Behind The Hero's Mask

Eleven

(TW: blood, anorexia)
(Italics= Russian)
The other nations were talking between bites, minus Ivan, who was worried about the American. He had been up there for almost ten-

A blood-curdling shriek echoed through the mansion. Ivan was racing upstairs in an instant. He had his hand on the doorknob and rattled it violently. When it wouldn't open, he kicked it near off its hinges. He saw America, curled up in the corner with bleeding knuckles and arms. He looked sickly pale, his cheeks slightly hollow. He smelt the horrible scent of bile waft out.

He was so shocked that he couldn't help the words that left his mouth.

"MY SUNFLOWER!!" He screamed, stepping on the glass. He didn't even feel it. He was at Alfred's side in an instant, holding him against his chest. A faint and fragile heartbeat in his chest. He immediately carried him to his bed, setting him down as the others tended to him. He retrieved the bandages, tweezers for the glass, and hydrogen peroxide. He came back and helped the others.

He plucked out all of the shards and began cleaning the wound. As soon as the peroxide soaked cloth came in contact with the American's arms or knuckles, he jolted, flinching away. Every time England tried to clean the cuts, he would pull away. Russia took the rag away from Arthur and took Alfred's hand.

He held it delicately, slowly putting the cloth on. When he tried to pull it away, he tightened his grip slightly. Due to the lack of nutrition, the American gave up, wincing as Ivan cleaned the first hand, then his arm, continuing on to the other side. The others watched in awe as Alfred became docile. His struggle died down and he became completely passive.

Ivan gently bandaged him, making sure not to hurt him. Once he was done, he put the medical supplies away and sat down next to the American. Alfred was on his side and snoring softly, colour returning to his face. Ivan brushed his golden hair off his forehead, smiling at how peaceful he looked.

He felt everyone's gaze on him and stiffened. "How did..." England trailed off, noticing the face Ivan was making. His eyes held affection and care in them, contrasting his usual terrifying look. The nations had never seen such a genuine and kind smile from the Russian.

They still couldn't believe it. The way he gently held Alfred's hand in his own. The adoring expression he had as he fixed his hair. How he stayed by his side even when he slept.

They decided to leave the two alone, for once, trusting the Russian to take care of Alfred.

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Ivan pov

I looked at America, wondering how I didn't realize this before. His absolute avoidance of food, the fact that he hadn't been healing as fast as he should have. I felt guilty. How could I have been so blind?

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Hey guys, I'm feeling a little stumped. Feel free to suggest your own ideas in the comments. Anything helps. Just know, that it is not guaranteed that I'll use any, but they might help my little block here.