Eleven

A/N: In honor of Armistice Day! Here is my first historical fic. I do hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: (man, I really need to start putting these in my stories) I do not own Hetalia nor its characters. I also mean no disrespect to what is celebrated through this holiday.

Summary: On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, the First World War ended at last.

Pairings: USUK

"And, finally, it is by your signature that you agree to cease all forms of fighting within six hours," he said quietly. Eyes the color of the sky rose from the thin sheet of parchment to regard the nations assembled before him. "Are there any objections?"

The nation sitting across from him and to his right opened his mouth, scarlet eyes flashing in anger. He was silenced, however, with a glare from the aristocratic brunette and the lovely young woman at his side. The leader of the Central Powers, a tall blonde with icy blue eyes, tilted his head and remained silent, a gesture that bespoke the anger that still burned within him.

Wit no objections raised, the blue-eyed blonde passed the parchment over to the other side of the table, where it was regarded with a tense, stoic silence. On either side of him, his greatest allies- a golden-haired Frenchman and a green-eyed Briton- watched in almost reverent silence. Not a single sound was made, save the gently scratching of a pen, for the next few minutes as the treaty was passed from nation to nation, power to power, until the signature of the Ottoman Empire appeared on the document, and it was passed back to the Allied powers.

Blue eyes scanned the document and counted each signature: Germany, Prussia, the Austro-Hungary Empire, the Ottoman Empire, and Bulgaria. Six signatures in all. Six signatures that marked the enemy, the "villains", that pulled the world into what seemed like an unending war.

His throat was dry, his blue eyes were rimmed in red, but he swallowed and spoke again. "This treaty will come into effect at exactly 11 AM, on November 11th, 1918. With your agreement upon the Fourteen Points of President Woodrow Wilson, this war comes to an end." there was a small tweak of his lips, a gentle sparkle of his eye. "No longer will we wage the war to end all wars."

For all that was said and done, he was relieved. It had been a long, treacherous war, and it was only by divine providence that it did not go longer. He made a mental note to go off and celebrate later; after all, if anyone deserved a rest, it was he.

The meeting room was empty now, and as the young nation began packing up his suitcases and loosening his tie, he could only think of the hot meal and bed waiting for him back home. He would first go to Virginia, perhaps, and not New York, to make sure that he did not get caught up in all the excitement before he was fully rested and readied. As much as he loved a good time, there was always something about a nice, soft bed awaiting him after many long months of war that appealed to him more than any amount of celebration.

"You shouldn't have been leading that meeting you know," a voice spoke up suddenly. The nation, his reflexes honed by fierce training for the wars he had faced, spun around, a pistol slipping out of his sleeve in a single slick, fluid motion. He found himself aiming at not the villain he expected, but the emerald-eyed Briton, who raised a prodigious eyebrow upon seeing the small weapon pointed at his forehead.

"Aggressive as always, I see," the Briton said, a light smile curving his features as he stared down the barrel of the gun. "You have not changed much, if at all, United States."

Said nation narrowed his eyes. "Don't sneak up on me like that, England. You just barely escaped having led shoved into that itty bitty brain of yours."

"This itty bitty brain of mine possesses more gray matter than you could ever dream of for yourself, lad," the British Empire answered lightly as he reached out and gently lowered the arm holding the gun. "But I digress; I simply stayed back to tell you that while you handled the negotiations in a surprisingly mature manner, you had little right to lead them." the green eyes were poisonous now, and seemed to pierce right through the North American nation. "After all, it was not until April 6th of last year that you finally decided to get off your lazy arse and enter the war."

Anger welled up within him. One black-gloved hand curled into a fist. He grit his teeth, resisting the urge to punch this foul-mouthed nation in the face.

"It was because I came in that you guys were able to finally stop this damn war," his voice shook as he spoke. He cursed himself.

"It was because you didn't come in in the first place that this war went on for as long as it did!" England spat, unleashing his fiery temper at last. America saw just the faintest gleam of malice in his eye, said to have not returned to him since he left his pirating days behind. "It was because you and your idiotic adherence to tradition that you refused to enter this war until so many human lives were lost that France, Russia, and myself were nearly torn apart on the inside!"

"I had no choice," America replied, trying his best to keep his voice calm. The shaking fists, the wavering words, and the narrowed eyes, however, spoke a different story entirely. "My people have witnessed our neutrality at work since the Monroe Doctrine. They saw that staying out of your European affairs benefited us and saw no reason to change it."

"And while your people sat at home and twiddled their thumbs, my people were out there, fighting for their lives and my empire. Do you not understand how much Belgium was hurt when that brat Germany marched into her? Do you not comprehend how much Russia has lost as a result of your lazy arse? Can you not see how much France has collapsed because of your negligence? Of course not! All you care about is how much we're all spending our bloody money on your bloody exports so you can fund your stupid lifestyle! You claim to be a hero, yet all I see is a pathetic shadow of the colony I once cared for who cowers when the going gets rough and springs in only when he can score an easy victory for himself!"

He could handle it no longer. It was as if someone had set a bomb inside him and it chose not to explode until this very moment. His fist reeled back, then shot forward, striking the other nation on the nose, shattering the cartridge and bone. England reeled back, his fingertips and mouthed painted scarlet as emerald eyes, more poisonous than ever, came up to meet the sky.

America was exhausted. His breath came in quick, shallow pants. His heart pounded in his ears. He was sweating beneath his uniform, dark patches appearing where the sweat concentrated the most. Blue eyes glared at the bleeding nation behind misted glasses, tears pooling at the corner of each eye.

"I begged him," he panted, his voice broken and empty. "I begged him to let us enter the war from the very start. I wanted to be there to help you. I didn't give a shit about trade or U-boats or any of that shit. I just wanted to keep you safe. I wanted to be your hero." he walked over to England now, his own fingertips turning scarlet as he gently wiped up the blood. He didn't care that there was now English blood painting his shirt and jacket red; he only saw a broken nation with a broken nose that needed to be helped. "I saw the way your people suffered, and even though they were your people and not mine, I suffered too. I knew that with every life you lost, you would be hurt. You would be the one to pay for a war that should not have begun in the first place. I saw the way France continued fighting, I saw the way Russia just dropped out, and I saw the way Italy met with you all in secret to negotiate an end to the war, but… I didn't care. I only cared about making sure that you made it out in one piece…"

"Idiot," he spat, pulling his face away from the gentle touch. "I'm not some porcelain doll you can simply stick up on the mantelpiece and leave there. I have faced greater injuries than this."

America smiled. "And that is what I love about you the most. Your strength. Your strength reflects the strength of your people, just like how France's beauty reflects the strength of his people, and how Russia's smile reflects the tenacity of his. And even on the other side, they have strength too. Germany and Prussia? They fought hard until the bitter end, and even when everything was lost, they still marched on with pride. Austria and Hungary? They were there to make sure that no man was left behind, that the fight was as much of a matter of national pride as all the rest. The Ottoman Empire might hide behind a mask, but that mask represents his daring, his ability to do things that no other person would do. Bulgaria might come off as insignificant, but all throughout this war, he's shown that even though he might seem like a dark horse in this war, he'll keep fighting on until there's just nothing left to fight." tears were streaming down his face now, leaving tracks upon the lightly tanned cheeks. Under normal circumstances, he would wipe them away and attempt to laugh them off, but he did not bother now; he didn't care. He only had eyes for the European nation before him, whose emerald green eyes too swam with tears.

"I finally had enough, my people had enough, and Wilson had enough. We entered the war and I couldn't have been happier to see that you were still alive, that you were still fighting…" strong arms wrapped around the British nation, silver tears gleamed in the sandy blonde hair. "And all I wanted to do was hold you forever, until the fighting ended and you wouldn't have to feel the pain of your people anymore…"

"Idiot…" England whispered. "Git. Don't say things like that. People will get the wrong idea-"

One gloved hand snaked its way under the pale chin and lifted England's face up. Blurring emeralds met a sparkling blue sky as America smiled down at him, taking in the beauty that had captured his attention long before the Revolution tore them apart.

"Then they can just fucking deal with it."

Their lips met in a gentle, chaste kiss, fireworks exploding within them as their tears gently mingled. England wrapped both his arms around America's neck and pulled them even closer together, his emerald eyes closing in pure bliss as the American nation gently licked his bottom lip. Then, their tongues waltzed together as America relished every beat of England's heart, with one hand tangled gently in the sandy blonde locks, with the other hand wrapped possessively around the thin, scarred waist.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, singing the arrival of the eleventh hour. All over the world, a great clatter could be heard as numerous weapons were thrown on the ground, and as many more were shut down completely. Brothers embraced, old foes shook hands, and lovers united at last. Soldiers, living and dead, dropped to their knees and whispered their thanks. Civilians, young and old, kneeled before these soldiers and sung their praise. It no longer mattered what country the soldier was from now; the revelers only saw loyalty beyond loyalty, and strength beyond strength. They celebrated not only the end of the war, but also the strength, sacrifice, and courage it took to fight it.

There was no end to the laughter, the shouts, the revelation. There was no stopping the sweeping kisses, the clasped hands, or the boisterous laughter. There was just no preventing the throwing down of arms. If any of the national personifications looked upon their people now, it was with a great relief. The war had ended, after all. This was, as United States President Woodrow Wilson said, the War to End All Wars. The dream had ended; dawn had arrived.

But the two nations heard and saw nothing of this. They only sensed each other as they pulled themselves even closer together, pouring every ounce of their passion into the other. They heard and saw none of the celebration, but they knew; at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1918, the World War ended at last.