Behind The Hero's Mask

Four

(TW: Blood?)

"Allen?"

"Damn right." Alfred flicked on the lights and sure enough, there stood his 2p counterpart. He wore pyjamas and had his signature bat riddled with nails slung over his shoulder. "I heard you were troubled about something." He said, a grin slipping onto his face easily. If only I could do that too... Alfred mused. "So naturally, I got some liquor." He chimed, pulling a rather large bottle out from behind him.

The blond American shook his head, putting his hands up in front of him. "I don't think I should-"

-half an hour later-

"I hate everything!" Alfred cried drunkenly, resting his flushed face on the cool marbled kitchen counter. Allen was a little surprised about how fast the 1P agreed to drink, but he wasn't complaining. "I just want people other than my citizens to like me!" He sobbed, crying onto the counter. Allen patted his counterpart on the back softly, not really knowing what to do.

The two heard tiny footsteps and turned to see Alaska, rubbing her eyes and standing on the last step. "Big bro?" When she saw Allen, her eyes brightened. "Uncle Allen!" She beamed, running towards the 2P. Allen stiffened at the contact, "Ah, hello..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say to the human koala gripping his calf, "Child."

She giggled then looked to the crying America. "Bro?" She said. Allen frowned, knowing Alfred was in no condition to deal with this kid. "How about I read you a bedtime story?" The 2P offered, immediately capturing the juvenile's attention. She pulled him upstairs. What have I done? He grimaced. He had sold his soul for a story.

//////

Canada sighed, hugging Kumajirou close. "Something is wrong. The states don't come over to Alfred's house for no reason."

"Who are you?

" I'm Canada." He grumbled.

//////

Russia looked out his window, sitting back in his chair, remembering how America ran out of there like his life depended on it. He could have sworn that he saw the same sadness he had seen every day when he looked into the mirror in the American's eyes. A sorrow that he kept hidden from the world.

Perhaps that's what the two had in common. We both hide behind fake smiles. He thought, feeling slightly confused by the heavy feeling in his chest. He decided to ignore it, and stood up, turning off the light.

//////

Prussia sat at his desk, looking out into the night sky. He knew that America was depressed. Or at least, he was very certain. The dull look in his eyes that he had sometimes managed to catch a glimpse of. The fact that he had once gone to check on him in the bathroom and had faintly heard him puking up his food.

It had been getting worse. He had been getting visibly skinnier, more fatigued, less energetic. The thing is, Prussia seemed like the only one who noticed. Though, he was fairly sure that Russia was somewhat aware as well, but who could tell when he wore a grin all the time?

He sighed, feeling guilty. If he knew what his friend was going through, why didn't he ever step in to help?

//////

England was up with France having late-night tea when he noticed the frog had been unusually silent. "Penny for your thoughts?" He inquired. The French man looked up and began speaking. "It's America...Do you think...We were too harsh?" He asked Arthur. The Brit hesitated, before answering, "I...I guess we might have been a little dramatic."

Francis frown deepened, his expression darkened. He had a horrible feeling that something bad was about to happen.

//////

-The next morning-

The other nations decided to try to see America again, but this time, nobody answered. They tried again, but silence. They heard shuffling and tried to peek through the windows. They saw silhouettes ducking out of view. They knocked again.

Finally, Canada kicked the door open. The rest of thems stared in shock as the Canadian walked through the doorway. England noticed that there wasn't even a single burger laying around. Russia didn't know why, but he felt a deep dread come over him as they entered the house.

He just had an overall bad impression. The house was immaculate, besides the sideways empty liquor bottle and two empty glasses on the counter. While the others looked around, Russia went up the stairs.

He walked down the hall when he saw an open door. He slowly pushed it open, and saw what looked like a child's room. Drawings and crayons tucked back in their boxes. It looked like it had been cleaned up. Russia continued down the hall when a blur of blond crashed into him. He grabbed their arms and caught them in his arms.

He looked down to recognize the blue eyes looking back at him. The American had a rose blush that tinted his skin, making his face burn. Ivan's hands rested on his hips and in the middle of his back. Russia realized the position they were in and set Alfred upright and let go. He noticed that he was in the middle of changing shirts, and a pinkish bandage was visible. Before Ivan could say a word, he was shoved against the wall and his mouth was covered.

Alfred pulled the shirt over his head, covering the wounds. "Don't tell a soul." He shushed, suddenly growing intense. Ivan nodded. America stepped back and released the Russian, walking downstairs. Ivan remained there for a moment, stunned. He didn't know why, but he felt a tinge of protectiveness when he saw the bandage.

America walked into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee, preparing for the barrage of questions that he knew was coming. Matthew walked in, England and France in tow. They saw the American at the kitchen table and the Russian coming down the stairs. "Oh hey, guys! What's up?" Alfred said, easily slipping on his mask.

"Why didn't you answer the door?" Canada asked, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, "I didn't hear it. This is a big house you know." He explained, pouring the coffee into a mug that said #1 hero. England rolled his eyes. Alfred sipped the liquid speed and leaned back against the counter. "Is there anyone else here?" France asked, recalling two silhouettes.

The American shook his head, already pouring more coffee. Just leave. The thought to himself, trying to stay patient. The worst part about being hungry all the time is that I can barely keep from letting my emotions spill out. He looked away from the nations. Suddenly, they heard a door closing.

"I thought you said nobody else was here?" England asked. America began to shake slightly. "There isn't...It's probably just the wind-"

"We walked here. There was no wind, not even a light breeze." America froze, placing his cup on the counter and hiding his hands from the others. He needed to stall.

The door closing was from Allen and Alaska trying to sneak out.

Then, a dog strolled into the room, it's tongue bobbing as it panted. It barked and France bent down to pet it. The dog had golden fur and soft brown eyes. America almost sighed aloud with relief. His wildly tremoring hands steadied slightly behind him. Then, another sound. A yelp. Quiet, almost inaudible. Almost.

Canada looked back to his brother but noticed his absence immediately. They looked for the American, not knowing that he had simply used magic. Yes, he can use magic but chooses not to due to the memories it drudges up. He sat on his roof, watching as Allen and Alaska hid. He felt something drip onto him. He looked up and rain landed on him, gradually picking up into a heavy downpour.

Alfred smiled genuinely, closing his eyes and taking off his glasses. He felt at peace when it rained. Soon enough, he had fallen asleep in the pouring rain.