A/N: What is this, I don't even know. I already have like, four unfinished America stories and here I am writing a new one. Dios miowhat am I going to do... *face in hands*

But yes, another thrilling Alfred story because I love America and writing about America at ten thirty at nigt. Seriously, an hour ago I was so freaking exhausted and tired and uuugggghhh but then suddenly inspiration hit and BAM! Here's this for ya.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, just an American flag. :P

...

Bzzzz.

Why in the world had he decided to get such an annoying doorbell? It was one of those buzzards that constantly reminded him of a fly swarming about his head. Either way, he knew who it would be. It had been three months, and though he had read and received every single letter, he never bothered to write back.

Bzzzz.

Alfred groaned. And put his arms on his small kitchen table, scattered with files and papers he never really liked doing, but had to in order to keep his position. As he pinched the bridge of his nose, he thought of how his life had come to this.

He was an Air Force pilot, one of the best in the world. Recently promoted as well.

Ever since he was a little kid in that crowded foster home in Massachusetts, he knew what he wanted to be, what he should be. Though his life was difficult and rough, going through foster parents like changes of clothes, constantly moving back and forth between Boston and new York and DC, his goals never faltered.

He supposed he had Arthur to thank for that.

Yet why wasn't he opening the door for him?

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzzz.

"Just go away, Arthur! No one's home!" Alfred groaned again, glaring at the front door as if by doing that the British man would disappear.

"Bloody hell you're not home! Open the door right this instant young man!" Arthur's furious yells were muffled by the door, but his intentions were clear.

Alfred sighed, stood and stretched, before shuffling to the door and opening it, only to be met with furiously narrowed, thick eyebrows.

"You have some explaining to do, mister."

"Yeah mom, sorry I dragged mud in the house. I'll clean it up later, so can I still go to Chuckie Cheese?" Alfred rolled his eyes. "Why are you always treating me like a child?"

"Because you are a child."

"I'm not a child. I'm twenty-three."

"Yes, well, I'm twenty-six and people call me old so have at you."

"Maybe if you shaved your eyebrows once every day then people wouldn't say that."

Arthur scoffed and made his way to the table, where Alfred's letters were displayed. He glanced at the opened ones he'd sent, then back at him. He calmly made his way to the living room couch, and sat.

Alfred sighed, and sat in the arm chair opposite him.

"Are you going to offer me some tea?"

"There's a Starbucks down the road."

They glared at each other until Alfred's eyes began to hurt, so he gave up and glanced away. He stared at the small stain on the white carpet for a moment, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. And for a moment, it was.

I wonder how that even got there. It's such a weird color. Is it brown, or red? I think I see a bit of green. Ugh, I wonder if it's all dried up and stuck to the carpet or fresh and sticky. I wonder if I pay Arthur ten bucks to lick it if he will. Woah, if I cross my eyes it becomes a bunch of new colors. Freaky man.

"Alfred, I think your aware of why I'm here. Of why I came all the way from England to Virginia, worried sick about my best friend who just so happens to have one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, especially after he didn't reply my letters in three months."

Alfred replied with a roll of his eyes. "I've been busy."

"You remember when we were in school, I was thirteen and you were ten, and you skipped out on a chance to go to the Statue of Liberty because I broke my arm?"

"Arms are serious business okay. If Lady Liberty would've broken her arm, you bet I would've ditched your lame ass trip to London to go stay with her."

"That's not the point Alfred! Damnit- stop avoiding my subject! You think because you got promoted you can just leave all your other duties! Your going crazy with this whole military thing!"

"Air force."

"Bloody United States of America Air force."

"Are we done here? I have to make a trip to Germany tomorrow."

"No! We are not!" Arthur was nearly bursting with anger, his face was all red and he was breathing hard. For such a small guy he sure seemed to appear scary in that moment. Not that Alfred cared.

"Whatever. I'm going to bed."

"It's only four-thirty in the afternoon!"

"Wow! That late already? See you in the mornin'!" Alfred cheerfully laughed, and began his way up the stairs.

"Remember who taught you how to fish, and ride a bike, and tie your shoe laces and everything you were to stupid to learn on your own!" Arthur shouted from the bottom of the steps.

"And remember who helped you when you were constantly getting beat up since you were to weak to defend yourself on your own!" Alfred called back, flopping down on his bed.

There was a lot of noise coming from downstairs, and Alfred tried to count how many curses the British man said, but lost count after a while. Moments later he heard a crash and the front door slam. He sighed in contentment.

Not to get some rest…

~xXx~

Alfred wasn't a very superstitious man. He was when it came to ghosts, but that was a whole different story. However, as he began to make his journey towards Europe in his plane, he couldn't help but feel like something was off. Wrong even. Like he wasn't supposed to do this and he really should get off of it and give the job to someone else.

As he told himself these things, he had already gone through the stages in which to make his journey, and was now flying smoothly above the Atlantic.

He had the sudden urge to call Arthur, though he didn't know why. He wanted to apologize, yet every time he thought about doing so, he felt his anger for the man boil even more. Besides, he couldn't make any personal calls when he was flying.

An hour or two later, he grew anxious, very anxious. He kept checking all of his lights to see if any of them had gone red, signaling something was wrong, but they were all flashing green.

It still didn't stop him from checking.

Every.

Five.

Seconds.

Something was so terribly wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He signaled in the base, asking them if any other planes were flying within his radar. None appeared.

And after another hour of constant fuss, he finally began to relax. And that's when he heard it. A sudden pop coming from the plane, and he knew something was wrong. He tried to inform his base, but there was no signal. He desperately tried to make sense of the once to familiar but now so foreign buttons and switches, but he only ended up pressing random ones and bashing his fists.

There were two more pops, and he screamed out loud to himself to stay calm, which only made him even more anxious. You only told yourself to stay calm when disaster was supposed to strike.

Oh god.

He was loosing altitude.

He tried to signal his base again, but all he got were muffled and scratchy noises. He was going down, and he was near spinning out of control in his decent.

He was screaming, thrashing, everything you shouldn't be doing.

He'd been in many test crashes before, but none like this. His only option was to eject.

And so he did.

His seat suddenly was shot out of the descending aircraft, and he did his best to fend off pieces of the ruined jet. A piece of metal hit him in the head, barely missing his temple. The last thing he saw was the plane explode as he blacked out, helplessly floating through the air on his way towards the ocean.

Without any help or human being for miles, and a now bleeding head wound, the young American had much more in store for him than a simple flight to Germany…