Hey, and welcome to my first hetalia fic posted on this site! I have posted hetalia fics previously, but not here. This... is an OC fic, but it does contain America. And America/England, so if you don't like that pairing, I would turn the other way. This is a fic about brotherhood, and a good outside POV of the Nations and their eccentricity. So... please be kind, and r and r. There is actually 26 plus pages of this written on my computer, so... There will be semi-regular updates.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I do own my boys, so don't steal them!
"I can't believe we're doing this," an old man said plaintively as he and three others climbed up the stairs of the District of Columbia Center for Planning, Health and Epidemology, 825 North Capitol Street.
"Oh, shut up, Jack. You want to see Alfred again, don't you?" Nicolas Harrison snapped, five steps ahead of everybody else, even with his bad heart.
"We're all getting way too old for this," Jack Reeds said, feeling his knees protest the steps. "You think they would have a ramp, or an elevator or something!"
"I, for one, think this is an adventure! Come on, get into the spirit of things. Better than sitting around watching re-runs of All in the Family," Alexander Evans said, looking over at Nick. "Unlike some man I know would probably be doing right now."
"Oh, shut the hell up." They finally all made it up the steps and tried to look presentable.
"Now come on, you three," Theodore Wilson, the final men of the four, said. He tried to look fearsome and inspire some amount of control into three stubborn old men. He knew that he failed, but somebody had to try to keep them in line "We're respected veterans of World War II searching for records of the last man of our company. Try to act serious."
All three of them just looked at him, and then started to laugh. "Respected veterans, my ass!" Nick said. "We're all complete goofs, and you know it, Theo."
Theo sighed, and turned to walk into the building. "What are you, your ages or your shoe sizes?"
"Definitely our shoe sizes. I don't want to be my age," Nick said, shuffling after him. "My age is officially when anybody younger than twenty stops listening to you."
"I like to think that you're as old as you feel. If you let yourself feel old, then you've let old age win," Alex said. One could just hear the quotes around his sentence.
Jack glared at him, bending down to rub his knees, which were still aching from the climb up. "Tell that to my damn knees."
"Sadly, I can't bend down that far to tell them without throwing my back out. You're just going to have to live with disappointment."
"Alex, stop taunting Jack," Theo said, because obviously he had to be the referee around here.
"And stop being philosophical," Nick complained. "You're making my head hurt."
"At my age, being philosophical isn't just a job anymore, it's a hobby. You should try it, Nick. Everybody believes what you say has some deeper meaning. Even if you say 'You are a complete and utter asshole.'"
"Please, you three… remember what I said. We are respected veterans!" Theo repeated, knowing that all three of them were quite possible making faces behind him as he walked up to the secretary behind the desk. Not possibly, they were. He could see them in the reflection of the door. Oh dear god, could he pretend he didn't know them?
The woman behind the desk was smiling at him with a forced smile and he knew she would rather be rid of him. Probably though him to be some senile, sentimental old man she was going to have to deal with. He may be a bit sentimental, but he was not senile.
"Hello, Miss. My name is Theodore Wilson. I was wondering if you could possibly look up a birth certificate for me. See, he was part of our company…" He glanced back and gestured at the other three, who waved at her with their best angelic grins on their faced. Theo sighed. "In World War II. We would like to get in touch with him, and his last known address was somewhere in Washington D.C."
"It may be possible," the girl said, popping her gum. He could imagine Alex twitching behind him at that. "We don't exactly give out information, though, just to anybody. You're going to have to fill out some forms," she said, shuffling some papers. Theo nodded because he really hadn't expected anything less.
"I expected as much. Only, we're not sure about anything other than his name and his physical appearance." The woman looked up quizzically. "He never told us much about himself."
"Then, give me his name. Perhaps I could look him up easily on the computer," she said, swiveling in her chair, fingers poised over her keyboard.
"Alfred F. Jones." She nodded, fingers flying over the keys, and then pressed 'enter'. Theo couldn't help but pray, and realized that Nick, Jack and Alex had shuffled up behind him, crowding around that desk in the little hope that they would find their missing member.
The woman blinked at the screen, fingers still poised on the keys that they had rested upon. "Well?" Theo asked impatiently.
"Mr. Wilson…I-I'm going to have to ask that you and your friends leave the premises." The woman had stopped snapping her gum, and she actually looked…a bit terrified.
"What?" Nick said, leaning over the desk. "We just asked you to locate our friend, and then you tell us to leave. What the hell is wrong with that?"
"Sir, I kindly regret to inform you that Alfred F. Jones doesn't exist. Don't enquire further." She shuffled some papers, and Theo took it for what it was. A dismissal. They were being refused.
"How can somebody not exist? Especially somebody that I knew, that I shared a bunk with and crawled in the mud with and bled with and shot German troops with!" Nick cried. Theo grabbed his shoulder.
"Nick, don't get worked up! Your heart!"
"To hell with my goddamned heart!" Theo looked over at Alex, who came up and grabbed his other arm, and together they escorted Nick out before he did something he'd regret later, or worse, hurt himself. Jack hovered anxiously after.
The woman watched them go and then, unknown to the four of them picked up her phone, and dialed. She spoke in a quiet, efficient voice into the speaker, all snapping of gum forgotten. "Can I please be connected to the White House Secret Service staff?"
America, known as Alfred F. Jones, was currently playing his DS in his office. He jerked to the left, as if that'd help him win his game. Until a loud noise of agony emanated from it. "Oh, c'mon! That's bullshit! I wasn't anywhere near the water!"
He switched it off, disgusted with it, and flung it onto his desk. It made a soft 'whump' as it hit the piles of paper there. Oh shit, he should probably do his paperwork, shouldn't he? If he didn't his boss would get that disapproving face and he would never get his vacation.
Absentmindedly he ran his thumb over the smooth band on his ring finger, adorned plainly with Old English. Arthur would never forgive him (okay, he would, but he'd be very huffy and English for the better part of a day) if he missed any of their yearly vacation.
He was just about to start in on it-he had his pen ready and everything-when there was a knock on the door. America sighed, and threw his pen back onto the desk. "Come in!" A Secret Serviceman walked in, and it was one of the newer ones, he could tell, not from what he looked like, but how he held himself. It was like he was about to talk to God or something. The older ones had already gotten over their awe, and usually approached him with a lot less tension.
"Mr. Jones, sir, we were called by a secretary at the Center for Planning, Health and Epidemology earlier this morning to inform us that four men had enquired after you that morning. She gave us one of the names, and from the information provided, we were able to pull their personal information from the FBI." He slid a manila folder onto the desk and America took it warily, flicking it open.
His breath caught in his throat and he closed it quickly again. He cleared his throat. "All right, fine. I'll look over it. You're dismissed."
"But sir, what should we do in the meantime?"
"Watch them. Get the FBI to tail them. Just don't hurt them," he growled, and poured a bit of his power into those words. "Now get out." The agent's eyes went wide and a bit blank as he practically stumbled over himself trying to get out.
America sighed, steeled himself, and opened the folder again.
Private Alfred F. Jones, his dog tags read. America kept looking at them, wondering if the man that had handed them to him knew he couldn't die. Or that he was General of the Armies of the United States . Or that he had more medals on his dress uniforms than most people saw in their entire lives. Of course, the number depended on if it was Navy, Army or the Air Force.
He flopped down on his bunk, eyeing the other four places. Five to a tent? Really now? Hopefully they wouldn't be terrible. He loved his citizens, truly he did, but some of them could be just plain insane. That also made four people he had to keep his secret from. According to the briefing he was given, they were being transferred to this ramshackle place on the outskirts of the fighting, because his government evidentially thought that he couldn't handle himself in a fight. Or just wanted to try to humor him but do damage control at the exact same time. It made him sigh and want to bash his head against a wall.
Of course, it was only a temporary thing. America always made it a point to serve during every war, but he was also needed elsewhere. A six to ten month tour for him, then back to his capital to join his boss.
There was a loud noise outside the tent, and America sat up, watching the flap as a 17 year old boy, tall, with dark black hair backed into the tent, laughing. "You can't do that to me! I'm Nicholas Harrison, womanizer extraordinaire! I don't just 'settle down'. I love 'em and then leave 'em happy they loved me!" He turned, and saw America.
"Oh, you're our new bunkmate. …Kind of a Golden Boy, aren't you?" he asked, looking him up and down. America laughed, blushing slightly and rubbing at the back of his head.
"I have heard that before."
"Don't mind him," said another person, poking his head in. He had brown hair and a nice smile. "He's harmless. I'm Theodore Wilson. Theo for short. Nice to meet you. This is Nick Harrison, if you didn't get that," Theo said, elbowing him. Nick rolled his eyes.
"He's the responsible one," he said in a stage whisper. Theo just rolled his eyes and went over to one of the beds.
"I get the one with the bookshelf!" Another man ran in, 17 years old, blond, and considerably shorter. "I'm Alexander Evans. When I get home from the war I'm going to university to become a philosopher," Alex informed him, and then threw himself across the bed nearest to the crude storage shelves.
The final one to come in was slightly behind the rest, and he was average height and looked a tad bit mousy. It was probably the generic brown hair and brown eyes and the air of fear he carried over him.
"I'm Jack Reeds. I suppose I'll have the last bed." He said it with such long suffering that America was instantly reminded of Mattie. He then realized he hadn't introduced himself.
"Oh, I'm Alfred F. Jones, Hero!" he said, throwing a hand up in the air. They all stared at him. "What? I am a hero."
"…All right then," Nick said, staring at him with amusement.
"…What does the F stand for?" Alex asked, looking up from his duffel bag where it looked like he had snuck books in.
America regarded them blankly. "Honestly… I have no idea."
"You are weird," Nick said. Theo hit him. "Owww, Theo!"
America laughed. "Yeah, but trust me, it's the good kind of weird."
Notes: Okay, just so you are aware, General of the Armies is an actual post. It's now known as being a six star general, and the only men to ever have that rank were General Pershing from WWI, and George Washington, granted to him at the bicentennial celebration. I have a feeling that America would be the third person.