Behind The Hero's Mask

Eight

America pov bc why not.
(Also TW because all of these chapters will probably have at least one: depressing thoughts, gore, self-mutilation)

I opened my eyes, slightly surprised to see empty space next to me. I sat up, looking around the room. Ivan wasn't here. Did he get weirded out by me sleeping with him- wait no that sounds wrong. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed my crutches.

I scooted down the stairs with my crutches in hand and saw that the house was empty. I felt my heart sink. I fucked it up. Like always. I heard dark voices begin to cluster in my head. Tears stung my eyes and I felt so embarrassed. I hurried into a secluded room with a lock and the tears spilled. I covered my face with my hands, the voices getting louder and louder with every passing second.

I wanted to rip my hair out. I managed to screw up our friendship three days in. God, why can't I do anything right?

I'm such a failure as a country. I'm a failure as a person! I felt my nails rip through my skin, blood seeping under my nails. I clawed harder, more crimson spilling onto the tiles. When I was finished, a collection of flesh and blood had gathered under my nails, my upper arms bleeding heavily. I cried silently until no more tears would flow. I felt drowsy and decided to bandage them up.

I knew my arms wouldn't fit in the sink so I placed it under the bath faucet and turned it on. I let out a hiss as the water stung. After it was clean, I bandaged my arms up, pulling the sleeves down to cover them.

I didn't even care if I was giving myself scars. Nobody would ever love me so why not. I stood up, and almost slipped on the blood that covered the floor. I groaned and began cleaning.

-twenty minutes later-

I sighed and stood up, looking at the now clean bathroom. Note to self: try and find a way to harm myself that doesn't require tons of cleaning and bleach. I thought, exiting the bathroom.

I looked outside and saw a hill that led down to a frozen lake. That looks fun. I mused, deciding to go outside. Not going to lie, it was difficult as hell to walk in the snow with crutches, I fell seven times facefirst. I eventually made it to the lake. It looked so cool.

(The third person)

The American figured that it would be stupid to use crutches on ice, so he limped onto it. He looked down and measured that the ice was at least four inches thick. He used his left foot to propel himself across the ice, snickering a bit. He enjoyed ice skating. It was one of the things he enjoyed doing whenever England left for seven years.

He was so busy reminiscing that he didn't notice the slowly cracking ice. He had skated onto the thinnest part of the ice.

He became aware when he heard a loud "CRACK!" Ring out into the January air. He looked down, instantly becoming frozen like the land around him. He tried to move but only succeeded in creating more cracks.

He looked around for someone, but the land was barren. WHY THE FUCK DOES IVAN LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?! America screamed in his head. He saw that the ice was almost completely broken, so he waited until the last heart-stopping crack and jumped away, slamming down on thick ice.

He looked back to see the spiderweb of cracks that he had made and sighed in relief, but then looked to his stomach. Am I really that fat? He asked himself. He was so immersed in the fact that he almost fell into the ice and the pain in his ankle that he didn't see the oncoming storm clouds approaching.

//////

Ivan searched the house one last time,  but no sign of the blond American.
(You'll learn about where Russia was eventually)
He must have gone out. He walked to the front door and saw that Alfred's jacket and boots were in fact gone. He got dressed and stormed out, so frustrated that the idiotic American had gone out. Let alone the fact that he had a badly sprained ankle and wasn't wearing more than his jacket.

He opened the door and a blast of snow took him by surprise. A blizzard had blown in and Alfred was out there in the middle of it. His frustration was overpowered by worry and he quickly began following the trail of footsteps before they filled in.

He ran into the raging storm calling out for Alfred.

//////

England, Canada, Prussia, Allen, and France had all caught a flight to Russia at last and were making their way to the Russian's house. A storm had come out of nowhere but they kept going until they reached the house. They noticed that the door wasn't locked and went in. There were some lights on, and it didn't look like anyone was home.

Regardless, the five searched the house for the pair and came up empty-handed. By the time the search of the giant house had finished, the storm outside had escalated greatly, making it impossible to go out. The group had no choice but to stay here until it blew over. Canada couldn't help but worry if his brother was out there.

//////

Alfred's teeth were chattering, his ears and face were completely numb. He wiped his running nose and continued through the blizzard. He had lost his trail and was now back where he started at the frozen lake. He tucked himself into his jacket trying to stay warm. He already knew he probably had frostbite, but he was too cold to care. He collapsed into the snow, trying to burrow into it. He shivered and recalled the last time he talked to his twin. The last time he talked to England. The last time he saw the states. He closed his eyes

Through the loud and unforgiving barrage of snow, he heard a small shout far off in the distance. He perked up slightly, opening his eyes that had almost frozen shut.

"Fredka!" He heard Ivan shouting. Did he come out here... for me? He thought, sitting up. He pushed himself to his feet, no matter how badly his ankle hurt. He walked towards the voice, growing weaker and weaker from each step. He saw a silhouette in the snowstorm and fell to his knees. He was so tired and relieved that he didn't even remember that the nearly shattered ice lay right in front of him.

"CRACK!"

He felt his heart stop. He heard a yell as he fell into the freezing water, sinking below the surface.