One week passed since France and England began their attempt to heal America's internal wounds. The youngest of the three nations did not change too much in the short period of time. He still did fear food quite a bit, and there had been a few incidence where he would panic to the point of needing to be restrained when he was confronted with a portion of food that was as simple as a morsel. Every rib on his body still protruded in a deleterious way, and it was clear that the American had hardly gained any weight since he was forced to stop his brutal diet. There was another factor that only seemed to add more horror to the already nightmarish situation, America still had unbearable urges to cut himself, and it was to the point where the lack of pain would sometimes send him through spasms of perturbation. On the bright side of things, America's body was gradually adapting to the soft food intake, and was capable of ingesting slightly larger quantities of food. Overall, there had been a tiny improvement to the young nation's condition. Which was enough to set England, and France's mind to ease, knowing that their support was helping the precious American in some way. Of course, they refused to let their guard down, in case the healing process happened to reverse it's progress during a dreadful relapse.

Another improvement that France and England appreciated very much was the fact that America had restored some energy, and was able to walk around for short periods of time without collapsing. Of course, the frail nation had requested permission many times to undertake more intense exercises such as running, but the desire had been declined every single time. France and England loathed seeing the pained expression on America's face whenever he was not allowed to feed his aspiration, but they knew that it was only for the best. The two older nations also tried to make sure that they expressed compassion when they had to deny one of America's unreasonable requests, but it wasn't always easy. Sometimes, the wrong words would slip out, and do nothing more than drown the young nation in despair. France and England clearly weren't professionals when it came to consoling the side effects of a neglected habit, so no one could expect a miracle.

America was currently sitting on the couch, and since he found absolutely nothing interesting at that moment, random items around the room had become his unique form of entertainment. Then again, perhaps it couldn't be considered entertainment if the American was not interested in anything at all, but instead the objects were only his lousy attempt for to obtain some amusement during his seemingly never ending leisure. In which, they had failed to accomplish their assigned job, but that came to no surprise to the America. It wasn't the first time he had felt completely deprived from his will to live, and it would definitely not be his last. After about an hour of this behavior, England finally decided to ask America, "Is something bothering you, or are you just extremely bored?"

"I'm not sure if I could call this boredom," America began, "nothing is bothering me at the moment. I don't really feel bored either, but I'm not interested in anything. Seriously, nothing interests me anymore, and it's very disturbing. I hate feeling numb all of the time, but there's nothing I can do about. Since you still want me to exist."

"Feeling numb is a symptom of chronic depression," England explained, and then sat down next to America, and gave him a sympathetic look before adding, "I'm sorry you feel this way, and I hope you're able to venture past this stage soon."

He has no idea how terrible it is to be immune to all feelings of happiness, does he? Of course he doesn't. I mean, that's why he's giving me that hopeless sympathy, right? America thought bitterly as he examined his former mentor's expression. Then he replied, "I don't think this numb feeling will ever go away. It's been a part of me for three months now, and only proceeds to get worse. There really is nothing that can be done about it."

England shook his head in disagreement, "There's always hope, Alfred. Francis and I will not give up on you. We will try to our best to recover your cheerful self. I don't care if it takes a few months, a few years, or even a century. We will make you smile once more."

To bad he can't keep that promise, America's inner critic sneered, you'll never feel a pinch of happiness while I'm still controlling you, and I won't leave you alone until you're dead! His heart ached with dread from the harsh comment. America lowered his head in an attempt to hold back his tears, but failed to hide the agony in his voice, "No, you don't understand. As long as I live I will always be tormented by my flaws. I can't be happy."

England rested a hand on America's shoulder, and questioned, "I know something is bothering you. Can you please tell me what it is?"

America turned his head away from England as tears finally spilled from his eyes, "I already said that you wouldn't understand."

France entered the room, and observed the sight before him. He then decided to sit down at the opposite side of the couch from England, and asked, "What's wrong Amerique?"

The younger nation remained silent, and refused to acknowledge France's presence. When England realized that America was not going to answer the question, he stated, "Don't keep it to yourself America. If something is eating at you, you'll feel better if you express what it is. Eventually it will stop bothering you as much, and we'll know how to help you fully recover from whatever the problem happens to be."

America protested, "But you'll think I'm crazy if I tell you."

England assured, "We're not trying to make you feel ashamed. Please, just tell us what it is."

There was a moment of silence before America finally conveyed, "Well there's this voice that always criticizes me. It yells at me every time I feel confident, and shuns me for my every flaw. Sometimes it tells me that I need to lose more weight, while at other times it tells me that I'm starving my people. It has even told me to kill myself a few times."

Another moment of silence followed after America's words as England and France processed what the younger nation had just told them. A shocked expression was present on both of their face's. Once France was over the disturbance, he questioned, "Are you sure that this is a voice you are hearing, and that all of this criticism is not what you've been telling yourself?"

The flow of America's tears became more rabid as he finally sobbed, "I don't know anymore."

America nestled against England as the Brit enveloped his arms around the frail nation. By the time America finally settled down, France asked him, "Would you like me to invite your brother over? His presence might help."

"Please do," America croaked, "I miss him so much."

France retrieved his phone from his pocket, and quickly sent Canada a text. After a few minutes of practically staring at the screen, he turned to America and England, then stated, "He'll come over in a week."

"That's good," England replied, and then added to America, "Meanwhile, I think you should tell us whenever that voice is bothering you, or at least try to distract yourself from it."

"About that voice," France began, and then asked, "when did this voice start speaking to you, and for how long has it been doing so?"

America shrugged, "About four months maybe? I'm really not sure, it just came out of nowhere. I just lost track of time as soon as I began to hear the voice."

"I really think you're criticizing yourself, "France concluded, and then added, "and that the self censure has grown out of hand to the point where it might feel as if someone else is attacking your ego. Maybe if you stand up to this cynical voice, you'll be able to rid of it's presence for good. Of course there's a possibility that the situation is more complicated than I portrayed it, but it's worth a try, non?"

The young nation did not bother hiding the irresolution as he countered, "The voice is just too powerful. There's no way that telling it off will make it disappear forever."

"Well, I know this is rare for me, but I have to agree with France," England chimed in, "Maybe if you did stand up to the voice, it would learn to back off. The critic does seem to be a component of your mind, so it should be easy to control once you regain complete power over that internal battle of yours. It was a clever suggestion, and I really do think you should try it at least a few times before giving up on the option."

America protested, "But the voice is so powerful. Do you guys even know what it's like to deal with this tyrant every minute of the day? Don't you two see why I want to end my life so badly? It's because there is no way for me to eliminate this voice. Once it's there, it's there for good. As I said before, the longer I live the more menacing the voice becomes. Death really is the only way out."

England silently listened to America's rant of anguish. The pain in his jade eyes was equivalent to that of a mother who had just discovered their child's disinterest for living. America continued, ignoring the pained reactions he received, "I"m a burden to every nation alive. I have ruined everyone's economies. I can't live for my own sake, and I hold absolutely no purpose to those around me. There is no reason for me to continue living."

"America," England's affirm left behind a pang of desperation that radiated into the core of the other two nations, one that could bring a desolate, dark tunnel to shame. The island nation was practically pleading at that point, "I don't think you realize how much you're loved. Please, I'm not joking."

A glint of doubt reflected from the American's eyes as he gazed lifelessly at his former mentor. Something inside of the Brit broke at the reaction as his eyes began to glaze over. There was a quiver to his implore, "P-please. There m-must be something to live for. Can you at least live for me? W-what about your brother? Blimey! He would be devastated if you died."

The words seemed to have touched America as he began to mentally reconsider, Wait, maybe there are people who would miss me if I died. Should I really plan on killing myself? The hope vanished immediately as his inner critic snarled, Those 'cared' about you would eventually be over your death as soon as they realized how irrelevant you were to their life. He glanced at England, and remarked, "You can't mean that."

"Alfred," England gasped in disbelief. Tears finally slid from his eyes as he demanded, "Don't you dare even think about killing yourself!"

Despite his pained expression, France was able to maintain his assuring tone, "I'm sure that as long as we're caring and firm, Amerique will be fine in the end. We'll just have to make sure to supervise him at all times, in case he does try to harm himself. Even if we have to admit him to the hospital, I'm sure we'll find a way."

"I don't want America to go to the hospital," England nearly snapped, "the doctors will probably make the situation worse for him. There's no way they could understand how fragile his mental state is."

"Well, we'll try, but I doubt the doctors would be too cruel to Amerique," France replied hugging America affectionately as he added to the young nation, "I'm sure you'll feel better one day. Just don't forget that there's always hope."

England continued to beg the younger nation, "No matter how terrible things become, please don't give up."

That won't be an easy promise to keep. America thought darkly.