"Blood & Tears..."

"What. Is that?"

"It is your meal."

Alfred scrunched his nose up at the hideous looking 'meal' in his bowl. The bowl was half full of a lumpy, red mixture cradling some kind of green material on the top. The smell was disgusting although it had the aroma of tomato coming from it. Glancing at the two other bowls that were within reaching distance from the main one, Alfred could make out a small roll of bread covered with a light dusting of powder in one dish and a tea-spoon of sour scream in the other.

"Why...why is it red? And what's that green stuff on the top?"

"It is Ukrainian meal. Borscht."

"Wha'?"

"Borscht." When receiving another confused look, Ivan sighed and exclaimed, "Borscht is a soup made up of tomatoes or...er...how do you say it...um...ah...baeetrot?"

"You mean beetroot?" Alfred smirked at Russia's attempt at saying the word. But grimaced as his eyes fell upon the food in front of him.

"Da, that. The green things on top are P-...parsley. It is good for you." Russia thought for a moment, "Would you like it warm or cold?"

Alfred coughed slightly, "Ergh..."

"Warm then."

As Russia picked up the bowl and went off to the kitchen part of the small room, Alfred's shoulders fell. "Don't wanna eat it...ugh..." His eyes skimmed the two remaining bowls in front of him. How many calories are there in bread? Shit, isn't sour cream fattening?! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He began clenching his fists under the table, thinking of anything to limit the intake of the...soup? Biting his lips in anxiety Alfred nearly made a run for it when a hand pushed him firmly back into his seat, "We had a deal, Amerika." Russia placed the hot bowl onto the table, "You eat this meal...and I will not bother you much."

Alfred glared into the violet eyes then back at the bowl. Breathing in a large intake of breath the American reached for the spoon, gripping it tightly. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage and small shivers went up his spine.

Russia took the seat opposite America and waited for him to take a sip of the soup. Just by looking at him Russia could tell this was going to harder than he thought. A lot harder.

"Amerika, eat."

"It's hard y'know..."

"I know but you have to try,"

Alfred's head shot up his eyes a mixture of anger and confusion, "You don't know anything!" He pushed the bowl backwards in frustration, "Don't you dare say you know what it's like!"

Taken aback Ivan sat back in silence while Alfred rested his elbows on the table with the spoon dangling from his slim fingers. It was weird how calm Russia was acting. Only moments ago was he punching the back of America's head causing him to fall to the floor but now...now he was different. Won't take my chances on that one Alfred told himself.

Alfred kept his head down, his eyes raised slightly to stare at the Borscht which was churning his insides. The deal was to eat the meal, only that meal. An idea popped into the American's mind, Maybe if I eat this shit then I will be able to fast until tomorrow lunch time!

Silently, he grabbed the edge of the bowl with his finger tips, receiving the raised eyebrow look from the man in front of him but Alfred chose to ignore it, "Stupid Commie." He muttered under his breath.

Clenching the spoon tightly, he stirred the spoon into the red liquid. Judging by the texture and the smell, it looked as if it was some kind of tomato soup, only worse.

"Eat it."

Two words. He didn't look at him but Alfred knew Ivan was watching him glare at the bowl and so, with slight hesitation, he scooped a small amount and brought the spoon to his mouth. America's hand started to shake as thoughts of him fat, sweaty and disgusting flooded his mind. You're going to be fat again. Stupid pig. Can't even handle the temptation to eat. Idiot. Fat. Fat. Fat, American.

And with that he stuck the spoon in his mouth and swallowed, filling his spoon with more of the soup and then swallowing that too. He repeated the same movements as if in a trance. Scoop, swallow. Scoop, swallow. Scoop, swallow. Until nothing was left in the bowl. Ivan watched with wide eyes.

A small burp escaped the American's lips, "D-done. Happy now?" He looked on the verge of tears and that hurt the Russian. But, he ignored the stupid feeling and said,

"Da! I am glad you have eaten! It was nice?!"

Receiving the aftertaste that he didn't recognise before, Alfred winced slightly, "Y-yeah, was...great..." Looking to his left, Alfred noticed the bathroom, "Hey? Can I use your bathroom?"

Raising a questioning eyebrow Russia thought that nothing would come to harm with the American in his bathroom, he's been in his bed after all...why not? "Da...you know where it is...I shall clean this away..."

"Awesome," scraping back the chair Alfred hurried to the toilet, locking the door behind him and, after pushing the washing hamper as a barricade to the door as well, knelt by the toilet.

He started to shake, that's what caught him off guard. He didn't understand why at first as he had watched hundreds of videos of people doing this sort of thing and had read blogs on easy methods to do it. Right...it's my first time...that's fine. Come on Alfred!

Taking in a deep breath and lifting the toilet seat up, he closed his eyes. Thoughts of him back in the day when he was so fat he could barely walk ten paces without going out of breath. Or how his stomach was so big it used to come over his jeans. Alfred gritted his teeth at the memories and tightened his grip on the toilet seat. It takes twenty minutes for food to be digested in the stomach and so he only had a small amount of time to do this.

Slowly, with a shaking hand, America brought his forefinger and middle finger to his mouth and, counting slowly to three:

1...2...3

Shoved the two fingers to the back of his throat...and purged...

Russia was washing the dishes when he heard an unusual sound coming from the bathroom. It wasn't a sound to normally come from such a place. With a confused expression, the Russian man placed the wet bowl and spoon on the drying rack and slowly made his way to the locked door. The sounds were louder but came every five to ten seconds.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, the sounds froze, "Amerika? Are you okay?"

A muffled response came back.

"Vhat did you say?" He tried moving the door knob but it didn't move...obviously, "Are you stuck?"

Suddenly, he heard a loud thud coming from the other end. This triggered warning signals in Ivan's brain. Is...is he...okay? "Amerika if you do not open this door, I shall come in myself!" He shouted.

"...n...-o...don..."

Getting frustrated, he tried moving the doorknob once again, but with a much stronger force, "Amerika, my patience is running out...open door!"

When he was met with no sound, Ivan grit his teeth and literally turned the knob until it came out the door. Throwing it to one side and pushing the hamper he was met with Russia froze.

America, knees to his chest and his head on his them and a fowl smell coming from the toilet. The sight was pitiful.

"Amerika?" Alfred didn't move his head, but scrunched up his eyes, willing himself to just disappear right now. He heard footsteps approach him and could see through the gaps between his legs, Russia's black military boots.

"Did the Borscht make you sick?"

He chuckled, "Something like that..." But then moaned as his head started to throb.

But Russia was having none of it. Grabbing the back of the American's hair, forcing his eyes to meet the penetrating violet ones, Ivan studied the other's face, "...No it didn't...I may be Russian but I know what you did, Amerika. You broke the deal."

"That hurts."

Glaring slightly, but letting go of the blonde locks, Russia glanced at the toilet. Flushing the chain and quickly pouring bleach down it, he then looked back at the American who was still in the same position as he was when he found him.

"Amerika."

"..."

Sighing, he walked out of the bathroom and rummaged through one of his luggage bags. Pulling out a new toothbrush and opening it, he made his way back to Alfred. "Here."

Blue eyes looked up through blonde strands of hair, "Huh?" Noticing the brush in the Russian's hand, he realised it was for him. Without meeting the purple gaze he gently took it.

"Stand up."

"...Don't take orders from a Communist..." Was the muttered reply.

Russia grit his teeth, "You are in my dorm, you will do as I say, Amerika."

Alfred's head shot up, his blue eyes a seemingly dull colour, "Sorry? I did as you asked now if you can be so kind as to move out of my way, I will kindly take my leave."

"You broke the deal! You chucked it back up, you stupid idiot!" Ivan bellowed. He grabbed Alfred's shirt from his neck and pulled him up. It was easy as the boy weighed less to nothing. He pulled him to the sink, "Look at yourself! Doesn't it make you at least a little sick?!"

Alfred glared at the reflection. He seemed so tiny now compared to the Russian. Even though the height difference was only small, America's appearance was ghastly. "Not really, no." He replied with a dead-panned expression, "I still look gross."

"You are kidding me..." He sighed, "Look closely."

And America did. He felt vulnerable standing in front of the largest country in the world. He looked at his face and saw the dark eyes and sunken cheeks. His hair was dull and thinning slightly at the edges. The shirt he was wearing showed his prominent collar bones. He shivered and winced as his head throbbed again.

"Well?"

"I don't seem any different." He lied.

Confusion was evident on the Russian's face, "You may be needing new glasses, Amerika." "Doesn't it scare you?"

"Why would I be scared? I'm still me on the inside."

"I don't think you understand," He continued before the other interrupted, "You are killing yourself."

Alfred didn't reply, instead stared at the toothbrush. He felt the other's warm body behind him and he had to will himself not to move back. He found himself becoming increasingly colder nowadays.

"You are shivering."

"You don't say, it's freezing in here." Came the whitty response.

"Brush your teeth."

"No."

"Now, Alfred!"

Once again, the American froze when his name escaped the other's lips. He found himself doing as he was told, "Fine!" Gripping the toothbrush with a force that wasn't necessary, he picked up the toothpaste and spread it along the bristles. He started to clean his teeth. Russia watched with a steady gaze as he stood behind the other man, noticing how Alfred didn't look at himself in the mirror. Peering down, he noticed how baggy the shirt was on America's body, and how he could see each of the bumps of the spine. The pain in his stomach returned. Glancing up slightly, Ivan noticed a red colour in the Alfred's hair. The punch was that hard? No, maybe it was hair-dye?

"Done."

He looked up after what had been ages, as Alfred placed the toothbrush on the side of the sink. He nodded, "Прости..."

"What?" Alfred sighed, "You know I don't understand your language, Russia,"

Ivan didn't speak for a while, as he examined America's sunken cheeks and dark eyes. He couldn't believe he actually felt guilty for hitting Alfred. Breathing in a deep breath he asked, "How is your head?"

"My head?" Automatically, America raised his hand wincing when it came into contact with the wound, "G-God. That's some hit you got there!" Bringing his hand back down both America's and Russia's eyes widened:

"It's still bleeding!" He cried.

At this Alfred started to panic, "H-hey. This ain't funny. Why am I still bleeding? Surely if the hit was a few hours ago it would have stopped ages before right? You couldn't have hit that hard!"

Ivan just stood there, watching the worry in the blue eyes, looking down at the blood stained hand. He grabbed it and pulled Alfred into the main room. "Sit on the bed." Alfred did as he was told, placing his hand on the back of his head to try and stop the blood escaping any further.

"Why's it still bleeding, Russia?"

Ivan walked back into the bathroom, emerging with a First Aid Kit, "I do not know," He lied. Of course he knew the reason. Alfred hadn't been eating proper meals, therefore his body is weaker.

"Maybe it is because you are not eating as much." He said flatly.

Alfred licked his lips, looking down, "Y-yeah right...that can't be the whole reason! Maybe you hit harder than intended?"

"Trust me, I did not." He sneered, "Turn around,"

America cocked his head to the side, wincing slightly as his head thumped in pain, but turned around anyway.

Ivan bent down and opened the green box, examining the contents; bandages, a pair of scissors, plasters, burn cream, disinfectant wipes and other medical objects. Pulling out a packet of the wipes and removing his gloves, Ivan carefully began wiping the back of the American's head. They sat in silence while he tended to the other's wound. Occasionally, the other would wince but Ivan noticed how he grit his teeth to hide it. The wound wasn't that serious but did require a plaster to protect it. Alfred's hair was longer at the back and so Ivan decided to place a medium sized, square shaped plaster over it. Flattening the hair to hide the material, Russia never realised how soft the other's hair was. "There." His voice cracked.

"...Thanks..." Alfred turned around and felt the back of his head, "It's not noticeable is it?"

"Nyet," Ivan packed the contents away, sliding it under his bed, "Your hair hides it."

"Cool," Alfred looked down slightly. He felt sick and his head was still pounding, "Why d'you do it?" He barely whispered.

Ivan stood slowly his mouth in a frown, "Do I need to explain myself to you?"

"I guess not," He looked up into the violet eyes, "I guess I'll be going then." As he stood to leave, Russia placed a hand on his shoulder, "What?"

"At least...try..." Ivan murmured, "You will do yourself good...to eat I mean."

Taking a deep breath, Alfred nodded and walked out the door, leaving Russia alone again. Closing the door behind him, Alfred slowly made his way back to his room, wondering why his heart was beating so fast.

"Do you think he's alright?"

"Huh?" Francis' head whipped up and looked at the man in front of him. He saw the Brit's chest lower as he emptied a big breath of air.

"Alfred...do you think he's okay?" Arthur whispered.

Francis stood up from the desk he had been working from, folding the papers back into their usual position. He sighed when he saw the concerned expression coming from the Brit's face, "I'm sure he is fine, cher. He's a strong boy now."

England frowned, "He may be a strong boy to you but he's still my little lad no matter how tall he gets," He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, "Or annoying and dumb-witted."

Moving away from the desk, France grabbed Arthur's shoulder gently, pulling him into the kitchen, "He seems fine to me. Thé?"

"Please..." Arthur said as he sat down at the table, his head in his hands, "I don't know, Francis. He just seems different but I genuinely feel something's wrong with him..."

Francis flicked the kettle on and took out two mugs from the overhead cupboard, placing a tea bag in one and a spoonful of coffee in the other. "Have you tried talking to him since?" Turning around, he made his way over to the Brit, gently pulling his hands over from his face, green eyes looking down at the table, "Look at me."

"..."

"Arthur, look at me, sil vous plez," He brushed the unkempt hair out of the other's face. The green eyes looked back but were slightly red, holding unshed tears. The hands France had been holding onto balled into small fists and he could see England was trying not to cry. Francis felt a pang of guilt run through his veins, he would be in the same state if something was wrong with his son, Canada. Matthieu...maybe he could help, oui?

"Arthur...how do you know?"

He released the fists to fall gently to the table, which went straight to the blonde locks as England tried to comb his fingers through it, getting stuck at times. His face contorted into confusion and thought, "I just...feel as if something isn't right...as if he's not the same...like normal..."

The Frenchman sighed, "Is this what Italy told you? Because you know he can be funny at-"

"No! It's not just that, Francis!" Green eyes glared into blue but quickly softened as he saw Francis shocked expression, "Sorry...but it's not that. Before we went into the meeting the other day he seemed...off...and how he was late the other day and Prussia went to go get him...it doesn't seem...right, I can feel it!"

"He does seem smaller," Francis mused, looking down at the table. He looked up as the kettle was ready but was held down by the smaller nation's hand on his arm.

"What?"

"Alfred," He replied in dead-panned expression, "he looks thinner than normal."

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "I'm not sure what you're getting at here, Francis."

"Haven't you noticed, mon cher? He may not be acting the same to you but I have noticed how he appears to be...trés mince..."

"H-how I curse the day I learnt French..." Arthur muttered, "So what you're saying is that my boy is dieting?" Before France could open his mouth England carried on, his grip tightening on the shoulder, "We're talking about the United States of bloody America, Francis! Not Italy, or Spain, or Austria or any other country prone to that sort of behavior! America! This is Alfred the so called 'hero' or whatever bloody name he likes to call himself! He is not dieting! How bloody dare you say that! I-!"

"Arthur!"

England realised that whilst he was shouting he had also been crying and shaking his lover with too much force than necessary. His cheeks turned red as he sniffed and looked down.

"Arthur listen to me! I never said anything about dieting! He may be sick but not mentally! There are so many illnesses in the world!"

"...Maybe you're right...he's probably got a cold or something...b-but..." He faltered, "The look he gave me the other day before the meeting...it was so easy to notice he was faking it..I could tell...his eyes weren't shining...a-and...he had dark circles under them, as if he was drained of energy, France...am...am I doing something wrong? Am I not looking out for my son that only up until now I have noticed something?!"

"On mon amour," The Frenchman embraced the crying Englishman, holding him close to his chest while sad but frustrated tears made their way down Arthurs red cheeks, slowly soaking up into the other's shirt, "Shall we go and talk to him? Maybe that would ease your mind...we'll be getting an answer from him and not from your worried thoughts, oui?"

He felt the other tense and look up with surprised eyes, "No! No, not yet!"

"Quoi? But I-"

"I do not want him to think I am looking after him again. He's a grown boy and would hate for me to be worried about him now. I'll talk to him soon, just not now...okay?'

Francis let himself smile slightly. Silly England and his mood swings, "Whatever you say, mon cher." And he wiped the tears from his eyes and planted a soft kiss to the English lips, whispering, "It'll be alright, je vous promets..."

I'm super sorry! That's all I can say! I mean, how many months have I let you guys hang there? Since October I think? October? Man, I am a bad writer! The story is slowly starting to build and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I tried making it longer than normal and I apologise for any grammatical mistakes. Next chapter should be up soon so please bear with me! Thank you for the reviews, they really keep me going!