Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

______________________

Dark Frontier: Bald Eagle

America was dreaming the Dream again. He hated the Dream. He could not be happy in the Dream, he could not be carefree or optimistic. The Dream gave him nothing to be happy about. For all his strength and his can-do attitude he was powerless to change what the Dream showed him. America would have face the Dream head on, like always.

He could do that.

He was on the frontier. Just where exactly he was not sure, somewhere on the Great Plains. Behind him was a typical frontier town: horses and people moved around wagons while children ran underfoot. Supply stores on both sides of the street advertised their goods while women packed up their belongings for the long trek west. No one seemed to notice America standing on the outskirts of the town. In front of him was the vast and unsettled lands as far as the eye could see. The sun was setting in the distance, its yellow and orange hues slowly giving way to the black night and twinkling stars.

But the sun never set in his dream, and the town never went to sleep either. The eternal dusk on the dark frontier was the ever present part of the Dream. As was his finding himself between the lively and safe town and the frontier. America was aware that he had a pack on his back, a shotgun in one hand and his hat in the other. He set the hat on his head and began walking away from the town, never looking back.

America always moved forward.

The plains were devoid of life. Nothing, not even the wind, moved or made a sound. The eerie quiet was almost too much for America to stand. He began whistling Yankee Doodle.

A screech behind him and something slammed into America's head before he could turn around, knocking his hat off. Something flew past him in the not-quite-night sky and disappeared into the sun. America rubbed his head where the thing had struck him. His hand meeting something warm and wet, several punctures in his skin had begun bleeding. He swore quietly and squinted into the sky to look for his attacker.

The Bald Eagle soared in straight out of the sun and struck his face. Talons ripped into his skin, knocking of his glasses and drawing blood. America cried out in pain and struck out into the air to hit his attacker but the bird had already flown up high into the air. Cursing again, he pulled up his gun and aimed – at nothing really, he couldn't see where it had flown thanks to the darkness. Oh wait, there it was.

Circling overhead, acting more like a buzzard than anything else, The Bald Eagle glared at him with fierce yellow eyes reflecting the small amount of sunlight left. No, not sunlight. Bombs…

Vietnam watched, horror-struck, as his bombers annihilated villages and rice fields. Bridges collapsed into the rivers below them. Farmland was torn asunder and burned to ash. Modern buildings were smashed apart and huts and shacks simply annihilated. What few vehicles there were turned into darkened husks while boats along the river lit up like lanterns for some twisted holiday. And people died. There were always people dying.

"So, you think we got them all?" America chirped after the bombers left.

Vietnam said nothing. America stood behind her, wondering if he should do something. Awkwardly he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, realizing only then that she was trembling. She looked up at him with bitter tears on her confused face.

"I don't understand! Why did you…" words failed her and she burst into sobs.

America put his arm around her awkwardly, "Hey, cheer up!" he said with cheeriness even he knew was fake. "At least the Communist are gone!"

The change on her mood was amazingly fast. Her shaking stopped and the crying ceased. He didn't understand the expression on Vietnam's face when she looked back up at him, revulsion or horror maybe.

"The Communist? Is that all you care about?" she shrieked, moving away from him. "What about my people? What about our needs? You promised us better lives but all you've given me is this!" she waved her arm at the torched hamlet they had been standing in front of.

"This is taking longer than I thought, okay!" America snapped back, "Look, just give me some time and I promise –"

"Promise, promise, promise! That's all I ever hear from you! Yet not one promise has been kept!"

She ran away after that, someplace America couldn't find. When she returned she said little to him. Her eyes, once sad, stared at him with frustration from then on out though. Frustration became anger and the anger in her eyes began looking more and more like outright hatred. America ignored it, figuring it was just one of those woman things. He had more important things to worry about than Vietnam's feelings.

Then, one day, he had caught himself among the enemy. The firefight lasted only five minutes, three on one but he was America and he could not be beat. There was just one left, and they ran into each other completely by accident. They scuffled and America knocked off the hat that Vietnam's people liked to where – and found Vietnam herself underneath.

"But why? I'm trying to help you!" he asked with bafflement.

"Liar!" Vietnam shouted at him. "You don't care about me, you just want to fight Russia!"

He wanted to deny it, but something inside of him kept him from saying so. She ran off again but this time she didn't come back. Her words continued to ring in his ears throughout the war though as he fought and killed. As more of her people died and his own grew disillusioned. At long last he left. It wasn't till later that he realized that his last thoughts hadn't been on Vietnam, but along the lines of: You win this time Russia…

The Bald Eagle flew straight at him again. Claws outstretched and screaming at him. Golden eyes pierced his blue ones. America never broke eye contact, sending his own thoughts into the bird of prey…

When he saw her again at a UN meeting Vietnam looked tired. She spotted him but immediately averted her eyes, he did the same. Years passed and this routine continued. Until the day they somehow found themselves sitting next to each other. The awkward looks were exchanged and then they both stared straight ahead for most of the meeting, not speaking or looking at each other. Then France began speaking about his education system and how great it was. "And do you know the first thing every French child is taught?" he asked and looked around expectedly.

"How to surrender in German?" America muttered under his breath. Vietnam heard him and before she could stop herself began snickering. America looked at her in surprise before smiling himself. After that all of France's speech received some whispered commentary courtesy of America while Vietnam tried to stifle her laughter. When the meeting was over he stopped her on her way out. "Can we talk?" he asked her. Vietnam gave him a long hard look before nodding.

Several years later the two watched as the Vietnamese embassy opened up in the US. America beamed, time had healed their wounds. Vietnam had a faint smile on her face, bitterness and hatred gone. The smile left too, however, when America offered her a supersized double bacon cheesbuger.

Three feet from his face the Bald Eagle found itself on the receiving end of a bash to the head with the shotgun. America had waited for just the right moment before acting, no need to waste bullets on this guy. He wiped the blood off his face and continued walking. The Dream wasn't over yet.

An hour later his next encounter occurred. A hiss and a rattle rose up from several feet in front of him At least the Rattlesnake was polite enough to warn him it was near.

_________________________________

Chapter Notes:

1. During the Vietnam War it was difficult for American soldiers to distinguish friend from foe as the Viet Cong would hide among the general populous. At some point Americans would simply bomb a whole South Vietnamese town after being convinced it was a communist stronghold. To quote: 'It became necessary to destroy the town to save it.' Needless to say this did not endear the Americans to the people they were supposed to be helping.

2. Obligatory French joke. No offense is meant to the actual French, the French military or the French education system. The sudden defeat of France during WWII coupled with the constant differences between US and French foreign policy later led to a rather dim view of French military capabilities for a long time. Vietnam defeated her then colonial master at Dien Bien Phu even though the French said the Vietnamese couldn't stand up to them in a real modern battle. She would find potshots at France funny.

3. America and Vietnam resumed diplomatic relationships in 1995 under President Bill Clinton after a 20 years hiatus.

Please Review! I'm asking nicely! Review! Review! Review! Review!