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Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...
"So, what's better? Being a hero or being awesome?" Matthew questioned the two boys that entered his house.
"What?" Gilbert and Alfred asked simultaneously, looking at the Canadian.
"Well, Gilbert constantly keeps telling everyone how awesome he is, while Alfred here, self-proclaims he's a hero every five minutes."
"What? That's absurd! I don't do it that often!" the American argued. A second later, an alarm from his phone went off. "Oh, wait, hold that thought, it's time," he said, positioning himself in a super hero pose. "I, Alfred F. Jones, am a hero." Both of the boys looked at him quizzically.
"What? I do that every 10 minutes."
"Right, okay," Matthew said, unbelievingly.
"Whatever, besides I thought it was obvious which one was better."
"Yeah, me too," Gilbert agreed.
"Being a hero is like, 10x better than being awesome."
"Totally, I mea-" the Prussian started, then realized what the dirty blond had said. "Wait, no! That's not true! It's the other way around!"
"With all due respect, that is a bunch of malarky! Plus, as a hero, everything I do is awesome. As an awesome person only about five percent of what you do is heroic."
"That is a lie! At any rate, I can do so much more cooler things than you!"
"Really? Cooler than this, cause I highly doubt it," the blue-eyed man replied, juggling four clowns that seemed to show up out of nowhere.
"Where did the clowns come f-" Matthew began.
"Oh yeah? Well, check me out!" the albino bragged, playing the piano. "I'm finishing Mozart's Unfinished Symphony on this violen here."
"That's actually a pi-" the Canadian tried to correct.
"What...about...this?" Alfred asked, eating a whole pizza pie in between words.
"What happened to the clow-"
"Look at me!" the red-eyed man cried, while twirling around a B.M.W. on his finger like a basketball. "I bet you couldn't do this. I'm willing to put money on the fact that the F initial in your name stands for flimsy, or feeble."
"How did you get that car i-"
"Please, I've carried ten elephants on my pinkie," Alfred explained, unimpressed. "And another thing, you'd lose that bet. The F doesn't stand for either of those two things, but for fucking. As in I am Alfred Fucking Jones! And what is this?" the dirty blond asked slyly, moving his hand from behind his back revealing three people resting on his palm. "Oh right, it's the family I just saved from a burning building."
"How did you do that? You were here th-"
"Well I'm doing handstand only using my pinkie!" the albino retorted.
"At least that makes s-"
"I'm doing a no-handed push up!" the bespeckled man bragged.
"How is that po-"
"Please, that's too easy. Check this out," the Prussian cried turning on the TV. "I, on the other hand, am on TV with Larry King who is going to proclaim my awesomeness on CNN!" the albino shouted, who suddenly appeared on the television.
"Okay, so this the moment all of you have been waiting for. This man sitting by me, Gilbert Beildersmihct, is awesome," Larry King explained pointing towards the red-eyed man beside him.
"What the maple! How are yo-"
"Come on, if you not gonna take this seriously then there's no point of doing it," Alfred said, shaking his head. "I did that last week. What's impressive is when you walk on the ceiling, kinda like what I'm doing right now."
""What?" The canadian looked up to his brother running across the roof. "How did you ge-"
"Are you kidding me? We've seriously reduced this competition to ceiling walking?" Gilbert, who suddenly appeared in the room again, asked incredulously, looking at the American. "What's awesome is when you have a diamond record."
"When did you make that?" Matthew inquired.
"Right now."
"I didn't know that you sing."
"I don't, but why does that matter?"
"That's nothing. What's truly awesome is when you are best buds with the Pres.," the blue-eyed interjected, leaning against the leader of the free world.
"How'd he get-," the canadian started, but was interrupted by a certain Prussian.
"I swear, you're degrading this competition with every turn you take. But whatever, that just proves how much cooler I am than you. Proving that being awesome is way better than being heroic."
"What, no! Being friends with the president is way better than having a silly diamond record. Anyone can get that!"
"Really? Then I suppose you have one?"
"I don't."
"That's what I thought."
"I have a double diamond record!"
"What? There's no such thing!"
"Of course you'd think that. They don't tell you about it unless you earn one."
"You're lying."
"A true hero would never lie."
"Then I guess you're not a true hero!" At that comment, the room seemed to freeze. Even Matthew was searching for Mr. Kumajirou to get him out of the line of fire.
"How dare you?!" the American cried, slapping Gilbert with a white glove that seemed to appear out of thin air. "I am the truest of all heroes! And as long as we're talking about how pure our we really are, you might wanna rethink calling yourself awesome all the time!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, that you're not as awesome as you say you are!"
"That's the last straw! I'm tired of your lies!"
"No, I'm pretty sure there's more straws in kitchen, but why does matter? You not even drinking anything! You just said that to distract me, didn't you?! Well, those kinds of tricks don't work on heroes like me!" Both of the other boys of the room looked at the bespeckled man incredulously and facepalmed. When Matthew got over the shock of his brother said, he suggested, "All these little stunts don't really prove anything. What would prove your awesomeness or heroicness would be if you bring me a golden hockey puck. Only a few people in the entire world have actually seen one. Whichever one of you can get your hands on one would truly prove who's better. Do you guys wanna do it?"
"I'll do it," Alfred agreed.
"Well then, I'll do it too. Awesomely, if I may add," Gilbert said.
"Then let's start." And with that, the American raced out of the house.
"That's cheating," the Prussian cried, running after him. Hm, jokes on them, the pancake loving boy thought, There's only two golden hockey pucks in the world. The chances of them even seeing one, let alone getting one, is slim. They probably won't get one for months or just give up. I'll- the boy's thoughts were interrupted by a dirty blond and albino rushing into his house.
"Hey Mattie, I have a golden hockey puck! I won!" the blue-eyed man said, shoving the puck in his siblings face.
"No, I have one too!" the white-haired one screamed, waving his gold sport equipment in air.
"How on earth did you get those?" the canadian asked, looking at the two pucks.
"Does that really matter?" Alfred smirked.
"Yea, as long as we have them," the Prussian chuckled.
"Okay...well, I guess you both win then. I mean, you guys both came at the same time." the blond reasoned.
"No! I won because...um... because I have two pucks and he only has one!" the bespeckled man exclaimed.
"No, that's true! You only have one!" the red-eyed man shouted, pointing to his friend's hands. The American swiftly broke his puck in half, creating two pieces. "No, I don't!" He yelled, waving the pieces in front of the German.
"That's cheating!"
"No, that's smart thinking!"
"Mattie!" the albino cried, taking his attention off the man who was infuriating him. "Who's better?"
"Like, I said before, no one's better.. You both could do really cool things." the Canadian explained.
"No! That's not good enough! I'm better than him!" the American yelled, motioning to the Prussian. "You know what'll do to prove it?! I'm gonna go make a sculpture in my honor and out it in the middle of Washington D.C.!" The man quickly left the home.
"Well, I'm going to go have a German Sparkle Party to go celebrate my awesomeness and none of you are invited!" The red-eyed man screamed, rushing out of the house.
"And that's the last time I comment on anything," Matthew mumbled, walking to his room.