Chapter Text
I don't really remember when I first fell in love with him. Or when my feelings for him changed.
In the start, I didn't even realize it was love I was feeling. I just knew….
He made me really happy.
There were times I felt like I was going crazy. As if everything around me was falling apart. But Japan…
He was always there for me….
Even when I pushed him away, he still stayed.
Looking back, maybe that was why I fell for him….
Japan isn't like me. He's gentle and patient.
Kinder than I've ever been. I guess I was drawn to that.
Maybe it was selfish.
After all…
He was another man.
I doubt he even likes men. What if I run our friendship and he ended up hating me for it?
I was sure he would. He'd think it was weird.
And even if he didn't… it's not like he feels the same.
Somebody as fucked up as I am?
There's no way.
...
The first thing America could process was the fact that his head was hurting like hell, the sound of his cell phone alarm blaring in his ear and all but deafening him in the process.
"Ugh…" He groaned, squinting as he opened his eyes, taking in the blurry image of his phone. "Stupid alarm…"
He reached out, turning it off.
He slowly started to doze back off before another scheduled alarm went off.
Once again, he turned it off, ignoring it.
After a few minutes, he slipped back into unconsciousness.
…
An hour later, America found himself jolting awake when the realization suddenly washed over him in his half dazed state.
"...Oh, FUCK! I forgot I had a meeting today… I've gotta get around…"
Pain shot through his head when he sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Ugh, my head is killing me." He groaned. "I need to-"
All of a sudden, America heard the sound of wrinkling paper as his hand brushed against something.
"What the…?"
He glanced over and noticed some notebook paper with chicken scratch of handwriting that he'd been writing on.
Oh.
Glazing over it, his mood quickly shifted.
It was the same letter he had rewritten so many times he had lost count. Stayed awake until 3 AM trying to get it right.
Of course it wasn't.
He looked up at the pile of discarded papers and envelopes sitting abandoned in the middle of the floor, and then, with a bitter sigh, he wadded it up and tossed it in the trash can.
"Stupid letter."
𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙥𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨? 𝙉𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙩, 𝙞𝙩'𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝.
A bitter voice muttered into his ear, questioning he kept trying.
The same voice he had been hearing for months, analyzing his every action and emotion, almost like it knew him better than he knew himself.
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙪𝙥.
His throat burned with unshed tears as his eyes caught the sight of the broken TV that sat on his table.
Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand over one of the cracks, swallowing.
𝘽𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙏𝙑… 𝙄𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚…
I know… I really need to get it fixed one day…
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙡𝙡 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙥𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛𝙛. 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩. 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚.
No, I can't… This thing costed me a shit ton of money. It'd be cheaper just to have the screen replaced. Besides, I can't really afford another TV right now. Money's tight as it is.
I guess…
He sighed, before looking back at his cellphone.
What time is it…?
When he saw the time, his eyes widened.
Already 9:30.
"Crap." He jumped to his feet in a hurry, stumbling over a broken wine glass he had never cleaned up. "I'm gonna be late…!"
America looked through his dresser to find his clothes. "Where's my bomber jacket…? Oh, here it is…"
While he pulled on his uniform and clothes, the voice continued.
𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜…? 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠.
No, if I skip it, Britain will just yell at me again…
He then looked around, opening several drawers to find his medication. In that moment, a sharp pain went through his head, causing him to bend over slightly.
He clutching his forehead, painfully. "Ugh… I wish this headache would go away… Where's the ibuprofen… I don't understand where I could have put it, I could have sworn I had it in here last night… But I guess not…"
He shuffled through his dresser once more in case he had missed it and even moved back to the TV stand to check there as well, all to no avail.
He wasn't ABOUT to leave without it. He knew fully well that it would just get ten times worse if he didn't take something for it…
I wonder if it's in the bathroom.
America could barely contain his relief when he found the bottle of pills next to the sink.
He took a handful of water from under the faucet and stuffed the pill into his mouth before chasing it down with the water, swallowing it.
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬.. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙞𝙩.
"Leave me alone."
𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣'𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚. 𝘼𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚...
America's grip tightened on the bottle, his heart hammering in his chest at the temptation.
He didn't quite remember exactly when these urges had started.
Or when the voice had first appeared, pressuring him to take his life; even hurt others.
All he knew was that it was some months ago. Whether due to lack of sleep, or too much sleep, the days and weeks were hard to keep up with anymore.
𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩, 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙞𝙩?
𝙏𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙩?
𝙏𝙤 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣?
𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮.
For the longest time, America bit his lip, trying to ignore the voice.
Because that wasn't him.
It couldn't be.
Whatever that thing was, that voice, the way it talked - it was twisted. Broken.
Something he didn't want people to see, or even know it existed.
As the next words were spoken, however, another wave of nausea washed over him.
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙨𝙨.
The sickening reminder was enough to cause America to curl in on himself, memories flashing through his head that he wanted more than anything to ignore. To forget.
To pretend it didn't happen.
𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪…
He could practically feel the hands on his shoulders.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪…
The voice all but breathed into his ear.
𝙄𝙩 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩… 𝘼𝙧𝙚𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙢?
Invisible eyes. Watching his reaction like a hawk. Feeling what he felt.
Just somehow knowing.
Begging him to hurt somebody.
To take out his anger on the person that had been tormenting him for what felt like forever.
But America wouldn't do that.
He couldn't.
Of course I am… But he's my boss. There's nothing I can do about it.
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙮. 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙥 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨.
I'm not making excuses.
𝙔𝙚𝙨, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙩. 𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪!
America couldn't respond to that. Some part of him knew it was true. And he hated that about himself. But it seemed easier to simply tolerate it than fight back.
What other choice did he truly have?
The government didn't care what he had to say.
His boss certainly didn't.
Pill bottle in hand, he rubbed his arm, anxiously.
Wanting more than anything for the voice to leave him for just a moment.
…𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙅𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙞𝙛 𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬… 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪… 𝙄 𝙗𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙚'𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙.
"Goddammit, just shut up…!" No longer able to keep himself calm, he reached up and pulled at his hair in an attempt to regain his composure.
𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝.
"I don't care. Stop talking to me..." America snarled, just barely regaining his breathing.
This time, the voice didn't respond.
America sighed. "I've gotta go…"
Tossing the pill bottle back to the sink, he headed back into the room, passing by his piano. The large instrument caught his eye and shakily, he pressed a finger down on one of the keys.
He hadn't played the piano in a while, but sometimes, when everything seemed like it was falling to shit, music had always been an anchor for him.
So naturally, his instinct was to play.
And the song he knew best?
Carry on my Wayward Son.
Supernatural's influence was too much to break away from.
The cords grounded him, managing to fill him with a nostalgic sense of peace.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, before dropping his hands to his side.
I can't waste anymore time here…
He walked back over to his bed to pick up his phone, only then noticing that it was barely charged.
The plug had apparently come loose overnight.
Of 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚 it had.
Whatever. Too late now. He'd have to charge it when he got back. If it died, so be it.
He picked it up, shoving it into his pocket before heading to the door.
He walked through the kitchen, remembering he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday.
Maybe I should take something with me…
For a moment, he looked through the cabinet for something that would seem at least remotely appetizing.
But after a moment of scanning what was available, he felt himself lose interest.
It seemed like too much of a hassle. And he barely had time as it was…
I'll eat something later… They'll probably be serving food there anyways.
Then again, the idea of food in general right now was just… making him sick for some reason.
He didn't know why.
He used to love food.
He sighed, closing the cabinet, taking his keys and wallet from the bowl.
Okay. I can do this.
I've just gotta hold out for a couple hours and then I can come back home and rest…
I wonder if Japan's going to be there…
Probably…
He looked down at the door knob, feeling himself wavering, reconsidering the suggestion from the voice to just call in and say he was sick.
It would be so easy. To not go.
To stay home.
No. He couldn't do that. Not when they had taken time out of their schedule to fly to America.
They were counting on him to be there. He couldn't let them down.
Just breathe.
…