Just a quick three-shot I'm de-anoning from the Hetalia Kink Meme. The prompt was "something involving America, Canada and the legendary Thunderbird.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything involving Hetalia, nor do I own the Thunderbird. Enjoy.



The grand bird flew high on the wind, thermal heat rising beneath her wings. Below her, her current territory – a lush forest in the south-eastern corner of Oregon – stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a lake not too far away, full of fish for her, her mate and their newly-hatched young, and the air carried just a bit of the salt from the distant ocean breeze. Truly, it was a wild paradise, and she was its queen.

A whistle punctuated the air, loud and true: One long note, followed by two pairs of shorter ones, with an octave jumped in-between. The eagle responded to the call instantly, diving through the air to the place where she had been summoned. It was a slow dive for her – barely 75 miles an hour – but it was fast enough to get her where she needed to be. At the last moment, she killed her speed, flared her wings and landed on the outstretched arm of her summoner.

"Hey there, Liberty," America chuckled, rewarding the bird with a sardine. "That's my good girl, I knew you were around here somewhere."

Liberty cawed and snapped up the treat with delight. Her claws gripped her perch more tightly, only the heavy leather shields protecting the sensitive limb beneath. She stood almost three feet tall, with an equally large wingspan, and was heavy enough than the average falconer wouldn't have been able to support her for long. But, of course, the United States of America was not your average falconer.

"I can't believe you actually managed to train a bald eagle," Canada said, with just a hint of awe at being so close to the majestic, wild creature.

"Hey, it's not like it was that hard," America shrugged, feeding Liberty another fish. "No different than your polar bear."

Canada frowned, picking his aforementioned fuzzy friend up off the ground. "But Kumajiro's not wild."

"Neither is Liberty. Not with me," America stroked the proud white plumage that adorned the bird's head, making soothing clicking noises with his tongue. "Isn't that right, girl?"

Liberty nuzzled his hand and gave the fourth finger an affectionate nip. Alfred smiled, offering up another sardine, which was readily accepted.

A clap of thunder echoed overhead. The North American brothers turned their heads towards the sound, faced with the rolling wall of purple-black storm clouds closing in fast from the horizon.

"Uh-oh," Canada said. "Looks like her relatives are getting testy."

"Sure does," America said, stroking the eagle's beak. "You better get back to your nest, Liberty ol' girl. Freedom and the chicks are gonna need you to watch out for them while the storm's raging."

As though she understood his words – and for all Canada knew, maybe she really did – Liberty took to the air. She rose twenty feet above them and came to a stop, hovering in a lazy circle.

"Ah! I almost forgot!" America yelped, popping open the ice chest that contained the fruits of their brotherly-bonding fishing weekend. He shifted through the ice until he dug out a decent-sized trout – one of his own catches – and held it up with both hands. "For your chicks. You make sure those kids grow big and strong, you got that?"

Liberty swooped down and snatched the fish with her talons, cawing her thanks. With a few strong, graceful flaps, she rose into the increasingly turbulent air and bore the offering away to her nest, where her family awaited.

America grinned after her until she was only a speck, slamming the ice chest closed and hoisting it back into his arms. "Okay," he said to his brother. "Let's get moving before we get soaked."