To be honest…I have no idea why this spilled out of my fingertips. I suppose it's because of some personal things happening in my life, or perhaps because of the political on goings dealing with America. For whatever reason, I just wanted to write this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
America called himself a hero.
They called him a fool.
America smiled and laughed, taking in their words, always pushing it away. It was his job as a hero to make sure that no one suffered, so why would he push his unhappiness onto them? No, it was his burden, his job to make sure they were happy. His happiness was because they were happy, after all. They're smiles were its own reward, their prosperity kept him smiling. He loved helping them, he loved making them happy. Even if he had his own problems, his own people, he could handle it, right? It was his job to keep them happy, not ask for help. He was the hero…and they didn't need his problems, anyway.
America could handle it…he could handle their insults, their complaints, their hatred. He could handle the whispers and glares, the laughing, the overwhelming anger directed at him. He could smile and laugh and brush it off like he always did. He could handle it…
America was lonely. He was hated. He was only human, after all…well…as close to human as a monster like him could be. He was starving…not for food, but for love. How many times had he been told that everyone hated him? How many times had England, the one who raised him, pushed him away? How many times had his own brother screamed because of all the misery America brought him? How many countries had begged him for money, supplies, help, anything, and then pushed him away and stomped on him when they were back on their feet? Japan, his best friend, barely talked to him. Cuba, who he helped become independent from Spain, was not even on a first-name basis with him. China, his ally, constantly threatened him with debt, and Russia…even though the Cold War had ended a very long time ago, still took pleasure in insulting America every opportunity he got.
Even now, in the war he was currently in, he was abandoned. What happened to the ones he thought he could trust? They said he did it all for oil, for money, didn't they hear the screams of their own people in his towers when they fell? Didn't they hear the lives being lost; didn't they hear the ones who begged for death when they were too weak to move? His side still hurt sometimes when he thought about it, and the two long scars were still visible on him.
America was the hero…it was his job to make everyone happy.
Wouldn't this be the best way, then? Wouldn't they be happiest without him? Washington D.C. could take over for him, he was more responsible, anyway, and he always wanted to be more than just a capitol. Would anyone even miss him? He doubted it, they would probably thank him.
America took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of the water. Niagara Falls was a beautiful site, something both he and his brother were proud of. It was such a beautiful waterfall, one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. He almost didn't want to do it this way, it would be a hindrance to his brother, after all, but he wanted to, none the less. Didn't he deserve one selfish act?
He ran his fingers over the soaked handrail, and he slipped under the railing, placing his hands over each part. His arms were spread like his beautiful eagle, as if he was going to fly. Wouldn't that have been so wonderful, to simply spread his arms and fly away? He could have asked England to do that…but he didn't want to be selfish.
Besides, England would thank him for this later.
He took a breath, and shut his eyes, a smile falling over his lips. A few people noticed him, some tourists, some Canadians, some of his own people, but he didn't pay any attention to their screams. His grip on the railing loosened slowly, and he tilted his head back, taking one last look at the sky. If only he could fly…well…he could, now, at least for a minute.
His fingers slipped, and he fell for a split-second, until a hand gripped his wrist, and another one wrapped around his waist, pulling him to the railing. A voice screamed in his ear, a tear-choked one, barely heard over the roaring falls.
"What the hell are you doing, Alfred?"
America looked up blankly, meeting his brother's eyes. Canada's eyes were tear-filled; his teeth gritted together, his face twisted in horror and grief.
"I wanted to make you all happy." America replied. His voice was surprisingly steady, even with what was going on. Canada's face contorted and he looked close to breaking.
"Do you think this is the way you make people happy? You IDIOT!" Canada screamed. He bowed his head, his long hair covering his eyes. "England was so worried for you when you didn't come to the meeting! He begged me to find you! Idiot, idiot, idiot!"
"But won't you be happier without me…? You'd be seen…by everyone." America replied. He felt himself being dragged like a ragdoll over the railing, until he was sitting on the bridge. He heard distant footsteps, but he paid no mind to them.
"I'm not going to let you leave, so forget it! You're my brother; I'd die if you were gone!"
"AMERICA!" Another voice yelled. England's. A pair of arms fell around his neck, but they were smaller, gentler than England's. America saw the blue uniform and auburn hair of Italy in his line of sight, and he could hear the distant sound of Prussia and Hungary's voices. He even heard China's voice behind him. He felt Hungary grab his hand tightly, and he felt England join Italy in embracing America. He numbly heard Prussia and China chastising him, both slipping in and out of their native tongues, but none of them seemed to realize what America had nearly done, they thought he simply skipped the meeting to see the falls. America could hear Hungary arguing with Prussia about the hypocrisy of Prussia giving a lecture, and he even found himself smiling a little.
He thought they didn't know, until Italy spoke.
"Ve~, don't ever do that again, please? I want to learn to read the atmosphere with you…"
That, of all things, was what set America off. He cried, embracing Italy, and the others with him embraced him as well, and he cried and cried, letting everything out.
And they, the ones who he thought would smile at his death, held him and comforted him.
A/N Please review~