Author Commentary; So for the next few chapters, it's going to be mostly Al's story, with bits of Ivan's sprinkled in and maybe a look at how Arthur and Francis are doing. Mattie's fine, he's just off doing his own thing. He'll be back. Right now the most exciting part of the story is with Alfred.

Title; Pills

Characters; America, Russia, Ukraine, Belarus

Pairs; beginnings of RussAme, some Belarus-Russia

Rating; T

Warnings; some swearing, mental illness

Disclaimer; I don't own Hetalia.

Alfred groaned and rolled over, pushing his face into the pillow to keep the light from reaching his eyes. His head throbbed and his body ached. How much had he drank last night? He groaned and his stomach did some flips. His entire body seemed to be hypersensitive with his hangover. Every sound was like a knife to his skull. He could feel the thick duvet weighing heavily on his body. The light that penetrated through the pillow and into his eyeballs sent his head throbbing. He hissed again and nuzzled into the pillow some more, breathing in the scent of fabric softener and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. How had he gotten home last night?

Alfred startled himself into awareness with that thought. No, he wasn't home at all. He didn't have a heavy duvet on his bed, and he'd never smoked a day in his life. As these things came back to him, Alfred began to actually hear what was going on around him. Someone was using the shower to his left, and he could here female voices chatting through a wall or two, as well as the sizzle and pop of bacon on a frying pan. No, this was definitely not his house.

So where the fuck was he?

Alfred lifted his head and blinked blearily at his surroundings. He reached out to his right, but felt nothing but more bed. He reached to the other side and found the bedside table, his glasses perched on it. He shoved them on and took a proper look around.

The room he was in was fairly large, with a big window. Through the window he could see a view of other buildings across the street below. The room itself was sparsely decorated, with just the large bed, a big oak wardrobe in the corner, and a similarly styled oak desk in another corner. The bed was obviously from the same furniture set as the wardrobe and desk, and as Alfred sat up, he realized that it had a feather mattress. The duvet was also fairly pricey looking, and was stuffed with feathers as well. Geez, the were in the middle of L.A., who needed a feather duvet in this kind of heat?

His question was answered when the door to his left opened up and a man as massive as the bed walked into the room. It took Alfred a moment to realize that the man was Ivan.

"You're awake." Ivan said, drying his hair with a faded pink towel, "The shower is free at the moment, but you better grab it quickly before Katyusha or Natalia take it."

Alfred could only stare in disbelief. What? What was going on? Why was he in a strange room with his most hated enemy, who was casually talking about showers like this kind of thing was normal? It actually took him a full fifteen seconds to realize he was staring at a shirtless and dripping wet Ivan.

And what a sight it was. He had been right about Ivan being massive; he was huge. Alfred could see the muscles moving and flexing beneath the skin, though they weren't as defined as they could be. Ivan wasn't fat at all, but he was broad and thick, and the muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms seemed to emphasize it. Alfred realized with a start that the the ever-present scarf was also missing, and he zeroed in on the never-before-seen neck.

He was shocked by the scars.

They weren't the little criss-cross scars that one accumulated over time, or the large scars that you got in accidents. No, the scars on Ivan's neck were deliberate, all flowing together to make a collar around Ivan's thick neck. Some were thin, but some were thick and angry. One particular scar across the back of his neck was huge and thick, nearly going all the way around, and looked as though it had been gone over many many times. After seeing the scars of Ivan's neck, it was impossible not to see the other scars on his body. They were everywhere on Ivan's body. Some were nothing but fine white lines, but others were discoloured, angry streaks across his body. His shoulder looked like it had been burned badly at one point, and there was an odd, circular scar over top of where Ivan's heart would be. Alfred wondered about it for a moment before he realized that he was staring.

"Uhh," Alfred began coherently, "Where am I?" he asked.

"My apartment." Ivan said, crossing the room to open the wardrobe and pull out a simple black T-shirt, "Well, mine and my sisters."

"Okay . . . why am I here?" Alfred asked, still wondering if he was dreaming.

Ivan pulled the shirt over his head. He reached over and picked up his scarf next. He wrapped it around his neck, hiding the grotesque scars from view, "You were drunk last night, and since I did not feel like having your grisly death on my conscious, I brought you home. Your car is still at the bar." he explained.

Alfred nodded, though he was still trying to wrap his head around everything. He glanced around again, this time realizing that the other side of the bed he was in looked well slept in, "Dude, we shared a bed?" he cried.

"Well, you would complained if I put you on the floor, and there was no room elsewhere to put you." Ivan said.

"So you just crawled into bed with me?" Alfred asked incredulously.

"Da."

" . . . Does personal space even occur to you?"

"Nyet."

Alfred resisted the urge to leap over the bed and attempt to strangle the man with his own scarf.

Alfred rubbed his still throbbing head. He decided it probably wasn't worth the effort and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He quickly jumped into the shower, shedding his clothes as he went, and turned on the water. He scrubbed himself down and washed his hair with some shampoo he found. He shut the water off and hopped out, searching for a towel. He looked around. The bathroom had two doors, one that led to Ivan's room and another that probably led to the hallway. There was a shower with a bath and a sliding glass door instead of a curtain, a cabinet with towels and other bathroom things, a standard toilet, and a sink with a fair sized counter top and a well lit mirror. It was nicer than what he had at his own apartment, and Alfred wondered how Ivan could afford a place like this, then remembered the cafe his sister ran. Faced with nothing else to do in the bathroom, Alfred decided to do the natural thing one did when in a strange place.

Snoop.

Wearing a maniacal grin and a towel, Alfred began opening drawers and cupboards, shifting through junk and inspecting things of interest. Most were normal things you could find in any shared bathroom, though Alfred did recoil at a drawer filled with tampons and pads (he'd grown up in a house filled only with men, so you really couldn't blame him).

Alfred quickly shut that drawer and moved onto the next one. Inside this one were several plastic pill containers. He picked one up and read the name; Ivan Braginski. So Ivan was medicated? It wouldn't surprise Alfred in the least. He glanced at the prescription. He was a little startled to recognize the name on the bottle as an antidepressant he himself had been on when he'd been recovering from his eating disorder.

He picked up another one. Another antidepressant, this one a little stronger. Alfred shifted through the bottles, glancing at the labels. There were a few that Alfred recognized, but most Alfred had no recollection of ever crossing. Altogether there were seventeen bottles, fifteen that were daily, and two that were to be taken twice a day. Alfred wondered what they were all for.

"Старший брат, ты сделал там? Вы берете лекарства? [Elder brother, are you done in there? Are you taking your medication?]" a feminine voice called, accompanied by small knuckles rapping on the door.

Alfred jerked and shoved the yellow and orange bottles back into their drawer, "J-just a moment!" he called.

The voice let out a hiss and some mutterings in another language as the owner moved away from the door. He could hear another female voice and Ivan's own oddly soft murmurs joining into a conversation. Alfred threw on the clothes he wore yesterday and thanked whatever deity that might be out there that he didn't have to work today and his clothes didn't smell too bad.

Exiting the bathroom and finding himself in the hallway, Alfred walked toward where the voices were. He found himself in a spacious kitchen/dining room. Ivan, Katyusha, and Ivan's younger sister (Natalya? Natasha?) were all sitting around the table, chatting in Russian. They all looked up at Alfred as he stepped into the kitchen, and the only non-Russian in the room felt an icy chill as they stared; he waved awkwardly.

"Katyusha, Natalya, this is my co-worker, Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy. He could not drive home last night, so I gave him a place to stay for the night." Ivan said, coming to Alfred's rescue.

Katyusha smiled at him, "Yes, I remember you. I haven't seen you at the café in a while." she said, standing up and shaking his hand.

Alfred smiled down at her, "Yeah, things have been getting busy. Sorry about that. I'll make sure to come down and have some coffee sometime." he said.

"Следует тольком оставила егок замерзнуть в сточной канаве. [You should have just left him to freeze to death in the gutter.]" Natalya hissed, and though Alfred didn't understand the words, he could tell from the tone that she didn't like him much.

"Наталья, не грубим. [Natalya, don't be rude.]" Ivan admonished her. She reverted her gaze to her plate of scrambled eggs.

After a mostly pleasant breakfast of eggs and toast, ruined only by the occasional glare from Natalya and the fact that Alfred was in Ivan's home of all places, Alfred surrendered himself to Ivan driving him back to the bar to get his car.

"This was a fun experience. I hope we can meet at the bar again sometime." Ivan said as Alfred got out of the sidecar.

"Yeah right, the next time I see you at the bar, I'm throwing my stool at you." Alfred said, stumbling out of the cramped sidecar.

"Why must you be so unkind Alfred? Perhaps I only want to be closer friends?" Ivan said, a mock pout tone edging into his voice.

Alfred gave him a look, "What's with you all of a sudden? Why are you so keen on being all chummy with me?"

Ivan grinned, and Alfred could help but shiver at how (attractive, arousing) creepy it was, "Maybe I decided to change my mind?" he said. He started up his bike, "I will see you, мой друг [my friend]."

Alfred watched the man drive off into the city. He didn't realize he'd been staring until his palm began to bleed from how hard he was gripping his car keys in his hand.

Author Commentary; Bluh.