Hello there. Firstly, I'd like to apologise for my Alex Rider subscribers who don't know what the hell Hetalia is, and if you'd like to leave, I won't stop you. I'm new to this fandom, and so I've decided on a collection of drabbles to get me going. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to finish the rest of my stories, but I'll try. As for this, well it's almost impossible for this to be finished, considering that it's a collection of drabbles that'll probably be written in an utmost random fashion, completely dependent on thought-provoking prompts (this is most definitely not a hint, by the way), but I'll try to update as consistently as I can. As for now, enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 1

Sometimes, when he was alone, he would think back to the time when America was his. When Alfred was his baby brother, his blue eyes staring into green, when blue was filled with hope, curiosity and kindness. Until blue turned into the brightest, hottest flames of rebellion. Blue clashed with green, and it grew with power by day, until green could not hold out any longer and was lost in the sea-blue depths of victory. A victory that was not his.

"It's...it's not fair..."

He missed the old America, and could never have imagined what he would become when he was older. America, the hamburger-devouring, egotistical, hero-impersonating and drama-seeking man that filled his vision in the day and his thoughts at night. No, this was not the America he knew and loved before. This was a different man. A different America.

"What happened to you?"

England had been in a lot of fights while procuring his colonies, and many battles when he was losing them. He would say he was experienced; hardened to the point where he felt nothing but the adrenaline that came with the spillage of blood. It saddened him to say, therefore, that he could never forget that last fight in the rain; the last showdown that cost him his entire world. Not now, not ever. On that day, his little brother had shed his innocence, and in its place, radical ideas of independence. On that day, hatred, fatigue, guilt and sadness bled from both their wounds, mixing in the rain and draining into the earth, forever encased in the soil of their consciousness, the aches still ingrained in their memories. On that day, he lost Alfred.

"I remember when you were great."

Short, yes, but hopefully good enough to be reviewed. Will be updating soon. Thanks for reading!