Chapter Text
Hands were pinning him down. Pain ripped through his spine. He couldn't move.
His mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something, but his limbs were frozen. Powerless.
He wanted to scream.
But no sound came out.
...
America jerked awake with a gasp, lungs dragging in air like it might save him. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and sticky, and the sheets tangled around his legs felt more like restraints than bedding. He cursed under his breath, trying to ground himself in the now.
It was just a dream.
A memory, really, but that didn’t matter. It was over. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself.
Dammit, you're not there anymore.
Still, the bile rising in his throat didn’t care much for logic.
He stumbled out of bed and barely made it to the bathroom in time. What little he had in his stomach came up. Half an apple, nothing more. His knees hit the cold tile hard as he retched, and for a long moment he just stayed there, forehead pressed against the edge of the porcelain.
Eventually, he forced himself up, rinsed his mouth, and avoided his own reflection in the mirror.
He had a world meeting today. He’d already skipped the last two and plenty of others. England would have a field day if he didn’t show up again, mostly endless lectures about him being irresponsible again. America didn’t have it in him to deal with that. He'd already seen enough of it through the text messages. Text messages that he rarely ever responded to anymore.
He looked down.
Guess I should rewrap these before I leave...
Bandages hung loose around his forearm, barely concealing the slashes underneath. Some were healing. Others were fresh. None of it was healthy. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew that.
It was just the only thing that made the buzzing stop sometimes.
And it wasn’t like he could die from it anyway.
He was a nation, after all.
With that thought in mind, the familiar urge crept in. And alone, in the quiet of his own home where no one would ever see, he didn't even try to resist it.
…
The meeting room was in its usual chaos.
England and France were already at each other's throats over something no one else cared about, Russia loomed silently at one end of the table with his usual smile, and Canada sat beside him, unnoticed like always. Germany looked ready to snap, furiously organizing a stack of papers that didn’t need organizing just to keep from screaming.
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose. “Muss ich wirklich alles alleine machen...?”
When the sound of a cup shattering on the floor filled the room, that was the last straw.
With a sharp slam of his palms on the table, he bellowed, “SEID ALLE RUHIG!”
Every conversation screeched to a halt. Heads snapped toward him in varying degrees of irritation and alarm.
“Endlich,” he muttered under his breath, pleased with the silence, if only temporarily. He cleared his throat. “Now that I have your attention... has anyone heard from Amerika today?”
“Angleterre?” France casted a glance toward England as the question hung in the air.
England bristled instantly. “Wh-what the bloody hell are you looking at me for, Frog? I’m not his babysitter!”
The defensiveness came a little too quickly, and a little too loud. It was true that America had texted him the last couple of times to say he was skipping, but America had still barely spoken to him. And it wasn't something he wanted it pointed out. Least of all by France.
Germany’s patience snapped. “Genug! Just answer the question. Have you heard from him or not?”
“No, alright?” England snapped back. “I haven’t. You happy now?”
A tense silence followed, broken only by the quiet rustle of paper as Canada shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Russia tilted his head. “Do you think we should call him?” he asked, voice deceptively calm. “He told Britaniya last time he was sick, didn’t he? Maybe he still is.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Germany muttered, rubbing at his temple. “But this many times in a row?”
He let the silence linger for a moment before sighing in resignation. “Fine. If he’s not here in the next five minutes, someone can-”
The doors burst open.
America stumbled in, slightly breathless, trying to mask it with an exhausted grin. “Ugh, I finally made it. Sorry it took me so long, dudes... Traffic was insane, and McDonald’s was packed. Got stuck in the longest line ever. I swear, it wrapped around the building twice!”
The room would have accepted the excuse without a second thought if it wasn't for the fact that America's hair was limp and unkempt, darker at the roots from missed washes. His skin was pale, almost sallow, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. The very sight immediately sent quiet alarm bells ringing in Japan’s mind.
Their eyes met, just for a second.
America flinched and looked away.
That brief glance said everything. It wasn’t embarrassment. It was guilt.
Canada noticed too. He always did. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, too unsure to speak.
England noticed most of all. How could he not? He’d practically raised the boy. How could he not see the slumped posture, the hollow brightness in his voice. None of it was right.
France leaned slightly toward him, voice low. “He doesn’t look well.”
“I know,” England murmured, eyes never leaving America.
Germany watched America for a moment longer than usual, the silence stretching a bit too long after his entrance.
“You look unwell,” he said bluntly. “Are you sure you’re fit to attend today’s meeting?”
The room tensed again.
America blinked, clearly not expecting Germany to be the first to speak. “I’m fine. Just… tired, is all.” He laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t sleep great. You know how it is.”
He expected someone, maybe England, to crack a joke at his expense. But the usual sarcasm didn’t come.
Instead, England exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re late."
America faltered for a second. “Yeah. Sorry. I should’ve kept a better eye on the time…”
He looked down, his shoulders curling a little. The confidence he usually radiated was missing, replaced by something almost remorseful. “It won’t happen again.”
The quiet apology caught more than a few people off guard. Even Germany seemed briefly at a loss for words.
“…It’s fine,” he said at last, glancing away. “Just take your seat. Let’s begin.”