I do not own the rights to Hetalia or Descendants.

Fortunate Son

The instance he saw him, he knew.

The sight of him—no them—across the room all gathered in the back, congratulating each other on their new king made his blood boil.

How dare they just stand there in their extravagant clothes and jewels with drinks in hand while his people were starving and barely had enough to keep warm. The one bright side of the Barrier was that it also kept the snow and worse of the winter cold out. Otherwise, he would have lost his people in droves a few winters ago when it was one of the worst natural ones on record, the temperature staying in the negatives for several days straight.

Before he was aware that his feet were moving of their own accord, he found himself standing before the country of Auradon surrounded by the other countries had sworn their allegiance to Auradon. They stared at him perplexed, trying to figure out the identity of the boy who approached them, especially one who shared such a similarity to one of their own.

The similarity was remarkable really, now that he could see him up close—no wonder the Fairy Godmother and others had done a double take when he first showed up. They had the same hair, near identical eyes, and same face.

There were some discrepancies though. Auradon's face was round with rosy cheeks, and his skin had a healthy glow to it whereas the Isle's face was slender with bags under his eyes and had pale skin due to lack of exposure to the sun. Auradon was taller as well, and filled out his frame much nicer, looking to be in his mid-twenties compared to the youthful and scrawny appearance of the Isle that led him to be mistaken for a teenager to be brought to the school in the first place.

It shouldn't have been so surprising though. After all, they were born on the same day. The proclamation that brought Auradon into existence was the same one that brought the Isle into existence as well. The only difference was that nobody had expected the Isle to have a representative so nobody bothered to look for him. He was left to fend for himself on the Isle, one of many orphans, and to figure out the mystery of his own existence.

He grew up surrounded by so many people, his people, but alone nonetheless. Yet here was his twin, having the fortune to know what he was from birth, and not being stunted by the lack of food and resources his people had access to.

It just wasn't fair.

"How dare you!"

The words he had wanted to say for so long escaped from his mouth. On the Isle he had been so careful to guard his words and thoughts lest he called the wrong kind of attention to himself. From villains simply seeing him as another scrawny kid to bully, or potentially realizing that there was something off about him, and wondering how to use him to their advantage. Even at the school he was careful to guard his thoughts, afraid of losing his first true chance at freedom.

But now they came fast and quick like a waterfall, and he couldn't have stopped them if he tried.

"How dare you!" He continued. "How dare all of you stand here as if everything is perfect with the world, because news flash, it's not. My people starve while yours throw food away like it's nothing. I've eaten more food in the short time I've been here than in my entire life on the Isle and it's never enough to fill me, not when my people are so hungry they're willing to eat food that's so spoiled and rotten it'll make them sick. Sure there's the four who you've so graciously let join you, but even their full stomachs are not enough to make a dent in my hunger.

"Your children are so spoiled that they cry because they broke a nail, or couldn't find the perfect outfit to the coronation. My children cry because nobody cares about them. If they have parents, they're more likely to be hit than hugged. Here your children go through several outfits a day while mine are either wearing clothes several sizes too big in the hopes they'll grow into them, or rags because they can't find anything else.

"Here the beds are so plush and soft that I can't even sleep in them because I'm not used to them. The only way I get sleep at night is by sleeping on the floor with a single blanket because it reminds me of home. Never a deep sleep of course, because I'm always jumping at the slightest noise because in order to survive on the Isle you have to always keep your guard up.

"Did you know that we don't even receive the full shipments of foods and goods that you send to the Isle? That your guards say your discards are still too good for the likes of us? That we're nothing more than scum and trash, and should be treated like such? That it would probably be better for everybody if we never got anything, and died out like the roaches we are?

"That's not even talking about the healthcare. You're so proud of no more deaths in childbirth in Auardon, but that's not true on the Isle. A simple cut is enough to kill some, and disease spreads rapidly through the Isle because of the cramped living spaces and lack of clean water.

"Yet here you stand, so proud of your new king, your heroes. Your heroes who stand by while innocent children suffer and are sentenced to a life imprisonment the day they're born for the simple crime of having the wrong blood."

His last few words were spat out, spreading tiny droplets of spit all over Auradon's face, but he didn't care because everything hurt and he wanted to make somebody else hurt like he did. Before any of them could stop him, his right hand formed a tight fist of rage, and started to fly into the face of the personification of Auradon. Not that it would have mattered, none of the other countries could have stopped the force behind it. He had twenty years' worth of pent-up anger and rage from himself and all of his people that wished Auradon harm.

But then, just as the others started to move in an attempt to stop him while Auardon had closed his eyes tightly expecting the impact, the Isle missed, hitting the marble wall behind Auradon instead. There was a sizable dent and pieces rained down upon the floor, but the Isle didn't notice. He was too busy looking at the floor in shame.

"We've been told our whole lives that were nothing and nobody, that we could never be heroes. But just now four of my people proved they could be if we just tried." He paused as his words sunk in and then looked up into the eyes that so nearly matched his own.

"And as much as I want to break your face into a million pieces right now, that won't make me any better than you. Because heroes don't hit others unless it's in self-defense no matter how many stupid things they do. And no matter what you say, I'm a hero."

The last word was dragged out, just daring any of them to contradict him. When they didn't, he opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a garbled, "Mmph!" as he was pulled into a tight hug. Whatever words he was going to say were quickly forgotten as he enjoyed his brother's embrace.

The Isle hadn't known what to expect after his little rant, his mouth moving far faster than his brain could keep up. They would surely ship him back to the Isle after nearly pummeling Auradon, and that was the best case scenario. But a hug though, that was completely unexpected.

He had never been hugged, the majority of his children hadn't, so it was a rather new experience and his first instinct was to flinch and move away. But there was something holding him back.

The hug was just so warm and nice—who knew hugs could be that warm? For the first time he could remember he felt safe and secure, loved and wanted. Feelings that were foreign to him, but he wanted to last forever.

So entranced with the loving embrace—the first sign of affection he could remember—he missed the looks the other countries were sharing around him. When he had first shown up, there had been looks of bemusement of the young Isle boy who had the courage to approach them, and then shock as they realized what exactly he was. During his rant, the emotions ranged from surprise to guilt as he threw his accusations down at their feet of their mistreatment, of calling themselves hero. Then the punch nearly struck and fear and rage quickly came with it, before relief and a bit of shock when the punch hit the wall instead.

Now there was one singular look plastered across their faces—What comes next? Now that they knew the Isle had a representation, and one who had been isolation for the first twenty years of his existence—and that wasn't even touching the number of issue plaguing the Isle that they were responsible for—what were they to do next? Where did they even begin to make up for their 'ignorance is bliss' attitude towards the Isle of the Lost they had adopted from their citizens?

The Isle also completely missed the newly crowned king rushing towards the countries with his entourage in order to find the source of commotion that had just shaken the entire building, and the look of understanding as he realized who the quiet Isle boy really was, while everybody else was still puzzling over why the Auradon aristocrat was hugging a kid from the Isle who looked as if they could be twins.

Because none of that mattered, not in that moment. Because for the first time ever, he was not alone, and he had no doubt that things were about to change for him and his people, for the better.

For he was no longer alone, and no longer simply the Isle of the Lost. He was the Isle of the Found.

*Author's Note*

I've been on a Hetalia kick recently and for some reason this popped into my head featuring Alfred/America as the representative for the Isle of the Lost, Matthew/Canada as Auradon, and the rest of the nations filling in for the other countries that make up Auradon. I'm not quite sure if Disney realizes how dark of a universe the Descendants is implied as being and I wanted to explore a bit more of that in this fic.

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