm before a storm. It felt, Prussia mused, like free-fall. Falling through the darkness until, at last, he saw the light – and when he followed it, he found himself lost in a field of lavender, a deposit of amethyst, perhaps, that light, airy violet color the nation adored so much. It was just like Canada's eyes.

Prussia loved – or at least was reasonably sure he loved (the doctors had taught him that his emotions betrayed him, after all) Canada with all his heart. It was inevitable, personality disorder or not. Prussia needed him there. And whenever he woke up in a cold sweat, nightmares of abandonment and darkness enveloping him, Canada was always there to provide reassurance and comfort. He was his key to survival, a light in the dark, ensuring Prussia never fell back into the emptiness that he once had fought off. He never told Canada any of this though. Who would believe me? Prussia thought cynically. After all, he was just the ex-nation, the one that should have perished so long ago. And, to top it all off, he wasn't exactly in a perfect state of mind, either.

Sometimes, Prussia wondered what it would be like if he and Canada ever got together, if Prussia ever healed enough to finally get over the chance of rejection that option posed. It would be perfect, Prussia thought, with pancakes for every meal. He glanced over at the aforementioned nation and found him still asleep, strands of hair covering his face. Prussia brushed them to one side, smiling softly as Canada leaned gently into his touch.

Canada was adorable. He was so innocent. And that was exactly why Prussia never acted on his feelings. He would corrupt Canada, drag him down with him. He was a sinner, and Prussia knew it. Canada deserved so much better. And maybe, one day, Prussia would get better, and they could have some semblance of a happy ending together.

But until then, Prussia thought, this will have to do.

As Prussia stood and walked back over to his bed, he didn't notice the faint smile that formed on Canada's very much awake face.