Wiktor: Alright, so here we go again! I always say this, but thank you for all of your continued support, and reviews are always appreciated.

Warning: This chapter will touch heavily on bulimia, depression, and physical disabilities. There will also be a brief heavy mention of religion. You're here at your own risk!


America trudged through the snow, mentally exhausted at the turn of events that had unfolded and the growing pack of tourists trailing behind him excitedly for an autograph. The sun was high in the sky at this hour, but no warmth came. He felt exceptionally disoriented; his toes, his fingers, and his heart all heavy with discontent and misunderstanding. It wasn't like America to feel stricken with such an impassive feeling, and one he couldn't seem to shake. With each theatre scoured and front office clerk he spoke with, his hopes only fell farther away from his grasp and into the rift he had torn into his relationship with Austria. Unfortunately, and to his surprise, the theatres were only running shows during the evening, leaving America with no trace of where Austria could have gone off to. He could be anywhere in the massive and bustling city.

America traced his eyes blearily across each of the sandstone buildings glinting with faint traces of ice in the pale sunlight. A tan cat paced along a series of windowsills and called out in exasperation to a small gathering of birds perched on a clothesline a few feet away. Children ran back and forth zealously from beyond their windows, awaiting their bedtimes with hasty minds set on Christmas morning the following day. Everyone was happy and cheerful in the light spirit of the day as they made their final preparations for the much awaited holiday. America glanced behind him, relieved to see that many of his followers had given up on getting his attention and moved on to other matters. One by one they dissipated, leaving him alone to blend like a regular human citizen. Where would Austria go? His heartbeat pounded in the city of Vienna, it's force and status giving him the life he needed to subsist. America took a deep breath and tried to feel it reverberating through the crisp air, desperate that he may gain even a tiny fraction of a clue as to where to go. Slowly, he closed his eyes and focused, trying to drown out the shuffling of soles on concrete around him. He exhaled, foiled, when he heard nothing but his own heartbeat in his ears. America stopped at an intersection, careful not to cross until the long string of cars had taken their right-away. He should be able to sense at least something echoing through the atmosphere. It was a slightly unnerving phenomenon that England had taught him hundreds of years ago, when America had first left his country to travel some distance to London. England had explained that the capitol of each country was the heart of each and every one of them and the life force that kept them breathing. If it thrived, they would survive. If it fell to invaders, sickness, or economic collapse, then it was nothing shy of a death sentence. America could remember the delicate feeling of placing his hands on the soil and feeling his brother's heartbeat beneath his palms. It was extremely faint but distinctive, a feeling only countries of the world could recognize rooted deep in the land around them. But now, America couldn't feel anything.

He trudged to an awning, brushing snow from a metal bench before plopping down on the freezing seat. He rested his head in his hands and covered his eyes, the cool wetness of his fingers providing some relief to the growing headache that was coming to haunt him. This situation was far too much for him to handle and put him on edge in the midst of the loud sounds of the city. He felt caged and unnerved, talking himself down to prevent himself from boiling over into a war flashback. America sat for a long while and recomposed himself, before standing back up. Finding Austria was hopeless. America felt defeated, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning to make his way back to the house. He wasn't conversant with this city, and the hundreds of anomalous twists and turns of the streets could take him anywhere. He tightened his jaw a bit in an attempt to relieve some of the stress bearing down on him. Maybe he should call the police?

As he began his long walk back, America glanced up, running his gaze a final time over the magnificent St. Stephan's Cathedral he had passed many a time with Austria. The massive spire pierced the sky like an icepick, trailing off into the pale blue as if trapped in a watercolor painting. A few large black birds dove down, spreading their powerful wings before landing amongst their brothers and sisters on the overelaborate scaffolding. Austria had often told America of the incredible importance this church held to the Roman Catholic community of his population, and had described its elegance and stately poise in near amazement. It was an obvious pinnacle that Austria was proud to show off and held a special place in his heart. America frowned to himself, finding that he was oddly drawn to the uncanny place through a side alleyway, knowing he wasn't going to like what was to come. Maybe here he could find the lost beat of Austria's heart he had been searching for.

America hadn't set foot in a church for ages. He considered himself a Christian, but no longer practiced like a majority of the world's countries, pushing the very notion of religion far from his mind. Choosing and publicizing a religion over which you favor eventually became too controversial and political for countries to partake in. Many of them stopped practicing all together, while others continued in the privacy of their own home. Over time, America had found that being inside of a religious place like a cathedral felt heavy and unwelcoming in the back of his mind. He was never quite sure why this happened, but would always hear the thoughts of his people echoing in his mind about religious bigotry, never setting foot in one again to keep the abhorrence out of his brain. Strangely, he felt himself being pulled back into the center of one of the strictest religions to waltz through modern times, swallowing at the deep, sickening feeling that he knew where Austria may be.

The cathedral itself was absolutely breathtaking; the hundreds of wrought iron accents dotting the grand summits led to a death defying point high in the sky. The sandstone appeared to be sculpted by the hands of angels, each tiny detail carved out with utmost care and precision. The sheer size of the church was almost too much to comprehend, a massive bustling city within a city, flooding with tourists, practicing Catholics, and holy men preparing for the ceremonial Christmas mass. America raised an eyebrow and tilted his head back, squinting in the sunlight as he tried to locate the very tip of the imposing tower.

"Wow." He mumbled under his breath, a bit intimidated. He felt sort of like a kitten lost in a pack of wolves, scared to be judged by more religious figures criticizing his supposedly sinful life choices.

America averted his eyes to the ground and moved on, creeping along at a snail's pace to the ornate entrance and through the dense wave of tourists snapping photographs feverishly around him. The inside of the building was much more impressive than the outside, to say the least. It was like stepping into a fairytale land! A massive exotic chandelier hung suspended as a focal piece from the deep chesnut rafters crisscrossing one another to hold the towering pillars coated in droves of smiling cherubs and watchful angels. Painting after elaborate painting decorated the main hall, depicting the men and women at the heart of Catholicism bowed in prayer or jubilantly spreading the profound word of Jesus Christ to his followers. At the back of the incredible room hung a crucifix above what appeared to be an old, gothic pipe organ.

America didn't know where to look first. He felt as though someone had invited him into a very holy version of Dracula's castle. He held his breath and took his hands from his pockets, unsure of how to hold them to be both comfortable and respectful. Austria had to be here. From behind him he heard a noise of amusement, and the hurried click of rubber heels on the checkered tile. America stiffened and turned, met with the wiry smile of a short elderly man. He was hunched slightly in his long black robes and appeared to be missing several teeth, each one replaced by an obvious set of false pearly whites. His ashen hair was thin but neat, combed to respectfully to the side.

America blinked, awaiting the inevitable criticism from the small priest when he noticed him lean forward and examine him from behind his tiny spectacles.

The priest moistened his lips and reached out, taking America's hand gently in his wrinkled fingers before beaming up at him.

"Welcome, my son." He chuckled casually, shaking America's hand up and down unreservedly.

America felt shocked at the light mood radiating from the priest. For the first time in hours, a tiny smile cracked on his face. "T-thanks!" He responded, feeling some of his inhibitions quickly flowing away from him.

The priest gave a peaceful nod in America's direction and led him unhurriedly by the hand to a nearby pew to rest. He took a few moments to lower himself, overjoyed when America helped him down.

"I know who you are," the elderly man began, adjusting his glasses on his crooked nose. "You are Mr. Jones. That young blonde one from across the ocean come to visit us."

America sat next to him. "That's me, but how did you know that?" He began to speculate, wondering if Austria knew this strange person.

The priest leaned back and turned leisurely to him. "I want you to call me Father Doss. I have heard that you know my son."

America shrugged. "I've met millions of people in my life, so I probably have at some point. Has he ever been to America?"

"Oh many a time, yes." Father Doss gave a low jovial laugh and steadied himself with a hand on his knee. "His name is Edelstein. Such a lovely man."

America nearly jumped up in excitement. This man knew Austria! Maybe he knew where he went, or better yet, maybe he could lead him to where Austria had retreated off to. America felt his chest well up with relief, and he gave an obnoxious audible sigh.

"Oh thank God! Oh, I mean," he quickly corrected himself at the glare Father Doss shot his way, "Thank goodness! I've been searching for Austria for hours and I can't find him anywhere and-"

Father Doss held up an ancient hand, silently hushing America. "My son is here." He stated simply, gesturing to the spacious cathedral.

"Why do you keep calling him your son?" America probed, confused, momentarily forgetting his troubles out of his own curiosity.

"My Roderich was here when this church was built," Father Doss began, almost dodging the question completely. "He saw this land colonized and formed into the beauty that it is today." He cleared his throat. "When I first came to this church as a young boy, I met him here during a mass and since I have never forgotten him."

"I didn't know that Austria still practiced." America cut into the conversation.

Father Doss gave a small huff of uncertainty. "He prefers not to get overly involved in the ceremony, as is his choice. Instead, he plays the organ because he enjoys the sound." He pointed to the magnificent instrument and smiled a sad smile. "As a boy I thought his playing was the most beautiful I had ever heard. He could make the Saints stop to listen to his music." He struggled a little with his English. "I grew up knowing him my whole life after that. He saw me succeed and become the man I am today and he would always come and visit me like a son. He taught me to play that organ and was a harsh but gentle teacher. And when I became physically older than him, I looked upon him as my own. But, one day, he would not come."

Father Doss struggled to stand, and America jumped up, tenderly taking him by the arm and pulling him to his feet.

"He would not come to me." Father Doss repeated mournfully. "I thought that I had lost my boy. He stayed in his home for a long while." He trailed off, leading America to the far wall of the building and to a set of stairs curling down to a lower level. "When you came, my son came back to me. He has come today, in fact. You brought him out from his shadow." The man tapped America lightly in the chest. "You brought him back."

America rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, trying to think of something to say. "I kinda chased him away. I didn't mean to, but he ran away from me. There's been a lot going on with him that I still haven't figured out completely, that's why I need to talk to him."

Father Doss hooted loudly in amusement, swaying a little. "That sounds like my Roderich! Do not let his strength fool you, Mr. Jones. He has always run away from his problems." His mirth faded, and he wiped a single happy tear from beneath a tired eye. "I have never seen him face his demons. However, this time is much different for him to have you by his side."

This guy wasn't making much sense. He kept rambling on like a befuddled mess. "I'm sorry, but I don't really get what you're saying." America responded, staring down the staircase.

"I am telling you, child, that with you, he may finally learn to face the Devil."

With that, Father Doss removed himself completely from the conversation, turning slowly and precariously to a group of incoming tourists, opening his arms lovingly to their company. America stood there in a mixture of awe and utter bewilderment for what had just happened. He looked back to the stairs, swallowing and gathering his courage once more. The more he thought about what the priest had said, the more he was beginning to understand. He didn't hesitate to follow the stairs, moving quickly down them and to the single doorway that lay at the bottom. Father Doss was right. Austria wasn't alone anymore. He didn't have to be afraid of all of the hatred swirling around him as long as America was there to shield and defend him from the evils of society. He wouldn't let him be his own downfall; the beautiful people he had influenced in his life were proof that Austria needed to continue on and live a happy life. America wanted to be part of that vision.

America wasted no time, throwing open the door without any consideration as to what was on the other side, stopping dead in his tracks when he realized where he was. It was a priest's quarters, spick and span without a trace of dust or a hint of lint resting on any polished surface. The room was bare, a single plain writing desk against one wall, and a meticulously made up bed against the other. A tiny window allowed the natural light to squeeze through and highlight the clean, tiled floor. America bit the inside of his cheek, giving a silent sigh. There he was. Austria sat, unmoving, on the edge of the bed. He looked as though someone had strung him out emotionally, a silent disaster of a person. At the noise of the door, he looked up.

"Vater, ich- (Father, I-)," he immediately looked away when he noticed his mistake.

America gave a small, awkward wave before shutting the door behind him and unzipping his jacket. He swallowed thickly and shifted from side to side, trying to avoid the foreseeable trepidation that was to come from all of this disorder.

He coughed and nodded slowly, trying to appear as natural as he could. "I found you." He pointed out, stating the obvious.

Austria refused to speak, averting his gaze to his shoes in a mix of emotions America found increasingly difficult to read.

"You're really good at hide and seek." America laughed uncomfortably, stiffening where he stood. "I've been looking for you this whole time."

Still, no words came.

"Roderich, talk to me." America mumbled. Every movement he made felt like an earthquake, making him sweat. "I sort of know what you're feeling."

"Do not assume that you know me." Austria growled, finally breaking the horrible silence. He pushed himself up and strode furiously to where America stood in an unexpected fervor. "How dare you invade the privacy of my study?! How dare you reveal everything I have worked so hard to keep hidden?!" He shouted throwing a finger in America's face. "It was not your place to think you can fix everything, you foolish American!"

America glared down at him, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, so I'm the one who screwed up?" He retorted hotly, raising his defenses. "You have a problem and all I wanted to do was help!"

"I never asked for your help!" Austria stomped back to the bed and threw himself down, covering his face with his hands. "I don't have a problem!"

"You're hurting yourself! How the hell is that not a problem?" America followed, stopping in front of his friend. "You never eat, and when you do you go and purge!" America yelled, trying to get Austria to realize the gravity of the situation. "You look horrible and sick and pale. If you were human you'd be dead by now! And I ran all over the city looking for you just for you to yell at me like you don't fucking know what's going on? What's wrong with you?!"

"Shut up!" Austria cried, finally locking eyes with America.

America blinked and snapped his mouth closed. He glanced to the side, breaking their substantial glower as he realized how insensitive he was being to Austria's unhinged emotions. He opened his mouth once more to speak, but couldn't find the proper sentence to make things right.

Austria watched him with a softening gaze before looking back to the floor once more. He crossed his arms and tightened his jaw, aware that America was right, but too scared of his own feelings to admit it.

America finally elected to sit, shucking his outer layer and positioning himself a few inches away.

"I just want you to be happy." He muttered in a hollow voice. "You deserve better than this."

"There is no problem." Austria mumbled hastily in response, finally feeling himself open up to someone after years of silent torment, but still rejecting the topic at hand.

America sighed, realizing how difficult this intervention was going to be. He needed to rephrase a few things. "I talked to Father Doss upstairs." He began.

At once, Austria perked up, glancing up from his fingers and adjusting his glasses. America had found Father Doss? No, that couldn't be the case. The priest had probably picked him out from the crowd after what he had confided in him. The Father was the only person who knew to what extent of respect Austria held for America, and the only one he trusted to tell.

America continued. "He said that you taught him how to play the organ, but you just disappeared one day." He paused, trying to find the right way to ease back into the central question. "Why did you leave him behind?"

Austria felt ashamed of himself, knowing that Father Doss had been left without reason all of those years. Not once did the two speak or have any contact, leaving the wonderful elderly man to wonder what had happened in between. Austria sniffed softly and removed his glasses, gawkily wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Hey, you don't have to cry." America whispered lightly, taking Austria's glasses and setting them out of the way. "Why don't you start from the beginning of how all of this happened?"

"I feel scared." Austria sobbed quietly. "You won't like what you hear."

He gasped to himself when he felt America reach out and wrap his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in to his chest. It was earnest and unanticipated, but this time was different from the other graceless forced hugs Austria had received. America hunched over and buried his face in the nape of Austria's neck, his warm breath dancing over his skin when he spoke.

"This time," America chuckled, "Don't push me away."

Austria hesitated. It was time to close the gap he had maintained out of fear between the two, terrified of letting himself free to someone else. Over the past couple of weeks, America had always been there for him in the best of ways; he was astoundingly patient, surprisingly intuitive, and he never gave up no matter how many times Austria had forcefully slammed the door in his face. Every time it opened, America would be waiting with a smile behind it, always hopeful that the two could spend a much needed vacation together. All Austria had done was try and drive him away as he had done with countless others worried about his wellbeing. But America had never left. Austria moved closer. He had always thought that bringing America into his home was an absolute mistake, a train wreck waiting to happen that would end in furious arguments over payment or the lack of knowledge of music America had seemed to retain in that thick skull of his. Instead, Austria was met with gentle sky blue eyes and a heartfelt touch that made him shiver through the authenticity of America's reflective sentiment. Austria didn't want to push him away anymore. He still wasn't quite sure what he felt towards America, and he was almost positive that he never would fully be able to comprehend it. However, if there was a God watching over them, Austria thought, America was sent as a divine force to save him from his own self destruction. That much, he understood.

Coming to terms with his own craving for closeness, Austria tentatively ran his hands from America's waist and up along his spine, stopping at his shoulders. He leaned further into the embrace and rested his chin on America's shoulder, closing his eyes to blurry world without his glasses.

"After the fall of my empire during the first world war, I lost everything." Austria began cautiously, slowly crawling towards the truth. "I lost my beautiful wife, my land, and my international status in a matter of years. Everything I had worked hard to grow was torn out from underneath me." He paused and took a deep breath. "The economic strain was too great on my body. I couldn't handle to bear it on my own and I became very ill one night and collapsed. After that moment, I was found by Liechtenstein and it was determined that I could no longer walk due to nerve damage."

America listened intently. When Austria felt him nod, he continued. "The loss of the Habsburg identity caused my public to turn to me for help and reevaluate what it meant to be Austrian. I had to completely redefine our nationality. Being confined to a wheelchair made that difficult and showed everyone that I had become weak."

"I remember that." America pointed out, holding him tighter. "You had that huge conference to talk about it too, but you never showed yourself, and a lot of Europe was sure you were planning some kind of counterattack." He paused. "I didn't find out until later that you…couldn't move."

"Yes, well," Austria cleared his throat at the interruption. "I published a pamphlet to remind my people of their history. I did not want to rely on the unpredictability of any empire still standing, no matter what the economy had reduced me to. They had let me down and could not be trusted with our affairs thereafter. However, the broadcast went well, and thousands of people had a restored sense of Austrian nationalism, though, many of them did not think I would survive for much longer. I needed to prove that I was still the Austria they had known."

America looked up briefly, refusing to let go. "I don't understand. Where are you going with this?"

Austria opened his eyes and hushed him, moving his hands to rest on America's shoulders in accommodation to the new position. "Let me finish."

America gave him a small smile and motioned him on.

Austria frowned. "My people began to look up to me as an image of what the ideal Austrian looked and acted like, and their hope gave me some of my strength back. It was lovely; I was able to set national standards to once again make international waves in the tourist industry after my unofficial declaration of neutrality up until the second world war. However, I could rarely show myself to the public. The image I had created was strong, not trapped or doomed as I felt. I never knew if I would walk again. Where is the beauty or strength in that?"

America felt Austria's grip tighten at the back of his neck. He let go and let his hands fly up to cover his face, hiding his ugly tears from America's view.

"There was a demand to maintain elegance. With so many people around the world constantly criticizing the aesthetic of my capitol, trivial things like the color of the sun over the mountains, and the even the smell of the forest, it was impossible for me to keep up with beauty standards! After the second world war and the betrayal I received from Germany, I was beaten down once more and thrust back into the same weakness I never wanted to know again. Yet another empire fell in front of me and I had nowhere else to go." He sputtered through his palms. "I was always the focal point and called a failure, and before I could realize my mistake, I was turned into someone laughable by my public because of my consistent weakness and reduction to a chair! The only people who came to help me were Germany, Liechtenstein, and that awful Prussia! Not even Hungary came back to me!" He shouted in vexation. "They had to do everything for me for years after the second fall because of my physical relapse and everyone else forgot I existed! I had maids dressing and bathing me in the morning! Do you understand how humiliating that is?"

"I never knew it got that bad." America mumbled, trying to console him.

Austria didn't seem to hear him. "I had become ugly and helpless and I could no longer do anything for myself! I began to realize that others had to carry me from the beginning of my time. I was established for defense, but when I fought with my soldiers, I was always wounded and sent back to recover while the others died for me. I relied on my wife to defend me when I couldn't from the Prussian invasion. And though Germany hurt me immeasurable times, I still run to him today out of economic fear. All I could ever do was hope and beg my neighbors for help after the collapse of my empire and pray that they would have mercy on me. "

America felt his heart sink and break. He was no less shamefaced for his past actions in this situation. The burden that everyone had put on Austria, even after he was broken down from the war and reduced to a wheelchair for many years, was immeasurable, and many put him into this murky corner as fuel for an onslaught of cruel and superfluous jokes. The world expected him to be luxurious and alluring, as though he had stepped out from the White Faced era to be the ideal pale, thin, and unachievable picture of perfection. There were a few times that America could remember the world complaining at the splendid parties and negotiations that Austria held, harassing and teasing him that they weren't proper enough to be considered a true Austrian venue, or commenting on his choice of attire as being too stuffy for the fashion industry. What America never knew is that Austria couldn't help but take these criticisms secretly to his core, upholding one of the most restricted and cloistered facades that he had ever heard of in the face of an excessively disparaging and callous international society. The constant snickers behind his back and comments as to how much he seemed to eat took a psychological toll on him that looked to be so substantial it was driving him to the brink of absurdity.

"You hate yourself that much?" America managed to finally speak.

Austria had worked himself up far too much for a coherent response, spouting nonsense in a mix of severely broken English and German slurs. He was beginning to feel unwell from the strain, taking a deep shaky breath. No one had ever known what he had been doing to himself all of those years.

"I looked in the mirror and saw someone who was not good enough." Austria said weakly, still refusing to let America look upon his face. "I tried to fix myself. I said that I would only do it for a few months until I lost the weight needed to be what they wanted." He trailed off into another fit of sobs. "A few months turned into years of trying to achieve perfection! I will never go back to being weak and stuck in that dreadful chair! For once in my life I want to be the one in control of what happens to me, even if it hurts!"

America swallowed back his own tears and glanced around the room. He had never dealt with something like this, and was unsure of how to go about consoling Austria for years of pent up trauma he was still trying to cope with. He spotted a half full glass of water on the writing desk and stood to retrieve it. On the way, he noticed and grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the windowsill, retuning to where Austria shook.

"Take a drink." America tenderly pulled one of Austria's hands from his face and helped him take the glass.

Austria nodded and took a tiny sip. "I am never thin enough." He restated, giving a thick sniff. "I want people to see that I exist, but the only way to do that is to be beautiful. I don't want to be worthless anymore."

"Be quiet, Roderich." America whispered devotedly. He took a tissue and dabbed lightly at Austria's tears, stopping to run his hands over his flushed cheeks.

Austria swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, reaching up and clutching at America's hand, startling himself and holding him in place as if when he let go America would fall away into nothingness.

"Please, I can't be alone anymore." Austria breathed, petrified of America's response. "Your hands are soft. I don't want to be without them right now."

America gave a slow blink and moved his free hand to rest subtly atop Austria's knee. He thought for a long while.

"I want to tell you a story of a great man who went through the same pain that you did." He started.

Austria didn't really know what to say. "A-alright." He finally respired.

"My president from 1933 to 1945 was secretly in a wheelchair. I don't know if you remember him, but he hid it from the public too."

Austria curled his fingers around America's and blinked. "Franklin Roosevelt?"

America chuckled a bit at hearing the name of his deceased friend. "Yeah, good ol' FDR. He wasn't just my president. He was a really good friend of mine. One year in the 1920s, he went on a vacation to visit my brother, Canada, and got really sick. When he came back, he was paralyzed from the waist down. There's still some weird opinions about what he had, but a lot of us came to the realization that it was probably Polio."

"I knew this happened." Austria took his glasses from the bed and cleaned them with a tissue. "I remember your people tried to hide his shortcomings because they felt it would damage the war effort."

America nodded slowly. "A lot of his administration hid him from the public too. But what I wanted to tell you was this; during a regular meeting, he had me take him out and wheel him into his office. I sat down with him and he told me that he needed to give a speech to the American public about progress during the war." He smiled forlornly at the weighty memory. "The administration made him sit behind his desk to broadcast, but even when he was hiding, he was never ashamed of himself."

America moved Austria's hand from his own cheek to his, and couldn't help but grin at his touch. "What I'm saying is, you're not weak."

Austria pressed his fingertips into America's cheek, exhaling in awe at the feel of another person. "Y-your face. It's fat." He stuttered, completely ignoring America's story and shattering the beautiful, calming atmosphere.

America immediately furrowed his brow and felt his jaw drop. "Really?! After everything I just said to you and that's what you have to tell me?" He retorted in incredulity.

Austria shook his head. "I meant that you feel…normal."

America felt his face relax in understanding as Austria continued to prod at him. He tensed up when Austria let his hands slide down to his midsection, pushing gently against his stomach and feeling the give he had to offer.

Austria was amazed. It had been years since he had touched another person like this, not that it was normal to go around and become infatuated with the stomachs of random people. America wasn't bony, nor was he overweight. He hovered in the middle of the two at a typical build for a man. Austria blinked away his tears and leaned forward slightly, following the natural curve of America's body to his chest, feeling whatever he could within reason.

"Let me see." He demanded, working back to his usual tone.

America leapt up from the bed, embarrassed at how personal this was quickly escalating to be. "W-What? Um…Are you sure this isn't weird?" He felt his face flush red when he noticed Austria stand.

"There is nothing weird about it. I just want to see what you look like." Austria responded curiously, grasping the fabric of America's shirt and pulling it up.

America yelped at Austria's cold hands against his ribcage, tracing each of his bones with his fingertips as he examined them like a doctor.

"That's enough touching!" America forced his shirt back down and grabbed his jacket from the bed, zipping himself into it like a cocoon to hide his gauche blushing and rapidly beating heart.

Austria frowned at what he had seen, not giving notice to the clear discomfiture radiating from America who tried to sink into his jacket like a turtle in a shell.

"Your ribcage," Austria said dryly, "is not sharp like mine."

America cocked his head slightly. "Of course not."

"And your stomach is flat but not concave."

"Yeah? I always thought I was a little flabby…"

Austria followed him to where he stood. "Never say that." He spoke suddenly. "Your body is beautiful."

America felt tears of joy well up in his eyes. Austria was finally realizing himself. "You…you can be this way too." He felt his words catch in his sentiments. "Please, I just want you to get help. That's what I want for Christmas! I don't give a shit if I get any new video games!"

Austria was still far from accepting his obstruction entirely. He needed time to work through the impairment he had caused and undergone both physically, but more so psychologically. It would be a long while before he would be able to convalesce and live a healthy lifestyle again. It would be painful, excruciatingly difficult, and trying on his mind to the point where he would most likely consider death over continuing. Death was not an option.

"America-"

"Call me Alfred." America blurted out. "Please?"

Austria looked to the side. "Alfred," he corrected himself, feeling strange at hearing America's name, "you feel nice under my touch."

America raised an eyebrow, unsure if it would be appropriate to smile while Austria kept such a solemn expression. "Thanks, I guess?" He muttered almost under his breath when Austria looked back to him.

There was a new light in deep purple eyes. It was hard and immovable, a harsh mix of determination and self-loathing that gave him an ultimately blank expression.

"I think…I want to be beautiful like you."


Wiktor: Alright, you seriously have no idea how long this took me to write. Well, either way, I hope you're enjoying it. If even one person does, I'll be happy.