America panted, wiping sweat off his forehead. He had just finished his evening workout and gotten back from the gym. He always left his phone at home because nobody actually cared enough to call him most of the time, but that wasn't the case today. He entered his house and took off his shoes, looking over to his phone on the kitchen counter. It vibrated rapidly with texts and notifications about missed calls.

He was dumbfounded for a minute before he realized something. Today was a world meeting, and he hadn't been there. His face paled as he picked up his phone, seeing the array of insults from various countries. Canada had called him nearly a dozen times in the last three hours and left seven voicemails.

He listened to the first one.

Ame? Are you okay? You didn't show up to the meeting. Call me back, please.

Hey, I dropped by your house but you weren't home. Where are you?

Alfie? Hello? Is this some sort of stupid joke??

Answer me, I'm your brother, I shouldn't have to leave a message after the beep.

Me, Maria, and Diego are worried.

Alfred!

Where the hell are you?!

He winced at the tone in his voice, he only used that when he was playing hockey or very worked up. He got decided not to wound his ego and self-esteem any further by checking his messages. He dialled Canada and silently prepared for what the hell he was going to do.

It was halfway through the first ring when a loud voice was immediately heard. "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU!? I WAS WORRIED SICK!!" He heard someone else take the phone and then a bunch of Spanish curses filled his ears. He flinched away and rubbed his ringing ears. After they calmed down, Canada asked his question slightly calmer. "I forgot about the meeting and was at the gym all day." He said over the line, hearing nothing. Then the call ended. Canada hung up.

Then he heard a knock at his door and someone talking. "America! It's me, Germany." Alfred's eyes widened and fear set in. What the hell was he doing here?

"I came by to tell you that since you didn't bother to attend today's meeting, we will be having another tomorrow. Don't miss it this time."

"Okay, dude!" He shouted in his cheerful voice, relieved that he had gone away. America headed upstairs to change into his casual clothes, the ones he only wore at home. He had blue jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt and a sweatshirt that looked like the American flag. He walked into the kitchen and felt his stomach growl.

He hadn't eaten since he'd thrown up breakfast, and he had worked out all through lunch and halfway through the evening.

He decided to have some toast as to not upset his stomach too much, but as soon as he took a bite, he was overcome with nausea and disgust. He dropped the toast and ran to the nearest bathroom, throwing up the bite and some bile. His throat burned as he wiped the drool dripping out from the corner of his mouth.

Fatass. You don't need to get any bigger. The dark voice in his head sneered, causing the Americain to whimper slightly. He stood up and pushed the thought out. Sometimes he wondered what it would feel like to take something sharp and just slash his arms, but his body was ugly enough. He didn't need any scars to make it worse.

Instead, he focused on making sure he never gained any weight. He exercises intensely every day and almost never gives himself a proper meal unless he's out with others(He throws it up as soon as he gets the chance). He mainly drinks coffee, water, and some Coke when the others get suspicious.

Now, he could barely stand the sight and smell of food anymore, it just made him sick. He was repulsed by anything that had a higher total carb count than 12.

He made sure to set an alarm so that he would remember the meeting and decided to turn in slightly earlier.

-The next morning-

America opened his eyes and looked at his alarm clock, shutting it off and sighing. He was tempted to just stay in bed all day, but forced himself up and into his meeting outfit. A brown bomber jacket with a fifty on the back (representing the fifty states), and a white shirt.

He got in his car and drove to the meeting spot a little early.

He sat in his spot and sipped a soft-drink in silence. Slowly, more nations trickled in and gave him dirty looks. Nobody particularly enjoyed these meetings, but they were important to keep the world in balance and peace. The last thing any of us wanted was a WW3.

England and France walked in, the brit instantly spouting ridicule. "Hey fatty! Why the hell didn't you show up yesterday?!" England yelled, practically ready to lunge at the American. France held his shoulders to make sure that the boy he raised wasn't tackled.

"The hero had some things to do!" He said, putting on the mask that he deeply abhorred. But his voice wavered slightly, right as he said the word 'hero'. He wasn't a hero. He was a depressed man pretending to be ignorant and oblivious. France noticed this and looked at his son with worry.

The conference went on, as usual, everybody occasionally insulting Alfred and complaining that they had already heard the news.

By the end of it, America had almost completely lost his smile. All the taunts were swirling in his head and he could barely hear Germany adjourn the conference. He was struggling to keep the tears out of his eyes.

Canada put his hand on his brother's shoulder, noticing a visible flinch. America moved and Matthew's hand fell off his shoulder. Did he do something wrong?

"Are you okay, Alfie?" He asked, looking at his brother. America stood suddenly, looking down. "Of course. Heroes are always okay." He said quickly, leaving the room without another word.

The Canadian looked to Diego and Maria, who were already on Alfred's tail. America could hear them getting closer and picked up some speed, eventually breaking into a sprint. He wasn't in the mood to deal with his family right now, especially when he was this close to tears. He got in his car and sped away, not looking back.

The other nations looked at the car driving away and back at Canada, Diego, and Maria. "What was that about?" England asked. Canada shook his head and looked down, "I don't know..."