AN: So it's currently 2 am and surprise I decided to read my old fics and boyyyy this needs some revamping lmao so I'm gonna do that don't mind me

America trudged down the dimly lit hallway and slammed his keys down on the table when he reached the kitchen. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a plate of hamburgers and a couple of beers, taking them into the living room where he plopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and stretched. He was tired, sore, and the headache that was slowly returning was not helping his foul mood.

He had just come home from another World Meeting and was feeling anything but how the other nations would classify him as normal: a stuck up snob who always got into other peoples' business and shouted "I'm the hero!" every five seconds. He did not feel up to being loud, nor did he want people bothering or complaining to him. When he was not happy, he liked to be alone, and he was never happy when he was away from the other nations. That's when he let his act slip.

America sighed and flipped through channels, finally deciding to watch Jersey Shore on MTV. He was so engrossed in the latest bullshit reality TV drama that he knew was completely fake (but who cares, it was interesting anyway) that he didn't notice Tony, his white alien friend, walk into the room and sit down next to him on the couch.

"Hey," he said, poking America's side. "Where were you all day?"

"World Conference," America replied, his voice deadpan. His eyes didn't move from the screen as he took a bite of his fourth hamburger and downed another beer. Tony, unaffected by America's mood, pulled out a video game from who-knows-where and waved it in front of his face.

"That new videogame you wanted came in the mail today from Japan. You wanna play?"

America was growing increasingly annoyed and he had to count to ten to keep from lashing out at the little alien. "Not now, Tony," he snapped. "I'm not in the mood."

Tony pouted and sulked out of the room, his arms crossed. "You're never in the mood for anything when you're home," he mumbled. "Sometimes I wish you would just stay at those stupid meetings..." His voice became fainter and fainter until it finally died away and silence fell.

America sighed and turned off the TV. Immediately, the house was cloaked in darkness and chills went up his spine. He grabbed his leftover hamburgers and beer and put it in the fridge, then walked slowly up the stairs. He walked down a long hallway and burst through the oak double doors at the end of it, growing more agitated by the minute. He was getting ridiculously tired and didn't know how late it was, but he assumed it was past midnight because World Conferences always ran late since they could never get anything done. All he wanted to do was sleep; he found that sleep was the only thing that took his mind off of all of the crap he had to endure throughout meetings and the entire day. When he was angry, he slept. When he was depressed, he slept. Even when he was actually in a good mood, and those times were few and far between, he slept. No wonder he was always late to the World Conferences.

America kicked off his shoes and took off his bomber jacket, hanging it on a post in the corner of his room by his closet. He took off his lighter jacket and loosed his tie, then shed himself off his pants, only to replace them with a pair of long plaid pajama bottoms. He threw off his tie, unbuttoned and slipped out of his dress shirt, then put on a more breathable, white cotton shirt and flung himself onto his bed. He was about to close his eyes and welcome the blissful sleep he had been waiting for all day when he remembered he still had his glasses on. With an annoyed huff, he ripped the glasses off his face and threw them haphazardly onto the bureau.

He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his cell phone to check the time. The light from the screen blinded him and made him squint, but through his scrunched up eyes he could see the numbers 2:45. He shook his head and set the phone down, then settled himself underneath his covers and tried to get some much needed sleep. It took a lot of tossing and turning to find the right position, but when he did, he closed his eyes and he was once again whisked away to a land where he wasn't America, but a nobody named Alfred F. Jones.

It was only a few hours later when a loud buzzing sound roused America out of his sleep. He groaned and slammed his hand on the table; he did not want to deal with this right now. Searching the table with his hand, he finally found his phone and brought it to his face to check it. England was calling and it was 5 o'clock in the morning.

Five o'clock in the morning.

America sweared to himself and answered the phone. "Hello?" His voice was quiet and he was too tired and angry to put on his "hero" act.

"America, you bloody git!" came the frustrated British voice from the other end of the line. "Where the hell are you?"

"At home, trying to sleep. Why, pray tell, do you feel the need to bother me?"

Back in his own country, England growled into the phone and looked around the room at everyone's impatient faces. He was in Buckingham Palace having the second part of the World Conference and America was the only one that was not present.

Germany sat at the head of the table, as always, and he was looking pissed as ever."Where the hell is he?" he roared, standing up from his seat. Everyone ceased their chatter and turned to stare at him. "Doesn't he know there's another meeting today?"

"There's a meeting today? Where? None told me!"

"It's in London, at Buckingham Palace, you moron. You obviously weren't listening when I announced it yesterday," England said impatiently.

"First of all, who's fucking idea was it to have one part of the meeting in New York and the other part in London? Also, yesterday? Yesterday was like, three hours ago. I'm trying to sleep, man! Just tell everyone I'm not coming."

"You have to be here. Everyone else is, so why should you be the only exception?"

"Look, I'm tired, I have a headache, and I don't feel like dealing with your shit right now." There was a long pause and everybody in the room strained their ears to hear the response. After a few minutes of silence, America's voice could just barely be heard replying. "Fine, I'll be there soon. Probably gonna be there long after the meeting is over, but whatever. Don't wait for me since I'm already late enough as it is." His tone was mocking and as soon as he was finished, the dial tone could be heard. He had hung up and was getting ready to leave.

England pulled the phone away from his ear and closed it slowly, staring off into space as he tried to understand what had just happened. America sounded so...angry and tired. Not tired as in sleepy, but tired as in defeated. It was unusual to hear America like this. Actually, it was unusual to hear him use any tone other than his normal, bubbly shouting voice. What was wrong with him? Was he going through another economic depression? The other nations looked at England expectantly, waiting for him to tell them what happened.

Germany, being the impatient country he is, was the first to speak. He glared at England and growled. "Well, what's going on?" he demanded.

England snapped out of his trance and looked at the worried faces in the room. It was curious that now, of all times, they actually cared about America. Before, they passed it off as nothing and minded their own business. But now, they were genuinely concerned. England put his phone back in his pocket and stared out of the window, looking at his people going about their business. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know."

America got off his private plane in a huff. He had not known of the meeting nor did he care to be there in the first place. As soon as he got off the phone with England, he reluctantly got out of bed and put on his previously discarded clothes. His bomber jacket was once again on his back and his shoes were on his feet where they belonged. His pants and dress shirt were faintly wrinkled, but what did the other nations expect when he had hastily taken them off and deposited them on the floor to go to bed and get some much needed rest? Did they really think he would care about his appearance at such an early hour of the morning?

It was 6 o'clock when he left New York and 4 PM when he arrived in London. The flight took five hours, and he even took the fastest plane he could find. Luckily for him, World Meetings were an all day event, so it's not like he missed much. He still had plenty of time to catch up.

One of England's assistants was there to escort him through Buckingham Palace and to the meeting room. He was led through many disgustingly wallpapered hallways, up many annoying and twisty stairs, and then down even more gross hallways. When they arrived in front of two giant mahogany doors, the assistant nodded to America and walked away. America stood outside of the meeting room for a few minutes, contemplating how he should make his entrance. Should he burst in with a loud "The Hero has entered the building! Your lives just got better!" or should he just slip in casually? He shook his head and sighed and it was at that moment that he realized he had left his glasses and his briefcase at home. Wonderful.

Shaking his head, America threw open the doors and strutted in, a big, fake smile plastered on his face. "What's up bros?" he shouted. "Ya miss me?" he walked over to the only empty seat, it was by France, oh joy, and sat down, his grin never wavering. Every nation stopped chatting at once and stared at him, but why he didn't know. Was it because he wasn't wearing his signature glasses? Were his lips twitching? He better come up with something funny, and quick, before-

"What happened to your glasses?" England asked. He sat across the table and next to Russia, who was sitting on a very disturbed looking Canada. If America strained his ears hard enough he could hear the faint whimpers of "Maple!" coming from his northern neighbor.

America shrugged and brought his hand up to his nose out of habit. When he remembered that the glasses wasn't there he chuckled and cracked his fingers. "Left them at home. No big deal. Why are you guys all silent? What, has my presence left you speechless?" No one spoke. America began to get annoyed but refrained from showing his anger. "Oh you guys are a bunch of boring old cows. Come on, let's start the meeting!"

Everyone stared for a few moments longer before Germany cleared his throat impatiently and rose out of his seat. "I agree, let's begin." Everyone turned to him and the meeting was now officially back in session, although some people did not take their eyes off America, which annoyed him to no end. As Germany droned on and on about how to reduce global warming, America became increasingly angrier and it took him all of his willpower to not let a scowl show on his face. He must keep his act up, for his pride! If he let his true emotions show he would never hear the end of it.

China suddenly raised his hand and took a break from shaking his head and muttering "Western nations are so immature," since England and France were once again at each other's throats, literally. Germany was too busy yelling at said nations to notice China and almost went over to intervene when Japan spoke up.

"Doitsu-san, I think China has something to say." he said quietly. America scoffed to himself and shook his head.

Of course he has something to say he thought irritably. He's waving his hand so much it looks like he's about to piss himself.

Germany turned to face China but caught sight of America shaking his head first. He cocked his head to the side and shot him a questioning glance. He was oddly quiet this meeting and everyone hated to admit it, but they were a bit worried. His glance was returned with a glare which made him even more worried. America was never in a bad mood; at least, he never showed it.

"Uh, yes, China?" he said. China let out a breath of satisfaction in knowing that someone was paying attention.

"Since we are on the topic of global warming, or were," he added, glaring at England and France who had stopped their quarreling long enough to listen for a few seconds and steal glances at America. "How are we supposed to prevent the deterioration of our landmarks? My Great Wall is crumbling in many places and there's nothing I can do to prevent further damage!"

"Yeah, the Statue of Liberty over at my place in getting rusty and stuff. Maybe we should invent this super-mecha-death-ray that puts a force field around our landmarks or something!" America piped up. He needed to start participating because he noticed people were becoming more suspicious and glancing over at him every few minutes. Across the table, Russia, who was still sitting on Canada, laughed.

"Landmark? The Statue of Liberty wasn't even made by you. It's as much yours as everything is Korea's."

America's eye twitched and Russia watched in amusement while everybody else looked on with concern. Was he purposefully trying to make America angry? If so, he was doing a good job, America thought, because all he could imagine was kicking Russia in the nuts and cursing him out until he cried...but he held his tongue, albeit reluctantly.

"It sits in my country; my land. So what if it was a gift? It sure as hell beats your run down, old-ass swirly castle thing."

Russia laughed again and the mood got even tenser. "You don't even know what my landmark is called and yet you stand up for that rusty hunk of metal that-"

In a flash quicker that lighting, America was out of his seat and on his feet, a pistol pointed it Russia's head. He cocked the gun and it made a loud click to show everyone that it was loaded and ready to fire. Everyone's eyes widened and they stared at America in horror. Even Russia looked surprised, but he quickly hid it behind a smirk.

"You know what?" America asked calmly, his voice dangerously low. "I am so sick and fucking tired of pieces of shit like you."

"America, put that gun away right now or-" Germany started.

America ignored him, he wasn't worth the time or effort. "Honestly, you should be proud. I never thought somebody could have that punchable of a face, and yet here you are," America chuckled. God, he was loving this.

"A-America, what's gotten into you?" England stuttered. The other countries kept silent, but America figured they were all thinking the same thing.

"I know what you're all thinking," he began. "'Whiny little, stuck up America's never angry. He can't get mad at us, right?'" America shook his head. "Wrong. I pissed as fuck and that smug look on your face really isn't helping." He glared at Russia as he spoke, making sure to keep his voice calm and steady. "Don't bother trying to hide your surprise, Russia. Why bother when I've already seen it? Oh, that's right. Your pride is more important than the shape of your face." He pressed down on the trigger lightly. He wanted to pull it so badly, to shoot Russia just to wipe that smirk off his face, but what good would that do him? Nothing; it would most likely start another war, the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Germany took a step forward to try and calm the younger nation but it only enraged him further. America swung the gun to the left and instead kept it locked on Germany's head; his eyes were so wide they looked like they were going to pop out of his skull.

"Don't move!" America yelled. He was really getting impatient and he just wanted to leave. "I have had enough of all of your shit." he growled. "I have tried to stay calm and seem happy for the sake of others, but you have literally pushed me to my breaking point. I'm done. I'm sick of the arguing, sick of the fighting, sick of the wars. I cannot tolerate any of you anymore. You're all a bunch of annoying little shitbags that my fists are just itching to punch." He lingered around with his pistol still raised for a few moments before finally slipping them back into his jacket pocket. With one final glare to everyone, he spun on his heel, stormed up to the doors, and bashed them open, not giving the group of nations another glance as he walked out.

The room was quiet as the nations listened to America's thundering footsteps die away. Everyone looked accusingly at Russia and Germany, blaming them for America's less than stable state of mind. Russia cleared his throat, readjusted his tie, and looked over to Germany for some sort of hint as to what to do next. Germany, who was still recovering from the shock of having a gun pointed at his face, walked back to his seat on shaky legs. All eyes were on him as everyone waited for a direction in which to go. When he didn't speak, England cleared his throat loudly to get everyone's attention.

"I think we all need to relax and have some time to ourselves," he said quickly, looking every nation in the eye. When he reached Russia, he glared and gathered up his things, putting them in his briefcase and snapping it shut. "Meeting is adjourned."

America fell onto his bed and sighed. After what happened at the World Conference, he was exhausted and just wanted to sleep. He had already shed his clothes and gotten back into his pajamas and was now currently trying to get into a comfy position underneath his bed covers. It was only around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, but he didn't care.

He had just found the right spot and closed his eyes when his cell phone starting vibrating on his bedside table, making a loud and obnoxious sound. America growled and let it ring; he wasn't in the mood to answer any questions. He actually felt some odd sense of peace and liberation, and the last thing he needed was to be hounded or lectured. The vibrating ended a few moments later, but another few moments after that, it began again. America slammed his hand down on the table and picked up the phone, practically ripping the cover off of its hinges. "What?" he hissed. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Uh, hey. It's me," the voice said. America groaned inwardly and looked up at his bare white ceiling. It was England, and he knew he would never hear the end of this.

"What do you want?"

"To know what the bloody hell is wrong with you. What were you thinking, pulling out a gun like that? What's gotten into you? I'm beginning to think your mental health is going off the rails."

America put on the most snobby sounding English accent he could manage."I appreciate your…concern, but I regret to inform you that I don't give a fuck."

"Look, America, I don't care what your excuse is. I know you too well to figure out that something is going on. What is it? Is it another economic depression? Any natural disaster? Come on, you git. You know you can tell me,"

America scoffed. "And since when do you care? I'm done pretending that I do, so just leave me alone. Why don't you keep your nose in your own God damn business?"

"I could say the exact same thing about you! You know what, fine. Go on and be pissy for all I care. I don't know what's going on in your head or why you're acting like an immature git, but don't expect me to help you when you need it. Honestly, I don't even know why I bothered to call…" England hung up and the dial tone echoed in America's ears. Angrily, he snapped his phone shut and threw it at the wall where he knew the screen had shattered to pieces. He sat up in his bed and held his head in his hands, feeling tears of frustration and anger beginning to form in his eyes.

No, he told himself. I will not cry. I said what I needed to say; I finally got it off my chest. I should be happy. Maybe after this I won't have to deal with them anymore, and things can finally be normal-

The tears came down in a matter of seconds, but when they did, America didn't protest. He ran his hands through his hair and cried his heart out; he let out centuries of pent up emotions, starting from the very moment he came into existence as a nation. All of his frustration, all of his misery, all of his anger and grief was released at that moment and he didn't care. He didn't care about being the hero or being brave or tough. At that moment, he was just another human, crying over hundreds of years of suffering.

AN: America is literally me like 99% of the time