“Are you all right?” Canada asked, nearly a week after America had finally been declared ‘stable’ enough to return home, but not without someone to watch him. Given that America didn’t seem to trust his citizens anymore (after all, they identified with other nations as far as ethnicity went, and everyone hated America anyways, so what was the point?), a nation had been assigned to watch over him.
Canada hadn’t been particularly happy, either. But he showed up, which is better than any other ‘close’ allies had done.
(Always with condolence letters or supposed-to-be-thoughtful get-well cards or messages left on answering machines. They all seemed so concerned, but if they cared, wouldn’t they show up?)
“Just peachy,” America replied, putting on that same fake smile as always. “Say, how about we do something sort of fun, huh? Maybe get out of here for a while? Go ice-skating or something?”
Canada gave him a quizzical look. “We both have paperwork to get done, and you’re not supposed to do anything dangerous for a while anyways—”
“I’ll be fine, just, I need to get out of this place, you know?” America admitted, but only because the medicine made his brain feel foggy, and it was so hard to think straight when he felt inclined to start chanting some old Mayan war-cry, what year was it, anyways?
“Right,” Canada said, a thoughtful smile on his face. “Maybe later today, all right?”
“Ai, Istas,” America whispered, wondering why his tongue felt so thick around the words, wondering why it sounded so foreign when he was sure he’d just said “Yes, Snow,” because that was what the land above him was, wasn’t it? Just snow and ice, but there was a little boy that looked like him that lived there, so maybe there was something more and—
Canada sighed and brushed the bangs away from America’s forehead. “Go to sleep, all right?”
America nodded and it wasn’t long before the dreams and nightmares were chasing him, swirling around with their varying shades of darkness.
---
“Is he doing better?”
America overheard it one day, recognizing the voice as his vice president’s. He scoffed and turned over, letting the blankets swallow him up yet again.
“I think so,” Canada said cautiously. “I can never be sure, though. One minute he’ll be fine, if a bit distant, and the next he’ll be speaking some ancient native language. I don’t know what to do.”
“If you need to, you can take a break,” the vice-president said, clearly sympathetic to America’s caretaker (and interestingly enough, not to America himself, never to America himself because it just didn’t work like that, it just didn’t). “I’m sure we can find someone else willing to help…”
“No, I’ll stay until my government makes me come home,” Canada said, perhaps a little too quickly.
America felt a surge of gratitude and did his best to improve—he really did—but there was still a crippling feeling of something or another, difficult to place and impossible to remove.
“Are you going to be all right?” Canada finally asked, voice as soft as ever, but there was the unmistakable firm tone to it, the tone that made America remember why he’d been afraid in 1814—and oh, God, he’d lost that war, too, and his people had been so disappointed—and America flinched.
“I keep telling you I’m already fine. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” America snapped, feeling curiously bitter. “You don’t have to stay. Really.”
Canada stared at him for a long while, face hard and unreadable, before finally softening up again. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he asked with a sigh, gently running his fingers through the hair that needed to be washed, and badly.
America leaned into the touch, and within moments had fallen back asleep.
---
Little by little, America started to come back.
It took him a while, but finally, finally, his old personality started to shine through, and with it came an even stronger aversion to assistance.
“I’m fine,” he all but snapped at Canada while the other nation insisted, insisted on helping him, insisted on guiding him through the house, insisted on helping him into the shower, insisted on going on a walk with him instead of letting him go alone.
“I know, all right?” Canada snapped back, passive-aggression replaced by something almost resembling anger. Real anger, too. America hadn’t seen this side before. It intrigued him even as he was yelled at. “For once in your life, think about someone else! Do you think I like watching you struggle?! No! If I can help, I will, and you’d better be sure that I’m going to whether you like it or not.”
The glare is new, too, and it’s all America can do but back down and allow his brother-nation to help him to his feet, shoving him out the door but never letting go of his hand and back into the world.
Whether he liked it or not.
---
America continued to improve, that day and the next.
A week passed.
Then two.
He didn’t have a relapse, and the longer he spent up and around and not sleeping more than necessary, the more energy he seemed to have. And with the release of energy came the natural cure to depression. That, and it seemed rather impossible to be continuously down when he was up and about, distracted, for most of the day.
“You’re feeling better, eh?” Canada finally asked, after what had to have been three weeks after finally, finally, finally starting to recover. “That’s good.”
America smiled, and it wavered a little, to be sure, but after so long of no genuine smiles, it was worth a thousand of his normal, plastic ones.
“So, what happened back then, anyways? Did you have a mental breakdown or something?”
It’s a question he hasn’t been asked much. The other nations aren’t exactly prying, not with the way they’re expected to act (like trained puppets; it still makes America sick, sick sick sick), but that night, it looks like Canada finally wants an answer.
It’s a few years late, but then again, a few years is more like a few minutes, in nation-time, and America is still hesitant about coming clean.
But a few drinks have loosened his tongue, and he trusts his brother-nation enough to know that he won’t spread the story or treat him different afterwards. So America took another swig of his drink, sat back, facing away from Canada, and finally answered him.
“I just… I dunno. I was real tired of the way things had been going, you know?” America paused, hesitating, but Canada doesn’t interrupt tells him that it’s not a good enough explanation. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just… You know that everyone kind of hated me, right? Most of ‘em still hate me? And they’re all older than me, an’ more mature and everything. But they never really accepted me, you know? They always jus’ pushed me down ‘n then yelled at me whenever I acciden’lly pushed ‘em down wit’ me. They never… ever liked me, an’ they hated me, and y’know ‘s well as I do that we need everyone’s approval t’ feel like real nations. ‘N if we stop feelin’ like nations… What are we, y’know? ‘S why we need people to acknowledge us as nations ‘fore we actually become ‘em, ‘n all.” He took another long swig, then waved his hands, trying to continue. “Anyways. I tried to keep actin’ normal, or at least actin’ like my boss wanted me to act. They’ve got us all on strings, y’know? Don’t piss off this nation, or we might actually go to war, or it’ll be, Try to suck up to this nation, we’re in debt to them and maybe they’ll talk their boss into giving us an extension. That type of thing. You know what I mean?” And it’s an actual question, the way he looks up at Canada and waits for an answer.
Canada doesn’t hesitate to give him one. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But it’s just how things are nowadays, eh?”
“Yeah,” America said, snorting. He took another swig. “I hate it. ‘M the representation of freedom. I should a’least get to be free, myself, right? Anyways, it just got so hard. I started snapping at my boss more, started screwing up on how I was supposed to act for lunch date-things, whatever they are. And… just, it sucks. It really sucks. But finally I asked my boss for… for some vacation time.” Tears filled his eyes, and he scrubbed angrily against them, willing himself to continue. “Ah, I hate that. But, but when I finally got away, I just couldn’t sleep. Everything I’d been trying to keep away from… that I’d tried not to think about, suddenly was there, all the time. Nothing could distract me ‘r anything, an’ I just… I just couldn’t take not sleeping, either, so I started taking some pills. Just a couple, just to sleep, y’know?” His voice wavered, and he glanced back to Canada for some reassurance.
“I—I understand,” Canada said, neutral as always, but at least he didn’t look angry or disapproving. Mostly just disappointed. “I wish you had just… just called me, or something, but… I understand.”
America nodded, grateful. “Yeah—Yeah, I wish I’d called you, too. But… well, you… y’know what happened next, right?”
Canada nodded. “You took almost half a bottle of those pills, America. It’s lucky that you were only out for a month. It could’ve been worse—”
“When I woke up, I was glad,” America interrupted, washing the words down with another sip. “I was… I was really happy to not have had to deal with everything, even if just for that month. I was happy.” Upon seeing Canada’s slightly horrified expression, he quickly added, “’M not happy now, ‘bviously, bu'… Bu’ I was right then. And tha’s all I really cared about at that time.”
Canada just watched him for a minute or two, sipping his own, slightly less pure-alcoholic drink, then sighed. “You scared everyone, you know. Scared me and England half to death. France wasn’t much happier, and Japan and Lithuania were even worse, maybe.”
“Yeah, but you’re the only one who actually came,” America grumbled, feeling rather childish, even as he took yet another swig of his drink, wishing not for the first time that he could just pass out and be done with it, give into the sweet nothingness of sleep.
“But not the only one who wanted to,” Canada pointed out. “Trust me on that.”
“Yeah? Well why didn’t they?” America snapped, suddenly feeling angry. “If they cared so much, why couldn’t they have done the right thing? They know good and well that I’d’ve done the same thing for them if it happened to any of them! Why couldn’t they have just done it for me?!”
“Sit down,” Canada said quietly, and America realized belatedly that he was standing.
“Sorry,” America muttered, sliding back into his chair.
“They didn’t come because they were asked not to,” Canada said patiently, once it appeared that America was no longer likely to stand up and start flipping tables. “Your boss,” he explained. “Your boss… made some pretty dumb decisions, I’m not going to lie. Asking you to act like a trained monkey, letting you stay by yourself after you’d already started to snap, then still keeping you pretty much alone, with only one person… yeah, pretty dumb. But he thought he was doing the right thing.”
“He could’ve asked me what I wanted,” America said, but he didn’t have much enthusiasm at all, and suddenly the table looked rather comfortable, like a wooden pillow. He laid his head down on it, breaths starting to deepen.
“You always sleep when you’re upset, don’t you?” Canada said with a sigh.
“’M not asleep,” America mumbled, but he couldn’t deny that he was tired, and probably unable to lift his head, though that might have partially been because of the alcohol. “Just… restin’.”
“Mm-hmm.” Canada smiled, then gently lifted the glasses from America’s face, further worsening his vision, already blurred from his less-than-sober state. “You gonna remember any of this tomorrow?”
America chuckled. “Don’ think I could forget. But you won’t get this outta me then, y’know.”
“Anything else you want to say, that you won’t say tomorrow?” Canada asked with a small smile.
“Yup,” America said around a yawn. “Wish they’d… Ngh, wish they’d actually act like they were all older’n me. They have such big talk nowadays but I remember when it didn’t matter that I was only here for a couple’a years. When I wasn’t yelled at for bein’ immature, ‘cause they still sorta seemed to like me. Or maybe they just hated me less.” He frowned, blinking his eyes closed for a second longer than he had last time. “I dunno. But… I-I really wish they’d stop hating me. An’ stop makin’ fun of me for bein’ a kid, sort of. ‘M supposed to make mistakes, right?”
Canada gave him a long look, then frowned. “…Right. How about you sleep it off, eh? You’re gonna have a nasty hangover in the morning, but you look tired…”
America smiled. “Yeah. I’mma sleep on th’ couch, okay?”
“Alright, but don’t get any vomit on it when you wake up, ‘kay?” Canada asked with a teasing grin that he hadn’t gotten to use since who-knew-when. However, seeing that America was making no move to the couch, he couldn’t help but step in. “Hey, you gonna actually move there or what?”
“’M tired…”
Canada sighed, then looped one of America’s arms over his shoulder, easing him up from the chair and over to the couch, ignoring the grumbled protests. “Sleep well, alright?”
But America was already gone, sleep claiming him without a second’s notice, and without a notice of the frown that followed him into sleep. Canada let his heart break only when he was sure his twin wouldn’t wake up, and only when he’d already fastened a blanket up to the American nation’s shoulders.
Tomorrow morning, he’d smile and be polite and proper, even as his brother-nation hurled into waste-baskets and he nursed a hangover of his own. But tonight, he’d let himself think things over for a while, forcing himself not to forget the night’s conversation, and making a note not to let it happen again.
It was a while before he fell asleep, but just before he did, he could almost hear a laugh, but it still didn’t live up to the boisterous laughter from before.
Sorry for the general dark theme, and for the kinda crappy ending. However, I needed to practice angst and all, so, uh, yeah. Sorry if I went overboard, and also, I'm really sorry if I made England seem like an asshole. I'd apologize for America's boss, but he's sort of an OC, since I'd never portray a president that disrespectfully, even on anon.
But I really appreciate those of you that commented, or might comment after this part. Because it's really the support of the reader that keeps a writer going, you know?
Anyways, thanks for reading, if you've actually read this far. :) I'll probably de-anon to my de-anon account (SevenServers), so check me out on livejournal sometime.
This angst-junkie was quite happy with the level this hit on the angst-o-meter. Yeah, the ending was a little awkward but not unbearable and it involved brotherly!Canada which makes me dumbly happy.
Author anon here, and thank you very, very much. And I'm not going to lie, the ending could've been done better but I only had so much time and I didn't want it sitting on my computer for forever. But thanks a bunch! :)
Too dark for me to comment, but I thought I'd drop a note to let you know I read it--and even enjoyed it. Just...a little too sad for me to say anything upbeat about it.
Authoranon here... Sorry to hear that. However, as for the problems not being resolved part, well, I have to say that the prompt itself said that it didn't have to have a happy ending, and it's not like I could know what everyone wanted before I started writing.
However, regardless of whether or not you'll ever see things from me again on anon, I'll keep everything in mind. :)
I'll admit right now I was looking for catharsis when I opened this (then again, isn't that what angstfic is for?), and it hit all the right buttons. Felt real to me. Depression isn't something that just goes away... Takes effort, and there was the promise of that in the future. So just saying I didn't mind the ending, cuz actually resolving the problem would extend the length by a huge amount so I understand leaving that out.
Also, I just wanted to post some positive comments after that last one;;; Don't stop writing please~
Author anon here! Thanks so much for the positive comments ('cause I'm not gonna lie, I definitely prefer happier toned comments, you know?). And you understand perfectly! I really didn't want to write five chapters for the problem to get resolved because it would feel way too cheesy. Thanks again for your support! :)
(And don't worry, I'll probably never stop writing.)
This is extraordinarily late (about six months since the last comment!), and I'm fairly sure you probably aren't checking for comments on this anymore and will probably not read mine but regardless, I needed to express my praise for this story!
I very much like the turn of events and the ending. Quite frankly, a thought in the back of my head was weary that this was going to be a story in which it builds up so much angst just to resolve it so unrealistically quick. I'm very happy with the fact that America's depression is taken into real terms.
As for the support, it may have been lacking at times but it could also be taken more towards America's own perception of the situation and as such its more pessimistic. So, really it's not a such a huge thing you should fret about for it can possibly be a slight mixture of third-first person point of view and as such can add a certain style to the tale.
All in all, it really was a great story! I do so hope you continue writing.
I thought that this story did really well in getting the emotions that needed to be conveyed, though I agree with one of the other commenters that the support from the other nations were a bit lacking.
However, given that this is a short piece, and also keeping in mind how difficult it is to support someone with depression can be, I think that their behavior is not unheard of. The ending is perhaps slightly rushed, but really this was fantastic overall. Keep up the good work author-anon!
Awh, thanks so much for the concrit. ^^; I think it mainly shows that I just didn't really give myself much time to think of how I really wanted the other characters to act, therefore they're out of character. And I agree: The ending is really rushed. Thanks again, commentor-anon.
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Insecurities and Depression 2a/2
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:09 am (UTC)(link)“Are you all right?” Canada asked, nearly a week after America had finally been declared ‘stable’ enough to return home, but not without someone to watch him. Given that America didn’t seem to trust his citizens anymore (after all, they identified with other nations as far as ethnicity went, and everyone hated America anyways, so what was the point?), a nation had been assigned to watch over him.
Canada hadn’t been particularly happy, either. But he showed up, which is better than any other ‘close’ allies had done.
(Always with condolence letters or supposed-to-be-thoughtful get-well cards or messages left on answering machines. They all seemed so concerned, but if they cared, wouldn’t they show up?)
“Just peachy,” America replied, putting on that same fake smile as always. “Say, how about we do something sort of fun, huh? Maybe get out of here for a while? Go ice-skating or something?”
Canada gave him a quizzical look. “We both have paperwork to get done, and you’re not supposed to do anything dangerous for a while anyways—”
“I’ll be fine, just, I need to get out of this place, you know?” America admitted, but only because the medicine made his brain feel foggy, and it was so hard to think straight when he felt inclined to start chanting some old Mayan war-cry, what year was it, anyways?
“Right,” Canada said, a thoughtful smile on his face. “Maybe later today, all right?”
“Ai, Istas,” America whispered, wondering why his tongue felt so thick around the words, wondering why it sounded so foreign when he was sure he’d just said “Yes, Snow,” because that was what the land above him was, wasn’t it? Just snow and ice, but there was a little boy that looked like him that lived there, so maybe there was something more and—
Canada sighed and brushed the bangs away from America’s forehead. “Go to sleep, all right?”
America nodded and it wasn’t long before the dreams and nightmares were chasing him, swirling around with their varying shades of darkness.
---
“Is he doing better?”
America overheard it one day, recognizing the voice as his vice president’s. He scoffed and turned over, letting the blankets swallow him up yet again.
“I think so,” Canada said cautiously. “I can never be sure, though. One minute he’ll be fine, if a bit distant, and the next he’ll be speaking some ancient native language. I don’t know what to do.”
“If you need to, you can take a break,” the vice-president said, clearly sympathetic to America’s caretaker (and interestingly enough, not to America himself, never to America himself because it just didn’t work like that, it just didn’t). “I’m sure we can find someone else willing to help…”
“No, I’ll stay until my government makes me come home,” Canada said, perhaps a little too quickly.
America felt a surge of gratitude and did his best to improve—he really did—but there was still a crippling feeling of something or another, difficult to place and impossible to remove.
Insecurities and Depression 2b/2
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:12 am (UTC)(link)“Are you going to be all right?” Canada finally asked, voice as soft as ever, but there was the unmistakable firm tone to it, the tone that made America remember why he’d been afraid in 1814—and oh, God, he’d lost that war, too, and his people had been so disappointed—and America flinched.
“I keep telling you I’m already fine. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” America snapped, feeling curiously bitter. “You don’t have to stay. Really.”
Canada stared at him for a long while, face hard and unreadable, before finally softening up again. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he asked with a sigh, gently running his fingers through the hair that needed to be washed, and badly.
America leaned into the touch, and within moments had fallen back asleep.
---
Little by little, America started to come back.
It took him a while, but finally, finally, his old personality started to shine through, and with it came an even stronger aversion to assistance.
“I’m fine,” he all but snapped at Canada while the other nation insisted, insisted on helping him, insisted on guiding him through the house, insisted on helping him into the shower, insisted on going on a walk with him instead of letting him go alone.
“I know, all right?” Canada snapped back, passive-aggression replaced by something almost resembling anger. Real anger, too. America hadn’t seen this side before. It intrigued him even as he was yelled at. “For once in your life, think about someone else! Do you think I like watching you struggle?! No! If I can help, I will, and you’d better be sure that I’m going to whether you like it or not.”
The glare is new, too, and it’s all America can do but back down and allow his brother-nation to help him to his feet, shoving him out the door but never letting go of his hand and back into the world.
Whether he liked it or not.
---
America continued to improve, that day and the next.
A week passed.
Then two.
He didn’t have a relapse, and the longer he spent up and around and not sleeping more than necessary, the more energy he seemed to have. And with the release of energy came the natural cure to depression. That, and it seemed rather impossible to be continuously down when he was up and about, distracted, for most of the day.
“You’re feeling better, eh?” Canada finally asked, after what had to have been three weeks after finally, finally, finally starting to recover. “That’s good.”
America smiled, and it wavered a little, to be sure, but after so long of no genuine smiles, it was worth a thousand of his normal, plastic ones.
Insecurities and Depression 2c/2
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:15 am (UTC)(link)“So, what happened back then, anyways? Did you have a mental breakdown or something?”
It’s a question he hasn’t been asked much. The other nations aren’t exactly prying, not with the way they’re expected to act (like trained puppets; it still makes America sick, sick sick sick), but that night, it looks like Canada finally wants an answer.
It’s a few years late, but then again, a few years is more like a few minutes, in nation-time, and America is still hesitant about coming clean.
But a few drinks have loosened his tongue, and he trusts his brother-nation enough to know that he won’t spread the story or treat him different afterwards. So America took another swig of his drink, sat back, facing away from Canada, and finally answered him.
“I just… I dunno. I was real tired of the way things had been going, you know?” America paused, hesitating, but Canada doesn’t interrupt tells him that it’s not a good enough explanation. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just… You know that everyone kind of hated me, right? Most of ‘em still hate me? And they’re all older than me, an’ more mature and everything. But they never really accepted me, you know? They always jus’ pushed me down ‘n then yelled at me whenever I acciden’lly pushed ‘em down wit’ me. They never… ever liked me, an’ they hated me, and y’know ‘s well as I do that we need everyone’s approval t’ feel like real nations. ‘N if we stop feelin’ like nations… What are we, y’know? ‘S why we need people to acknowledge us as nations ‘fore we actually become ‘em, ‘n all.” He took another long swig, then waved his hands, trying to continue. “Anyways. I tried to keep actin’ normal, or at least actin’ like my boss wanted me to act. They’ve got us all on strings, y’know? Don’t piss off this nation, or we might actually go to war, or it’ll be, Try to suck up to this nation, we’re in debt to them and maybe they’ll talk their boss into giving us an extension. That type of thing. You know what I mean?” And it’s an actual question, the way he looks up at Canada and waits for an answer.
Canada doesn’t hesitate to give him one. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But it’s just how things are nowadays, eh?”
“Yeah,” America said, snorting. He took another swig. “I hate it. ‘M the representation of freedom. I should a’least get to be free, myself, right? Anyways, it just got so hard. I started snapping at my boss more, started screwing up on how I was supposed to act for lunch date-things, whatever they are. And… just, it sucks. It really sucks. But finally I asked my boss for… for some vacation time.” Tears filled his eyes, and he scrubbed angrily against them, willing himself to continue. “Ah, I hate that. But, but when I finally got away, I just couldn’t sleep. Everything I’d been trying to keep away from… that I’d tried not to think about, suddenly was there, all the time. Nothing could distract me ‘r anything, an’ I just… I just couldn’t take not sleeping, either, so I started taking some pills. Just a couple, just to sleep, y’know?” His voice wavered, and he glanced back to Canada for some reassurance.
“I—I understand,” Canada said, neutral as always, but at least he didn’t look angry or disapproving. Mostly just disappointed. “I wish you had just… just called me, or something, but… I understand.”
America nodded, grateful. “Yeah—Yeah, I wish I’d called you, too. But… well, you… y’know what happened next, right?”
Canada nodded. “You took almost half a bottle of those pills, America. It’s lucky that you were only out for a month. It could’ve been worse—”
“When I woke up, I was glad,” America interrupted, washing the words down with another sip. “I was… I was really happy to not have had to deal with everything, even if just for that month. I was happy.” Upon seeing Canada’s slightly horrified expression, he quickly added, “’M not happy now, ‘bviously, bu'… Bu’ I was right then. And tha’s all I really cared about at that time.”
Canada just watched him for a minute or two, sipping his own, slightly less pure-alcoholic drink, then sighed. “You scared everyone, you know. Scared me and England half to death. France wasn’t much happier, and Japan and Lithuania were even worse, maybe.”
Insecurities and Depression 2e/2
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:17 am (UTC)(link)“But not the only one who wanted to,” Canada pointed out. “Trust me on that.”
“Yeah? Well why didn’t they?” America snapped, suddenly feeling angry. “If they cared so much, why couldn’t they have done the right thing? They know good and well that I’d’ve done the same thing for them if it happened to any of them! Why couldn’t they have just done it for me?!”
“Sit down,” Canada said quietly, and America realized belatedly that he was standing.
“Sorry,” America muttered, sliding back into his chair.
“They didn’t come because they were asked not to,” Canada said patiently, once it appeared that America was no longer likely to stand up and start flipping tables. “Your boss,” he explained. “Your boss… made some pretty dumb decisions, I’m not going to lie. Asking you to act like a trained monkey, letting you stay by yourself after you’d already started to snap, then still keeping you pretty much alone, with only one person… yeah, pretty dumb. But he thought he was doing the right thing.”
“He could’ve asked me what I wanted,” America said, but he didn’t have much enthusiasm at all, and suddenly the table looked rather comfortable, like a wooden pillow. He laid his head down on it, breaths starting to deepen.
“You always sleep when you’re upset, don’t you?” Canada said with a sigh.
“’M not asleep,” America mumbled, but he couldn’t deny that he was tired, and probably unable to lift his head, though that might have partially been because of the alcohol. “Just… restin’.”
“Mm-hmm.” Canada smiled, then gently lifted the glasses from America’s face, further worsening his vision, already blurred from his less-than-sober state. “You gonna remember any of this tomorrow?”
America chuckled. “Don’ think I could forget. But you won’t get this outta me then, y’know.”
“Anything else you want to say, that you won’t say tomorrow?” Canada asked with a small smile.
“Yup,” America said around a yawn. “Wish they’d… Ngh, wish they’d actually act like they were all older’n me. They have such big talk nowadays but I remember when it didn’t matter that I was only here for a couple’a years. When I wasn’t yelled at for bein’ immature, ‘cause they still sorta seemed to like me. Or maybe they just hated me less.” He frowned, blinking his eyes closed for a second longer than he had last time. “I dunno. But… I-I really wish they’d stop hating me. An’ stop makin’ fun of me for bein’ a kid, sort of. ‘M supposed to make mistakes, right?”
Canada gave him a long look, then frowned. “…Right. How about you sleep it off, eh? You’re gonna have a nasty hangover in the morning, but you look tired…”
America smiled. “Yeah. I’mma sleep on th’ couch, okay?”
“Alright, but don’t get any vomit on it when you wake up, ‘kay?” Canada asked with a teasing grin that he hadn’t gotten to use since who-knew-when. However, seeing that America was making no move to the couch, he couldn’t help but step in. “Hey, you gonna actually move there or what?”
“’M tired…”
Canada sighed, then looped one of America’s arms over his shoulder, easing him up from the chair and over to the couch, ignoring the grumbled protests. “Sleep well, alright?”
But America was already gone, sleep claiming him without a second’s notice, and without a notice of the frown that followed him into sleep.
Canada let his heart break only when he was sure his twin wouldn’t wake up, and only when he’d already fastened a blanket up to the American nation’s shoulders.
Tomorrow morning, he’d smile and be polite and proper, even as his brother-nation hurled into waste-baskets and he nursed a hangover of his own. But tonight, he’d let himself think things over for a while, forcing himself not to forget the night’s conversation, and making a note not to let it happen again.
It was a while before he fell asleep, but just before he did, he could almost hear a laugh, but it still didn’t live up to the boisterous laughter from before.
He’d fix things as soon as he could.
---
End
Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 12:20 am (UTC)(link)But I really appreciate those of you that commented, or might comment after this part. Because it's really the support of the reader that keeps a writer going, you know?
Anyways, thanks for reading, if you've actually read this far. :) I'll probably de-anon to my de-anon account (SevenServers), so check me out on livejournal sometime.
Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-11-27 06:35 am (UTC)(link)Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 03:07 am (UTC)(link)Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 03:35 am (UTC)(link)However, regardless of whether or not you'll ever see things from me again on anon, I'll keep everything in mind. :)
Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)Also, I just wanted to post some positive comments after that last one;;; Don't stop writing please~
Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2012-12-01 11:29 pm (UTC)(link)(And don't worry, I'll probably never stop writing.)
Re: Insecurities and Depression End Notes
(Anonymous) 2013-06-14 03:47 am (UTC)(link)I very much like the turn of events and the ending. Quite frankly, a thought in the back of my head was weary that this was going to be a story in which it builds up so much angst just to resolve it so unrealistically quick. I'm very happy with the fact that America's depression is taken into real terms.
As for the support, it may have been lacking at times but it could also be taken more towards America's own perception of the situation and as such its more pessimistic. So, really it's not a such a huge thing you should fret about for it can possibly be a slight mixture of third-first person point of view and as such can add a certain style to the tale.
All in all, it really was a great story! I do so hope you continue writing.
Re: Insecurities and Depression 2e/2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 03:41 pm (UTC)(link)However, given that this is a short piece, and also keeping in mind how difficult it is to support someone with depression can be, I think that their behavior is not unheard of. The ending is perhaps slightly rushed, but really this was fantastic overall. Keep up the good work author-anon!
Re: Insecurities and Depression 2e/2
(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)