Title: When The Lights Go Down In the City
Summary: America watches the 2013 Super Bowl. There is a problem after half-time.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Also, I am not affiliated with the Super Bowl in any way and must recognize that this title is trademarked to the nth degree. Don't mind me, I'm just having fun here.
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Game day.
One of the few reasons besides Christmas and New Years that wintertime can be fun.
Sure there was the usual parade of bowl games and playoffs but in America's mind, the Super Bowl was king.
No, it was more then just king.
It was The Game.
It was a de facto holiday for millions of his people.
Super Bowl Sunday.
America loved it.
Football.
Food.
Family.
A truly American holiday.
America himself had been preparing for weeks.
Once the teams were set, he drew up plans for special paper plates and napkins and cups and silverware and shirts. What he couldn't buy he made himself. Only the best for his beloved football teams.
He had food.
Oh did he have food.
As the second largest food-consuming day in America, he had a spread that nearly rivaled Thanksgiving. Only this was nothing but chips and dips and beer and ribs and burgers and soda and fries and beans and chili and pulled pork and pizza and all kinds of wings and mini corn dogs and ice cream and everything. If he saw it in the prolific food displays at the store, he bought at least eight – of every kind he could find.
Between him and his brother it would all be demolished by halftime.
He could never decide what he was looking forward to most.
He loved the football. It's the reason for it all and after 47 Super Bowl games he's getting used to having them around. It's his sport. He loves it. His people love it. And that is enough for him.
But there was a sizable portion of folks that got dragged in because of the commercials. That had been becoming a thing in recent years. The budget for them was getting insane, he'll admit but people talked about them for days after game. They became hallmarks of pop culture. He looked forward to them every year.
Of course one couldn't forget the halftime show. They just kept getting bigger and better. He loved that popular artists had a unique chance to shine at probably one of the most insane venues of their lives. It was awesome.
In short, there was something for every American to enjoy (even if they were only "putting up with it" to see family and friends).
The day made America giddy with excitement.
This Super Bowl Sunday had started out like any other. America was up at the crack of dawn so he could make a last minute store run just to make sure he had enough food.
His brother arrived by lunchtime and they spent the rest of the day psyching themselves out for the game. Baltimore Ravens and the San Francisco 49ers on The Big Day down in New Orleans. Sure he always made sure that he didn't pick a favorite to win (he wanted it to be a fair game after all) – he was a big proponent for the best man winning and a good game all around – but it still didn't stop him from getting psyched out.
Most might find it odd but he always made sure that he was in the middle of nowhere someplace on the west coast (usually Idaho or Montana) to watch the game on his very large TV. One year he made the mistake of actually going to a game and after a pretty spectacular play accidently crushed the seat in front of him. Needless to say he got in some serious trouble and missed the end of the game so he made sure to watch the Super Bowl far away from everyone but his brother.
Everything was exactly as it should be as they approached half time. The game was a bit flat but America was having so much fun that it didn't really matter anymore for him. Of course Canada was having just as much fun both watching the TV and ribbing America for being outrageous at everything.
They were rather entranced by the pyrotechnics of Beyoncé's halftime show.
Of course right after that, both nations noticed that they were out of beer. Again.
"Alfred it's your turn."
"Shh."
"Alfred."
"Gimme a minute."
The minute it was clear that the announcers were going to start talking for a bit America had vaulted over the back of the couch and darted toward the kitchen. Canada just rolled his eyes and continued to watch the program. He could hear the fridge banging around and the rustle of chip bags as America tried to race the clock to get back before the game or more commercials started.
"It's starting!" Canada yelled.
He heard America squawk and the shuffling and clinking got louder.
"Jacoby Jones just returned the opening kick of the half!" said Canada. He knew that America would appreciate the blow by blow seeing as he would have done the same if it had been Canada on the food run. It was only fair to return the favor.
Suddenly America burst though the entryway piled high with several cases of beer and some more bags of chips and jars of dip on top of that. It would not have been a problem if he had not been running for the couch and could see.
Instead he slipped.
Whether it was a consequence of socks on the hardwood floor or sliding on an unseen smear of sauce was unclear but either way America went down. Hard.
Canada had just enough time to turn when America yelled and see America's look of shock as he disappeared behind the couch followed by all of the food he was carrying.
A loud crack was heard followed by the heavy thunk of a case of beer. When the second case of beer hit one of the cans ruptured spraying its carbonated contents all over the place. The glass from the dip containers had shattered everywhere. The bags of chips flew were the least damaged, landing with only a soft crunching sound.
"Alfred!" Canada yelled and scrambled over the back of the couch.
America lay on his back in the middle of the warzone unmoving. His eyes were half open and his breathing was erratic. It turned Canada's stomach to see how close one of the cases of beer had wound up to America's head. Sure they were nations but they still got hurt and Canada could only imagine how awful getting bludgeoned by something like that would feel.
Canada crouched down to his brother and gently cupped his face. Fortunately America blinked at the touch and awareness returned to his gaze.
America looked up at Canada and Canada smiled down at America. Thank goodness they were nations, everything would all be ok.
"Welcome back sleeping beauty," said Canada.
America blinked a few more times and his eyes swiveled questioningly around the area.
"Why am I on the ground?" said America.
"You slipped silly," said Canada. He helped America sit up slowly. America winced at the action and gingerly rubbed the back of his head. Everything felt find but he could tell that Canada was discretely checking for signs of concussion or other problems.
"You should really be more careful Alfred," Canada said snapping America out of deciding just how much his head hurt. "Your lucky you didn't get swashed by the beer."
It was only then did America register the disaster around them. The collection of food instantly reminded America of why he had been in such a hurry.
"The Game!" America said. He made to get up and get back to the couch but Canada pushed him back down.
"Not for you."
"Mattie. It's the Super Bowl," said America. "It's America's most watched television program of all time in the history of TV. I have to watch it."
"You are not getting back on the couch until you are cleaned up," said Canada. "Look at this. You've got dip in your hair and beer all over your clothes. No sir. I don't care what's on TV right now. You are getting cleaned up and that is final."
America tried to protest. He really did. But while many could tell you of his stubbornness, Canada could outshine him on that front any day of the week when he felt like it. You do not move a moose when it does not want to be moved. The same applies for Canada.
Instead Canada simply picked up the struggling nation like a sack of potatoes and hauled him to the bathroom.
Sure the protest kept up the whole time. Canada could easily tune it all out. This was not the first time America had argued in favor of The Big Game or about it's importance. And Canada agreed with him. America always had a lot riding on the game and it always helped him be in tune with his people. But there was no way America was getting out of a rinse off and a new change of clothes. It wouldn't do to get America so riled up over a football game after such a spill. Instead, cleaning up would give the nation's body a chance to fully recuperate from something so minor thus enabling America to be able to fully enjoy the remainder of the game.
America was particularly indignant when Canada shoved him into the shower (clothes and all) and turned the water on. It was freezing and if he had been out of it (which he wasn't he swears) America wasn't anymore.
"GAH! You suck!" yelled America.
"Just get clean while I tidy up the mess you made. Then, and only then, shall we return to the game."
"On it!"
"I expect you to use soap!" said Canada. His answer was a wet t-shirt in the face. Taking it as a sign of submission Canada left to go clean up the living room.
By the time America emerged from his record quick shower in a new pair of jeans and an identical t-shirt to the one he had had on before, Canada had the spills under control and the food restocked for their viewing pleasure.
The mojo was back and better then ever. It was almost like nothing had ever happened except America's hair was absolutely sopping wet.
The minute America sat down Canada gently but firmly grabbed his head and inspected him for damage.
"The Game," America whined. He tried to catch a glimpse of the TV but couldn't quite manage with Canada's firm grip. Seeming pleased with his inspection Canada released America's head and de-muted the TV.
Both nations were stunned that they had missed no action. Instead the game was just beginning to resume after a 35-minute partial black out of the stadium. They hadn't missed a thing. (Well, some commercials and some play-by-plays but Canada wasn't going to point this out as America whooped for joy and loaded up a plate with food.)
"Glory hallelujah for some good old New Orleans voodoo!"
The game was back and so were they.
All was right with the world.
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A/N: Just a short little one shot that would not let me go when the Super Bowl XLVII lost power "from an outside surge." My brain just got stuck on Alfred's reaction to the whole thing. I tried to capture a bit of what football and Super Bowl Sunday means to the majority of Americans. I'm not sure how well that worked out considering the quick turnaround between the event and this fic.