Notes: Whoop it's been a while, but here's the next chapter.

Thank you to everyone who's left reviews, they really help :)

Alfred's finally starting to get better

You don't have to be a hero to save the world

It doesn't make you a narcissist to love yourself

It feels like nothing is easy it'll never be

That's alright, let it out, talk to me

~ Cavetown (Talk to Me)

The headache Alfred wakes up with is almost bad enough to make him forget.
Almost.
As it turns out, even when it feels like a sledgehammer is pounding into his skull, it's impossible for him to forget everything he's said. He cried in front of everyone. It would be embarrassing enough in front of Kiku or Francis, but Arthur and Ludwig are a completely different story.
He's not sure how aware Gilbert was during the sobfest, considering how drunk the Prussian was, but Alfred feels mortified nonetheless.
They all know everything now.

The week between Christmas and New Years is a daze. It feels like a hole in time, a tiny piece of the year that's not really supposed to exist. Or at least that's what Alfred thinks. He guesses it's probably different for nations who aren't Christian and don't have as big of a buildup to Christmas.

His head just wants to go through the motions; wake up, weigh himself, shower, run, go to work. Except now he's got six other very confused and scared people in his house, trying to keep him from self-destructing. Alfred's not allowed to run, not allowed anywhere near a scale, he's not even allowed to go into work.

The others try to get him to eat, and he honestly tries to do it. They're freaking out and he's trying really hard not to make it worse. He holds his breath and puts the food in his mouth, even though his head is screaming at him to spit it out. It's pretty hard to go from eating next to nothing to three square meals a day.

Alfred throws up a lot the first week.

He's not even trying to, but his body is too used to rejecting everything it eats. Arthur misunderstands and tries to pull Alfred away from the bathroom, and Alfred ends up vomiting all over himself. It's mortifying how little control he has over his body. Francis and Matthew both cry, and everyone else starts yelling at each other.

"Oh my god, none of you idiots are helping!" Gilbert eventually shouts, "He needs someone who actually knows what they're doing!"

In the end, Ludwig resolves to find him a therapist and a nutritionist. The very thought is terrifying, but Alfred is so so tired and nothing else is helping. He's only getting through the days by pushing everything away and trying not to think.

He says as much to Mattie one night, and his brother just whispers back, "I'm so sorry, Alfred," in a brittle voice.

Alfred is starting to get really sick of making Mattie cry.

Everything reaches a peak on New Year's Eve. Fireworks are bad, even on good days, and everyone is already on their last nerves. Ludwig and Arthur snap at each other, Francis is antsy and jumps at small noises, Kiku and Gilbert go completely unresponsive. Alfred and Mattie hide upstairs while war breaks out around them.

It's not even dinnertime before Ludwig announces that he, Gilbert, and Kiku are catching the soonest flight home.

"We'll be back," Kiku says firmly as they start shuffling their things outside. His eyes are still glassy, but he's cohesive enough to pack his things. "Just give us a week or two."

Alfred understands, he really does. It's hard to deal with someone else's messy mental state when you're not doing so hot yourself. He tries not to feel hurt, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a blow.

The house feels quiet with the three of them gone.

He finds a new first-aid kit in the bottom drawer of his bathroom cabinet. The razor is gone, replaced by the box of bandages and antiseptic. It's wrapped with a red bow, and there's a sticky note that says 'happy new year, thanks for patching me up' in Gilbert's stilted handwriting.

It's just a stupid note, but it makes Alfred cry anyways.

He gets a lot of texts. They don't all know what's going on, but word has spread about him fainting at the Christmas party. Lithuania and Romano both send get well wishes (the latter significantly more aggressive than the former) and Italy sends him a cute drawing of a cat. Alfred also gets a lot of texts from Russia, which is weird, but none of them are particularly threatening, so he doesn't ask why.

He goes to his first therapy appointment the Wednesday after new years.

The therapist is nice enough. Alfred keeps forgetting her name, but it doesn't really matter. He doesn't know who she is, or how much the government has told her about him, so he's slow to trust her.

Alfred learns a lot of words during therapy. A lot of them he already knows. PTSD, anorexia, depression, they're words he's already learned to associate with himself and the other nations. But there are other words too, like dysphoria and dissociation, words that he'd never thought would apply to himself.

He feels like the therapist is slowly dissecting and labeling him. She takes out every part of him and gives it a name. It's exhausting. She asks him why each piece is there, and sometimes he has an answer. Most of the time he doesn't, but sometimes if he thinks hard enough, he can trace his thoughts to certain times and places.

Matthew is waiting outside when Alfred finally finishes. When he asks how it went Alfred just shrugs, "It happened, I guess."

"Germany's been talking to the NATO leaders. He's trying to get mandatory therapy sessions for us all, so it won't just be you for long."

"Yeah. He was talking about that."

"Are you okay?"

"Tired."

"That's alright. It's been a long day."

When they get home, Alfred curls up on his couch and stares blankly at the opposite wall. Mattie turns on a Disney movie for him to watch. It's one of the less popular ones, but the music is nice. Arthur walks past and drapes a blanket over him, trying to act casual.

It's a nice feeling, and Alfred slowly drifts off to the sounds of his family around him.

Arthur won't hold him. The days when Alfred could simply run up and curl into his older brother's arms are long past. They're on better terms now, but there's still way too much water under the bridge for them to try and cross it now. Alfred doubts they ever will. He can't imagine a reality where they go back to what they had. It's just not going to happen.

But Arthur still undeniably cares for him. Sometimes it's hard to see, but it's in the way he calls every so often and sends god-awful birthday gifts, even if he won't come to the party. He cares, but he won't hold, won't even touch Alfred. Sometimes he can't even look at him. Alfred is okay with it. He can't look at himself either, and Arthur is really trying.

Arthur doesn't ask questions as Francis and Matthew do. He tries to distract everyone with movies and books and gets a little too mad at himself when he messes things up. He's started to help Francis with the cooking. It's mostly just cutting vegetables and stirring sauces, but he's trying.

Francis holds him as if he is made of glass. Francis is the type of person who will hold anyone if they let him. He's far too old and has been through far too much to let anything stop him from showing affection for those he cares about. Where Arthur is hesitant and awkward, Francis is warm and opening. But Alfred is made of glass and Francis is determined not to break him.

Francis handles him like he's delicate, easily shattered and broken. Hugs are brief, and contact is scarce. They barely touch when it happens. His words are soft and carefully chosen, as his hands ghost over Alfred's shoulders.

Sometimes he finds Alfred collapsed on the bathroom floor, reeling and shaking like he's about to fall apart. He'll sit beside him and ever so gently hold his hand until Alfred can breathe again, and the fire isn't made of fire anymore. Just glass.

Matthew holds Alfred as if his life depends on it. Matt has always been the sweet, gentle twin, but not when it comes to this. He'll slip into Alfred's bed at night and cling to his brother firm and tight enough to remind them both that they're still here, still alive.

Alfred wakes with long, dark bruises shaped like his brother's arms. Everything bruises these days. Sometimes he'll be bruised by just sitting in an odd position. He'll never tell Mattie because if Matt thought he was hurting him, he'd definitely stop, and Alfred's come to like the bruises. Every time he stretches, it sends a jolt of numb pain down his back and reminds him that his brother loves him.

His brother loves him.

His brother loves him.

His family loves him.

And Alfred keeps fighting.

Notes: I still have at least one more chapter planned for this story, so hang in there lol

reviews would be great, I promise I'm nice :)