Summary: Outside, rain kept falling over the city of London. The sky was grey, dark. But it was always like that. The Londoners didn't realize the air became a bit colder, and that the wind grew a bit stronger. They didn't realize their country was suffering, but then again: no one did. And would someone before it was too late?

Rate: M

Warning: Future slash (malexmale relationship), depression, self harm, eating disorder and maybe a few others. I, however, will always mention, on the begging of the chapters, if something of the kind happens. Oh! Hum... OOC! England (Maybe).

Pairing: ScotEng.

A/N: Sorry, but I warned you guys! Now, next chapter, probably, will also take me two weeks to write. As it is I will probably re-write the middle Of the chapter, but nothing drastic. I just... I wanted to post today! :'( forgive me for any mistakes, but I typed all this and 'it's not gonna be easy' (My other fanfic, USUK) today. I hope you all enjoy this.

I would like to thank a few of my reviewers: Lady Prussia of Awesomeness, InavaderPey, alguien22792, Andre, MMOliveSaints, flavinja, d1g, B, Anastasia, anonymous, guest, beastie, corin, Gal, CrazyHeyaliaFan, Julian and. ALSO, a huge thank to all who faved and followed the fic! Thank you all for your support. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :) As well as to all my new reviewers.

Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me, but to Hidekaz Himaruya! The marvellous characters are all his! The plot, however, is mine! :)

Words count:2500

(italics inside brackets) = memory

Chapter Six:

America's brows were knitted together and arms crossed over his chest, looking as if in deep thought.

Blue eyes glanced around the kitchen, searching for something that could, or would, give him a hint - anything - of what was happening with Iggy, of what they had seen upstairs. All he could see, however, was the usual; nothing out of the ordinary.

The walls were the same white they had been two months ago, when he had last visited; the cabinets were the same wooden ones of always; the pristine white floor, the plates drying on the draining board, the flowers ("To brighten the room", Iggy said once, finger pads gently caressing the flower... thingy, thistle was it's name, one of the ugliest flowers America ever saw - a longing look on the Brit's face as he stared at the plant.), they were all the same they had been months, if not years, before... All the same. How many decades had it been since Iggy changed something within the house?

The frown deepened as he thought he might be on something. All the same. "Canada-"

When no answer was forthcoming he turned around, annoyed at his brother for ignoring him (Seriously, no one ignored the Hero). "Canada,"

The sight of his brother clutching tightly onto the bear he was always caring around as if his life depended on it and the uncertainty in his eyes made the American wary. The last time he had this look plastered on his face was when he became independent; afraid that Iggy would never talk to him again, that the Brit would despise him. So for the Canadian to be like this...

Like a bucket of cold water, reality came crashing down around him. The tears, the fear, how hysterical he was, hiding in Scotland's embrace... None of that was Iggy, not the Iggy he knew. Not the Iggy who raised him, no no no. His Iggy was strong, never gave up, he did not cry, he was proud and cynical and drank tea as if it was water. Iggy never showed weakness, or what he perceived as weakness (aka, emotions), he didn't lean on others.

What the fuck had happened was his first though; that he did not know how to deal with this shit was the the next one.

For the first time in many years America felt afraid, nervousness slowly sipping into his heart. For an instant, his knees almost bucked; For an instant, he almost run out of the house, fearful of what he would uncover.

Why was Scotland so furious with Iggy? What had he discovered? What was Iggy hiding? Was he in some kind of trouble? DID he, America, want to know?

For an instant, he was a coward and not the Hero he claimed to be. But it was only for one instant. It didn't take long for his resolve to steel itself, for his determination to burn brightly. With courage he hadn't had seconds ago, he sited next to his brother and threw his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into an one arm hug.

He could do it, he decided, he wasn't alone in this. And Iggy would find that he wasn't as well. Soon enough, America was going to get to the end of this. And whoever was the reason behind his friend's fragile emotional state was going to pay.

And they were friends; He and Iggy just had to talk things over- Oh. "Shit,"

x::x::x

It was with baited breath they waited for the British brothers to come down. They could hear the sound of footsteps descending the staircase and the sound of Scotland's gruff voice getting closer.

When England appeared, Canada could have whimpered, in relief and anguish due to both seeing him there and how thin he was, respectively. He felt America stiffening on his seat and saw his fists tightening on top of his tights, but he barely glanced at his brother way, eyes never leaving England's frame as the Scot guided him towards the table. Too thin, too pale, the dark bags under his eyes, how he was slumped - He was categorizing as much as he could of the younger Brit appearance.

"England," He called, smiling slightly to the Brit as he put the cup of tea he had prepared in front of the man. "I hope it's to your liking"

He could feel Scotland's suspicious stare on him and America's curious one, but he did mot care. Green eyes peered into the amber liquid cautiously before looking up at eager amethyst ones. "Thank you, Canada,"

Smiling getting bigger, the Canadian nodded."You're welcom-"

"Okay, we get it, you're a goody-two-shoes laddie." The Scot interrupted, obviously not liking something if the deep frown on his face and the gritted teeth were anything to go by. "Now, onto serious matters-"

The Canadian found Scotland reaction odd, but choose not to comment as put a glass of whiskey in front of the Scot and gave another of coca-cola to America, who was obviously going to say something in his brother defense when he was beaten to it by the most unexpected person on the table: England.

"Alba," the Englishman said quietly, sending a small glare the Scot's way "I would appreciate if you wouldn't be so crass to Canada."

It actually surprised both North-American brothers when the normally ill tempered and quick to anger man acquiesced, muttering curses under his breath and drowning the glass of whiskey with a scowl yes, but acquiesced nonetheless.

From there things calmed down considerably and they begun making small talk before diving in for the important stuff. England, tense during the whole affair, was grateful that the three had not immediately begun with the questions, and relaxed a little in his chair, enjoying his tea. Until Scotland finally breached the awaited topic - and of course he had to do it in a way that would piss England off, otherwise it wouldn't be Scotland.

"How much are you weighing?" Scotland asked, staring straight into England's green eyes.

And, maybe, the Scot asking about such a sensitive topic so carelessly (or, at least, making it look like such) would have made England overreact - had he known what the big deal about his weigh was, that is. So, not seeing where all this was heading to, he answered honestly. Everything had been coming along nicely: the four of them - Scotland, England, America and Canada - were talking amiably around the kitchen table, no fights breaking out. But it soon turned upside down.

Two wide eyed stares and jaws hanging from the North-American brother's as well as the hardening of his own brother's stare weren't what he was expecting. Canada could have sworn he saw the muscle on Scotland's jaw pulling and America's face turned white so fast he thought his brother could have passed out.

Both America and Scotland had gotten up at the revelation, the chairs falling on the floor at their sudden movement. Although the younger nation seemed more shocked while the older one appeared to be furious. "9 stones?!"

Shocked, England stared. He reigned in the urge to say 'So what?' Seeing as his brother looked like he wanted nothing more than to rip someone's head off. "And no one ever noticed?! Don't you have to make health check-ups ?"

"Alba-" He tried to speak up, say it wasn't that bad, he could easily put some weigh on. But the stern glare of the red-head made him think twice before uttering anything. "...Yes,"

Scotland howled in fury. "Is your PM that much of a fool, Albion?!"

Understanding he wanted to vent out his anger, England let him foul-mouth his Prime Minister, not that he was in mood to defend the man. And he doubted he would ever be.

Canada thought best to linger behind the Englishman as he had seen the younger Brit losing his footing once or twice. Best to not risk it, he decided. And, to his dismay, he was soon forgotten by the two more rambunctious (to put it lightly) nations. England, however, sent him a small smile, and the Canadian found himself satisfied with such. "Would you like another cup?" He asked politely to England.

"Yes, please, Canada," England answered, gaze softening as he looked at the Canadian.

America, meanwhile, was making the quick conversation from stones to pounds. And shock gave place to fury as soon as he got to the results. "126 Ib? How-! ENGLAND!"

And then the screaming begun, somehow turning into a brawl midway; with America and Scotland as the main protagonists and Canada as secondary. And England observed it all without intervening, nor commenting.

"THAT FUCKING PM OF YOUR'S! I KNEW HE WOULD SUCK AT HIS JOB BUT NOT SO MUCH!"

"IGGY WHY HAVE YOU BEEN STARVING YOURSELF?!"

"Hum... Guys..."

"YOU WILL SEE A GODDAMN DOCTOR, ALBION!"

"IGGY WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO MEIF YOU WERE HAVING PROBLEMS-!"

"AND A BLODDY PSYCHOLOGIST TOO!"

"Guys, please-"

"WE HAVE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF-"

"IGGY I AM SORRY I FAILED YOU AS THE HERO-!"

"Please, stop-"

"THE HERO-!

"CUT THE THE HERO BULLSHIT YOU THRICE DAMNED BRAT-!"

"Please-!"

"OH YEAH!? AND WHO'S GONNA MAKE ME?"

"America!"

"I WILL PUNCH YOUR FACE SO HARD-!"

"Scotland!"

Canada's eyes were wide as he - unsuccessfully - tried to appease both his brother and Scotland. England had hid his face in his hands, why, however, he did not know; though his shoulder were shaking so he might have been crying. Canada, however, had little time to figure it out as Scotland finally snapped and lapped on the American, snarling.

"ENOUGH!"

Canada thought it was incredible how England - undernourished, trembling with either anger or tiredness, all around the most fragile person of their small group - could, with one single word, control two of the most problematic nations. Who were at odds for who knew what reason (Although he thought that Scotland was the one who incited the animosity).

It was also fun to see them cower before the power that was England. Of course, his snickers did not pass unnoticed. "If you have time to laugh, Canada-"

Smiling sheepishly, he ducked his head. "Sorry,"

"Alba," England called softly, green eyes turning pleadingly towards his brother. "I will do as you ask me, I will see a doctor-"

Pleased as he was, however, the Scot butted in. "And a psychologist,"

Tiredly, the younger Brit accepted. "And a psychologist. But right now, I want to sleep. Nothing more, nothing less. I have a bloody headache, and your screaming match, didn't help any."

The silence that met his statement was staggering, more so considering the chaos that had been reigning not a few minutes ago.

Putting a cigarette on his mouth and then lightening it, the Scot nodded. "Very well, I will take you,"

It didn't take long for the proud Englishman to protest "Alba, I assure you I don't need to-"

Looking at the two North-American brothers, the Scotsman told them to make themselves comfortable on one of the couches or the floor, their choice, before turning to his brother. "Let me, Albion," He pleaded.

With a sigh and a nod the Englishman was lifted and carried bridal-style to his room.

x::x::x

"I didn't know I was losing so much weigh, I thought... I thought... I don't know" He whispered mirthlessly to the the silent auburn haired man. "I can't say I'm sorry to you, Alba, because how can I be sorry for something I did not realize? I apologize for making you worry, though."

The hallways of his house, England thought, never seemed so long, so... He did not know how to describe them, not really. If he had the energy to muster, he would have chuckled. Once, he had prided himself on being the most eloquent nation - Now, look at him, having difficulties at describing a hallway.

"You did not realize?" He asked, his green eyes peering into the ones of his younger brother. England found it amusing the way he asked, as if the only thing he wanted was England to swear he did not realize, and so he would believe. Just like that.

"I did not," He confirmed, trying to convey his sincerity through his words and eyes, to make his brother believe, because he did not need to lie about it, for it was true. "I found myself feeling a little down, and with no hunger, so I would skip one meal. Normally dinner, for it was at night that the feelings of... It matters not what feelings. But it was at night when they came, I would not feel hunger, I would feel tired and sluggish, and preferred to sleep." Looking at the narrowed eyes of his brother he wondered if he did not believe him, and his heart constricted in his chest. "I would eat a good breakfast the next day, and have lunch... But soon I was skipping dinner every other day,"

"And then I wasn't hungry anymore at night. The same process happened to lunch... And then ... Then you happened brother. And know I find myself in this predicament that I never imagined I would be."

The smell of tobacco made England remember his rebel days, his punk days. He had liked them, he never felt so... Alive. Smiling slightly, he breathed in deeply, the smoke entering his lungs calming him somewhat.

"Don't you believe me, brother?" He finally asked the silent man who carried him.

"No," England asked himself how only one word could make his heart twist and burn. "It's actually the opposite, I do."

"Why?" He asked, curious, as his brother finally tucked him in the bed before joining the Englishman.

"Why? Why shouldn't I?" The auburn haired man asked, green eyes shining with mirth, as if he had told England some secret. "Albion, my wee Albion, I will always believe you first and foremost - Always."

Yes, it seemed that with Alba it was just like that.

As the big and calloused hands of his brother carded through his hair, occasionally massaging his scalp, England couldn't help but feel... He did not know, and his mind, groggy from sleep, did not help. It just bothered him. He could not tell Alba, as much as he wanted to - he could not. Simply because he feared his brother would not understand.

But hadn't he always understood?

He would tell, he decided. Yes, he would be screamed at, he would be called stupid. But, in the end, Alba would understand. And he would hug him, and tell him everything was going to be okay - And they would, because Alba never lied. Never to him, at least.

"Alba? Brother?"

His eyes burned with unshed tears and hands trembled in anticipation.

No answer. "Alba?"

The soft snoring coming from his right informed him that Alba had already fallen into deep slumber. Huffing, quietly as to not wake his brother, he turned a bit, making it possible to stare at the face of the red-head. "Alba... I wish..."

What? What did he wish?

... He did not know.

A few tears slid down his cheeks as he watched his brother sleep, the cigarette - still lit - hanging of his mouth, was removed and the put off.

Smiling slightly, England cuddled closer to his brother. "Good-Night, Alba,"

x::x::x

~ Please, do forgive the crappy middle? As stated, I will, probably, edit it.

~ Also, please, notify me of any mistakes? Thank you.

+ I will edit the last chapter when I have time, which I don't right now, but I will, I swear! \o/