A/N: Okay, so school starts in a week. Last year, I was able to get all of my homework done in class 75% of the time, but I'm not sure how much homework I'm going to have this year, now that I'm in two honors classes. I know that they're supposed to be more accelerated and what not, but I've also heard that they're not really that much more challenging, so I'm not quite sure. Hopefully I'll still be able to post things as much as I usually do at the very least. Anyways, I'll try to post another chapter before school starts, but I'm not making any promises.

Also, this chapter might seem a bit rushed at some parts because I'm honestly sick of keeping you guys waiting.

Oh yeah, I also wrote a one-shot based off of this story called, "Nothing but Fatuous Love". It may not seem as if it's that important to this story, but it's about how Russia figures out that he's in love with America, and it's supposed to take place eight months before this story. I honestly wrote it out of pure boredom. If you guys want to check it out, I'd really appreciate that.


After having to threaten America with admittance to the hospital, Russia found himself thinking about what could've possibly been making the young nation starve himself. Sure, he'd managed to find a solution to the problem, but he still thought that it was important to know the reason why. After all, he was not too fond of how bothered America seemed to be, and he was certainly beginning to notice his strange behavior. Of course, he knew that America was acting strangely quiet during the meeting, but his conclusion of that being caused by some sort of ailment he managed to hide from the rest of the nations was quickly being disproven. Sure, America was a strong nation, and there was no doubt that he was an amazing actor, but he realized that there could've been no way he was experiencing a high fever. There had been a few moments when he was close enough to be able to observe any of the signs, and he noticed that America wasn't sweating or shivering. Nor did he seem to be out of it. Lastly, he seemed to have no problems with walking. In fact, it only seemed as if he was just slightly exhausted.

Since that theory was completely out of the question, Russia's mind began to wonder towards a, what he would now consider a piece of evidence, that he'd completely disregarded when he first started taking care of America. The long scars that started from his wrist, and went all the way down to his elbows. It was beginning to make no sense that they could've come from any wars or traumatic events. Battle scars were often found on the chest, abdomen, and back area. Occasionally they could appear on limbs as well, but they were usually very small when that happened. Scars from traumatic events would have a unique look to them, and would only be found around where the heart was and on the neck. Never could such large scars from battle or trauma be found inside of the forearm. There was only one way such scars could ever appear in that area. They had to have been self inflicted, and by the looks of it, it didn't seem as if America was cutting into himself for the sake of experiencing pain. He was trying to kill himself.

As soon as that conclusion was drawn, a storm of negative emotions struck Russia. At first, he was extremely angry at America for even thinking about doing such a thing to himself. Didn't the nation even realize how many individuals truly cared for him? Of course, he wasn't angry to the point of wanting to hit the poor nation for attempting suicide, but that still didn't stop him from wanting to rant to America about how he shouldn't have tried to do something so drastic. Not for the sake of guilt tripping him, but because he felt the need to scare that out of America. Just as he scared him into eating.

Fortunately, the intense anger only lasted for about half of an hour, and Russia never decided to do anything cruel such as wake America from his seemingly peaceful sleep, and yell at him for attempting to kill himself. He knew from a rather, traumatizing experience that being angry would only make America feel worse. In fact, for a while Russia actually felt extremely guilty about being angry with America for being so miserable. How could he possibly blame America for going through something that almost seemed impossible to overcome? Especially since he'd gone through the same thing himself for the majority of his life.

Eventually, Russia forced himself to push the strong emotions he was feeling aside for a moment. He needed to start thinking about how he would help America out, instead of blaming himself for something the young nation would probably never find out. Although, the task wouldn't necessarily prove to be easy. Just because he went through horrible times with depression, didn't necessarily mean that he would know how to cure America of it. For all he knew, there could've been completely different things that would make America upset, and different things that would cheer him up. In the worst case scenario, he might never be able to figure out exactly what helped or what hurt America.

There was one thing for sure though. America needed a friend. He needed someone to be there and listen when he felt that it was necessary to vent. Someone who would be willing to hold him whenever he started to cry, or if he simply wanted to be held. After all, it didn't take Russia too long to finally realize that America must have been feeling extremely lonely. What not with the other nations constantly tearing him apart whenever he did so much as utter a word. Even England, his father figure, seemed to have something against the poor nation. It was all extremely heartbreaking, to say the least. One thing was for sure though. Russia was definitely beginning to find America even more relatable than before. Which only made Russia more determined to help him out.

After figuring out how he was going to attempt to fix America's problem, Russia was beginning to feel a hint of exhaustion. He glanced up at the clock, and couldn't help but be shocked when he found that it was already one thirty-eight at night. Since he was already tired, Russia decided to waste no time making his way to his bed. The fact that he was still extremely upset with how miserable America seemed to be based on the conclusions he drew only caused his energy to drain even more as time passed by. Of course, there was a chance that his interpretation could be completely false, but the more Russia thought about it, the more the evidence began to convince him that he was right.

Russia crawled under the covers of his bed, tears he didn't even know he was holding back finally slid down his face as he curled up in an attempt to be more comfortable. At first, he would only wipe his tears away with his sleeve and try to maintain his breathing in a futile attempt to stop his crying. Before he knew it, however, he ended up sobbing uncontrollably in what seemed to be just a matter of moments. They were possibly some of the ugliest and loudest sobs he'd ever produced, and he was certainly hoping that America was still asleep, or that he wouldn't be able to hear him at all. In case the sound was able to travel all the way to where America was sleeping, Russia decided to shove his face into a pillow in order to muffle the sound.

Even if Russia didn't want America to find out that he was extremely upset, at the same time, he just wanted the young nation to wipe away his tears and tell him that everything was going to be okay, and that he was just worrying himself over nothing. He also wished that if America ever said those words, it wouldn't just be a lie. In fact, he wouldn't even care if those words came with a harsh slap to his face. He'd much rather have things be the way they were before. Even if it meant dealing with a hyperactive and loud American at every world meeting, or the fact that he would never have a chance to become as much as a close friend to America. No matter what, as long as America was happy and healthy, he would be happy too. His precious sunflower's well being was one of the only thing that mattered to him anymore.

After what seemed to be an hour or two of non stop, intense sobbing, exhaustion began to gradually consume what was left of Russia's energy. After spending a few minutes to recover from all of his crying, Russia finally lifted his head from the pillow, and held it close to his chest so that he would at least have something to cuddle with, not caring that it was completely soaked. Despite his weariness, it was rather difficult for the nation to fall asleep, due to the headache and chills that always seemed to be a byproduct of crying for more than five minutes. Fortunately, simply keeping his eyes closed for a long enough time seemed to be enough resolve these problems, and allow the nation to drift off to sleep.


Russia awoke to find that he still had a bit of a headache, and that his eyes also seemed to sting from the remaining exhaustion. Of course, these problems were still quite bearable, so Russia decided to leave the comfort of his bed and start to prepare for the day. As soon as he glanced at the clock, he couldn't help but be shocked to find that it was already two o' five in the afternoon. At first, Russia stared at the clock with disbelief, before deciding to quickly make himself look at least somewhat decent so that he wouldn't keep America waiting any longer. As if his situation couldn't become any worse, he noticed as he looked in the mirror that his eyes were still red from crying. Unfortunately, Russia didn't know how he was going to be able to hide that piece of evidence, but at least he would be able to come up with an excuse as to why his eyes looked the way they did, in case America decided to ask.

After making sure that he was prepared appearance wise for the day, Russia headed down stairs in order to see how America was doing. Of course, he wasn't at all surprised to find that the young nation decided to give him a death stare as soon as he stepped foot into his line of sight. Despite the hostility that seemed to radiate off of the young nation, Russia decided to give him a small smile as he stated, "Sorry about keeping you waiting. I should probably make something for breakfast now, da?"

Those weren't exactly the words Russia wanted to say. Instead, he wanted to find out whether or not his theory for America's odd behavior was true, but of course, Russia would not be able to do that since the young nation was still suffering with an ailment. What America needed was rest, and it was already bad enough that Russia scared him out of starving himself. However, the stress that was inflicted upon America from that event was necessary. The young nation was actually harming himself, which was a problem that needed to stop immediately, and Russia saw no other way of going about fixing it. Stress from an interrogation was completely different though. Since America was still in quite a weak state, he was in no danger of being harmed by what his strong emotions might make him do. Besides, the interrogation would only make his stress much worse, and possibly even cause America to become even more sick. It could wait for until America was better.

At first, America could only feel rancor towards Russia as the grey haired nation started to leave the room. However, that disgust was quickly replaced with slight concern when he realized that Russia's eyes were red. Has he been crying? America tried to ponder for a reason until it finally came to him. Guilt prickled throughout his skin as an uncomfortable heat caused him to start sweating, Oh great, I made him start worrying, didn't I? As if I'm not already flawed enough, now I'm a pathetic attention seeker! I didn't even try to get attention, but it happened anyways. Because I guess just that terrible at controlling my life. I hate myself so much. I wish I was dead.

America continued to mentally scold himself for everything he 'did wrong' in the past week until Russia finally arrived with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of juice. After handing America the bowl of oatmeal, and setting the juice down on the coffee table, he decided to explain to the young nation, "You only need to eat at least half of the oatmeal."

For a moment, America studied the size of the bowl in order to quickly estimate the exact amount Russia was expecting him to eat. Then groaned with annoyance when he realized he was expected to eat at least one and a half servings of oatmeal. After all, oatmeal was quite filling, and America hardly even had an appetite, but of course, things could've been worse. At least Russia was willing to take the fact that America's stomach still needed to accustom to having a decent amount of food in it into consideration. He might have even figured out that America wasn't eating much before he started taking care of him. In the past few months, America did lose ten pounds. Which was probably enough to make his weight loss noticeable to those who actually spent a minute or two observing his figure. While his clothes were still on of course. It would've probably been quite obvious if more of him was exposed.

As much as he wanted to, America knew much better than to try and defy Russia's commands when it came to eating. Only because of what had happened the day before (he may not have been showing it much, since he sort of felt too defeated to act so feisty anymore, but America was still extremely humiliated by what happened, and if he had even a pinch of pride left after spending six months with his terrible depression, it was definitely gone now). Therefore, America decided to eat half of the portion of food that was served to him as quickly as possible before his stomach started to protest, and cause eating his breakfast to become even more of a chore. At least Russia was willing to sweeten it, so that it wouldn't just taste like a bunch of bland, soggy oats.

By the time America was finished eating, his stomach felt as if it had been replaced by a rock the size of his own fist. He tried to soothe the slight discomfort by downing the glass of juice Russia gave him, but doing so only seemed to make him feel even more bloated. Now hydrated and uncomfortably full, America gave the empty glass and half full bowl of oatmeal to Russia before laying on his stomach in an attempt to make the food digest faster. He wasn't necessarily queasy, or in any pain, so things could've definitely have been worse for him.

The next few days were all the same. America would spend almost every single minute of his day sleeping, or trying to keep himself from being irritated as Russia constantly monitored him. As if being forced to eat three meals when he really didn't want to eat wasn't enough to make him miserable, Russia had told him that he would have to eat some snacks throughout the day, since three small meals wouldn't provide him enough calories. Especially since most of the food he was eating didn't contain very much fat to begin with. A glass of milk with lunch and dinner was also mandatory.

After a few days of this passed by, America was finally well enough to walk around for a short while without even becoming exhausted. As soon as he considered himself well enough, he decided to ask Russia, "Can I leave now? I'm not sick anymore, so I don't need anyone to take care of me."

"No, Amerika," was Russia's response, "I know that there's still something wrong, and I think it's time I acknowledge it."

America furrowed his eyebrows, already beginning to feel irritated, "What are you talking about? I'm not sick anymore, so that means I get to leave. You can't just keep me here forever."

"I don't plan on keeping you here forever, but I've said this before. You do have to stay until I say you are better, and I don't think you are. Your behavior has been very concerning lately."

Russia had only just started interrogating him, but America was already beginning to feel the back of his neck heat up due to his hesitation. He couldn't help but mentally pray for some deity that might be out there to prevent Russia from finding out his horrible secret. It wasn't abnormal for America to feel terrible about asking for something to be in his favor in his current state, but this time, he thought that demanding for things to go his way would end up being a great help for everyone. A hint of denial could be heard in his voice as he objected Russia's argument, "Just stop it, Russia. Everything is fine. There was never even a problem in the first place, but you decided to create some when you forced me to stay here. Now, can I please just leave?"

Russia didn't respond to America's protest. Instead, more concern became evident in his expression as he walked towards America and sat next to him on the couch. Then he held him protectively, as if the young nation was just a young kid who had just been traumatized from witnessing someone being brutally slaughtered. Surprisingly, America didn't fight the affection. In fact, for a few moments, the hug actually relieved him of his nervousness. America would have probably almost forgotten what was going on, due to the fact that Russia also spoke in a voice that was deeper than the usual high pitched (for a male his size, anyways) one. Which could have actually been quite soothing, if it wasn't for the words Russia used, "Fredka? Have you been feeling depressed?"

America gave Russia a glare, "I already told you that everything is fine! Why can't you just drop it!?"

"Well, if there really is nothing wrong, can you tell me where these came from?"

Before America could react, Russia grabbed on of his arms and tugged the sleeve down. As the long scar on the inside of his forearm was revealed, America couldn't help but stare at it in pure horror, since he was still trying to process what was going on. Therefore, he was unable to stop Russia from revealing the scar on his other arm. After taking a moment to realize exactly what was going on, America turned his gaze so that he was now making eye contact with Russia. Amethyst eyes looking expectantly at wide azure ones, scorching into the younger nation's gaze as if they could see right through him, and prove that their owner would know whether what America decided to say would be a lie or not.

Soon enough, America averted his eyes so that he was now staring at the ground; trying to come up with a way to explain himself. He knew that there would be no point in telling him that the scars were obtained from some war, since his shock must have given away the fact that they were never supposed to be revealed. Really, this shouldn't have come to America as such a shock. After all, he knew that there was a chance that Russia might have discovered them anyways while he was unconscious, and he was worried that the older nation would decide to bring them up. He did try to come up with some excuses for if the situation were to ever occur, and yet he knew that none of them would work now. All because he screwed up.

Since it didn't seem as if America was going to answer his question, Russia decided to ask yet another one, hoping that this time, inquiry would at least cause some sort of reaction. Even if it was just some more futile denial, "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

America looked at Russia again. The helplessness becoming too much for the young nation to handle, as tears were beginning to form in his eyes. His voice wavered as he retorted, "Why don't you just tell everyone how much of an attention whore I am!? Because I failed to kill myself, so that makes me pathetic! I bet they'll have a good laugh after hearing about this. Especially since I'm just some unlovable-"

"Fredka, none of that's true!"

Russia gently cupped America's cheeks, so that he would have no choice, but to look at him, "How can you consider yourself an attention seeker, when you were trying to hide this?"

America opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a bunch of strangled sobs. As soon as Russia received this reaction, he pulled America into yet another protective hug. Unlike the other times he held the young nation, America wrapped his arms around him tightly and shoved his face into Russia's shoulder. While America continued to bawl his eyes out, Russia patiently rubbed his back. Eventually, after America regained some of his composure, he lifted his head from Russia's shoulder so that he would be able to speak, "I'm just so sick of living! Every single time something goes wrong in my country, everyone blames me! I don't even think humans realize how easy they have it. Sure, sometimes they have hardships, but they don't have nearly as many responsibilities as us. And at least they don't have to live hundreds or even thousands of years. I just wish I could live a simple and short life like that, you know?"

Russia remained silent, listening to everything America was saying. Although, he did sort of find it ironic that the young nation was suddenly so willing to tell him everything that was making him so miserable. He simply put it off as America being too emotionally distressed to realize what he was saying. America, on the other hand, simply couldn't help it. He'd kept everything to himself for so long, and he just wanted to be able to talk to someone about his struggle for once. Even if that certain someone happened to be Russia. Besides, Russia already knew about the scars, and why he inflicted them into his flesh, so would it really make a difference if he told him what was going on?

America quickly rubbed some tears away with his sleeve before continuing, "And I'm just not cut out for this life! How can anyone as stupid and worthless as me be expected to handle all of this?"

"You're not worthless or stupid, Fredka. Please, stop being so hard on yourself."

Instead of responding, America just resumed to crying into Russia's shoulder. By the time his sobbing was finally reduced to sniffles, he began to feel somewhat dizzy due to his exhaustion. Russia held him a bit longer as he told him, "Why don't we go eat something now?"

As soon as they were both standing, Russia lead America into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. Then he prepared a cup of hot chocolate, figuring that something warm and sweet would make America feel better. After setting the hot chocolate down in front of the young nation, he said, "Why don't you drink this while you wait?"

While Russia prepared a couple of sandwiches, America slowly sipped the hot chocolate, enjoying how creamy the milk made it, along with how it also seemed to compliment the sweetness of the chocolate. The milk was definitely a lot better than how water would've made the hot chocolate taste. After finishing up the hot chocolate, and his lunch, America couldn't help but feel even more drowsy, not that his stomach was completely full. Russia seemed to catch onto the fact that the young nation was about ready to fall asleep at any moment, and decided to scoop him up into his arms before asking, "Do you want to go back to the couch, or go to the guest's room?"

America wrapped his arms around Russia, and nuzzled his head into the older nation's chest as he mumbled in response, "Bed…"

Russia smiled at this response, and couldn't help but blush a bit. How could he help himself though? Not only was America snuggling into him, but Russia found the quiet, tired voice that the young nation used to say that one word response to be plain adorable. In fact, by the time Russia was in the guest's room, he couldn't help but be a bit dispirited by the fact that he would have to drop America off on the bed. Much too his luck however, it seemed as if America didn't really want to let go of him just yet, for when Russia tried to pry his arms off so that he could lay him down and tuck him in, the young nation's eyebrows furrowed, as if he was becoming agitated, and his grip on Russia tightened as he said in a commanding tone, "No, don't leave."

Russia smiled once more, as he began to stroke America's hair and hold him tighter in hopes of encouraging him to fall asleep. After a while of this, the young nation seemed to relax in his arms, and finally close his eyes. Russia removed his glasses, so that they wouldn't be a burden, and then held America's head so that it was resting against his shoulder. This only seemed to cause America to snuggle even closer to Russia. A warmth grew in Russia's stomach as he watched America shift into a comfortable position in his arms as he thought, I wish he could be like this more often. He is cute when he's tired.

Even long after America started softly snoring, Russia was still finding it incredibly difficult to set America down on the bed and leave. However, Russia remembered that he still had some paperwork to do. With a sigh of disappointment, he finally tucked America in, and planted a kiss on his forehead before saying in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Sometimes, you make me very happy. Even when you try to get on my nerves."

Then, a frown invaded Russia's features as he thought back to the heart wrenching words America spoke before adding, "I just wish you weren't so miserable."