A/N: This is my first time writing a fic for Hetalia, so have mercy! **This story concerns the events of September 11th*** Also...**I like to drop f-bombs here and there when it fits...so you've been warned**. I'll continue this story if I get some nice reviews...so if you read and you like then type me up a review and I promise another chapter! Well...without anymore commentary...enjoy! And lastly...I do not own Hetalia because if I did I wouldn't be writing a fic for it.
Zero
8:30 a.m.
The morning sun shimmered through the window blinds casting a warm enveloping light on the slumbering nation. He kicked off his blankets in discomfort as he became slightly overheated from the sun's rays. A quiet moan escaped his lips and he reluctantly peeled his eyes open to the world around him. Even though his eyes could only perceive his surroundings as soft blurry wisps he could still appreciate the undeniably beautiful day that was dawning. He quickly snatched his glasses off the nightstand adjacent to his bed and hastily threw them on, eager to see the dawn of a new day in the greatest city on Earth.
The nation's eyes grew large with delight as he beheld the most majestic sphere of light climb higher and higher into the sky. Soon the sky would be purely blue but at that point in the morning it still possessed sporadic brush strokes of pink and orange. The birds on the other side of the window whistled a happy tune in perfect harmony. The freshly awoken nation grinned contentedly.
He turned his gaze away from the rousing city to grab the clicker off the nightstand. He hit the power button and the television across the room glowed with life. Appearing on the screen was a cheerful news anchor delivering good tidings to the city. A map of America flashed across the screen with sun balls illustrated around the east coast.
"It's gonna be a beautiful day today…sunshine throughout. Low humidity…really a splendid September day. The afternoon temperature will be about eighty degrees… great weather for the primary election. Tonight expect clear and cool skies with a low of sixty…"
The nation turned his attention away from the newscast to open his window and fill his lungs with the pure September air. "Hello New York City!" he exclaimed, leaning his elbow against the windowsill. The view of skyscrapers from his window was extraordinary. They towered over the city like trees canopying a jungle. Bright yellow taxis below whizzed by, picking up their first fares for the day, like bees gathering honey. Pedestrians weaved in and out of the streets heading to work for the day. For a while the nation stared in wonderment at the great city, his lips perpetually spread into a wide smile. Although he appreciated all the sights and sounds, his gaze was set on two particular towers. He favored the two above all the others. They stood together side by side like best friends or even brothers.
Suddenly a familiar voice broke the nation from his spacey trance. "Hey, America…do you by any chance have food that doesn't contain an alarming amount of trans fat? I mean honestly, it's rather disconcerting that you eat food like-"
"Morning England! It's totally gonna be a kick ass day, am I right?" said America as he motioned toward the window.
"Hm…I suppose-"
"Of course I'm right! I'm always right! Hey, see those two towers out there?" America pointed to them. "They're my favorite! Wanna know why?"
"Well-"
"Of course ya do! It's because no matter what they always stand together. Side by side forever! Cool, don't ya think?"
England remained still for a moment and looked upon the towers with a grin. His emerald eyes twinkled with awe. "Yes…you're right. They're quite…amazing."
America laughed mirthfully and put his arm around England's shoulders. "My thoughts exactly! They're kinda like me and you, don't you think?"
The blood tickled England's skin as it rushed to his cheeks. His heart started pumping vehemently like he had been running for miles. "America-"
The younger nation removed his strong arm from England's shoulder and dashed to his dresser to pull out a pair of grey pants and a royal blue t-shirt with the classic superman S. He quickly slipped on a pair of sneakers and nearly ran out the door if it weren't for England's puzzlement.
"Where are you going?" asked the older nation.
"To find some food that you'll like! You don't visit too often so…maybe you'll visit more if I find some food that's to your liking!"
England's blush deepened and for a single moment he thought he saw a glimpse of America as a colony, weeping and begging for England to stay. "Oh…well…cheers, then!" he managed to say.
America grinned placidly, his azure eyes twinkling as always. He reached for the door.
"Oh and America? Don't forget to bring your mobile with you," England admonished.
"Already got it! Catch you later!"
The door slammed shut behind America. With him gone England let out a long lingering breath in attempt to wash the color away from his face.
8:40 a.m.
America had just turned on to West Street when he realized that his pockets were completely empty. "Oops..." he muttered. Now that it was on his mind he could picture his wallet on the kitchen counter where he had left it. "Better go back…" he contemplated. As he was about to turn around he caught a quick glance of his favorite two towers. They weren't far at all from where he was standing. He felt like a wee spec compared to their enormity. "Maybe I'll take the long way back…"
Amidst his marveling a sudden buzz in his pocket caused him to jump. He reached in for his cellphone and flipped it open to take the call. "Hello?" he said into the phone.
"Hey dumb ass, you do realize that you left your wallet behind?" England's voice was unquestionably irritated and America felt a twinge of guilt.
"Haha! Yeah man I totally forgot! I'm heading back now to get it. Hey how long do you think McDonald's is serving breakfast for?"
"God help you if you bring back anymore fast food!" England roared into the phone.
America chuckled heedlessly. "Nah man, for me! I know the arches aren't your style. But I have to say you're missing out…"
"Sometimes I wonder if there is rock inside your head instead of a brain…"
America laughed again. "Lighten up, dude! It's a beautiful day so what is there to be pissy about?"
"Well your unhealthy obsession with greasy foods for one…"
America failed to hear England on the other end of the phone. He became infatuated with the radiant blue sky and the World Trade Center in all its glory. Always together, side by side, he thought.
America glanced at his watch. The time was now 8:46 a.m.
"Are you listening to me, you git?" he heard England yell from the phone.
"Hm, what? Ah sorry, man. I spaced out. I think I have plenty of time to get some hot cakes so I'll just-" America paused. A bumpy engine sound began to resonate overhead. The engine seemed to falter as if…as if it were giving out. The sounds of a passing by jet were usually smooth and swift but this particular one was rough and terrifyingly loud. Buh-bump. Buh-bump.
The noise lasted no longer than a second but within that small time frame was when this stopped even resembling a normal day. Cool ice crystals seemed to grip America's stomach as he stood frozen in shock. Boom. Boom. Boom. An absurdly massive explosion blossomed out of the flaming jet protruding from the south tower. Crash. Boom. Boom. The jet plumed thick black clouds that ravenously engulfed the tower. Smoke obscured the vision of those below. Debris and ash began to rain down from the smoldering tower.
Almost at the exact same moment every head of every passerby tilted skyward.
"Holy shit!" America heard a man shout.
"Holy fucking shit!" he heard another yell.
America's lips felt numb to words but his thoughts raced at a million miles a minute. What is going on? What the hell is going on? He nearly dropped his cellphone until he heard England's voice calling for him on the other end.
"America! America! What the bloody hell was that noise? America, answer me dammit!"
America squeezed his cellphone forcefully almost to the point of pulverizing it. He hissed in torment as a sharp pain exploded on his side. "Ah…" he cried. He felt as if something enormous and heavy crashed into his side, shattering his ribs. The pain exploded again and America hunched over in agony. "Oh my God…" he breathed.
"America! Are you hurt? Talk to me…please just talk to me!" England screamed into the phone in plain worry.
America dared to take a glance up at the destruction. Boom. Boom. The black cloud of smoke escaping from the tower turned bright orange at the second boom. Glowing sparks were being spat from the inferno. The terrifying shade of orange was permanently ingrained into America's mind as several mini explosions seemed to rattle the south tower even more. An even larger black cloud rose high over the tower.
"England…" America whispered into his phone, apparent pain weighing down his voice.
"America! What is going on? Are you okay? Please…please be safe."
"Look out the window," said America.
There was a prolonged pause on the phone as England started for the closest window. America heard England's sharp intake of breath.
"Dear God, no…" England murmured.
America was silent on the other end, beginning to form a plan of action inside his clouded head.
"America…stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."
America didn't reply. All he could think was, this is going to be the worst day of my life as a country. This wasn't an accident. The wailing of sirens invaded America's thoughts. Fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, they all seemed to arrive at the same time. Neither the firefighters nor the police showed fear only confusion. Their flashing lights blinded those on the streets. None seemed to have any clue as to what was happening.
"America stay on the phone with me. Keep talking. You're probably hurt from this. Try not to move, okay? I'm coming, I promise," said England.
America's heartbeat grew slower and slower. He watched the people around him look up like the entire world just stopped. And for all America cared…it had stopped. Time was beginning to slow down.
He watched intrepid firefighters march into the lobby of the south tower that had been hit. Immediately he knew that he had to go in with them. He had to help. He had to do something. Anything. They were his people and as a nation America could never abandon them no matte how much pain he was in.
No longer clutching his side, America dashed into the lobby. There, he was met with the most unimaginable horror. Crumbled in a lifeless ball on the ground was a completely charred body, burnt to a blackened crisp from head to toe. The body would never be able to be identified in its mutilated state. Before he could taste vomit in his throat, America rushed past the body and refused to look back.
"So…so…sick…so disgustingly sick," America muttered.
"Just hang on, America. I'm coming," said England from America's phone.
Inside the lobby it looked as if the plane had crashed where America and the firefighters were standing. All the windows were blown out and shards of glass were scattered all over the floor. The firefighters congregated in the lobby and mapped out a way to reach upstairs. Of course none of the elevators were in working order, which left only one option…to climb over twenty stories of steps. Everyone knew it was going to be awful upstairs. Glancing around, America saw the chief firefighter with his eyes closed and his hands clasped together. He muttered silent words underneath his breath. Although America could not hear him, he knew that he was praying.
America approached the chief, not aware that his body was trembling from the pain erupting on his side. "I'm going up there with you," he declared.
"AMERICA NO! Get out of there now! Listen to me, you bloody wanker! You're not going up there. I'm almost there just a few more-" America shut his phone and dropped it to the floor where its battery flew out.
"Please, chief, let me come with you," America repeated to the experienced firefighter.
"No can do, sonny! Only trained firefighters are allowed up there. Why don't you run along before things get worse?"
America wanted to laugh. He wouldn't be calling me sonny if he really knew I am, he thought. For the time being, he knew he wouldn't be able to argue so America left the lobby and headed outside to check for any sort of change. He looked up at the destruction and felt weak at heart, something he was never used to feeling. The pain at his side started to burn.
Then, as if by was some cruel joke, it happened again. Boom. Boom. Boom. Another plane exploded into the second tower, erupting into hungry flames. Debris began to rain down at a more impressive rate, coating everything underneath it in grey dust. Not only was debris falling from the blackening sky but so were papers. The wind carried them through the air. There were hundreds upon hundreds of papers falling from both the towers.
A terrible eruption of pain burst from America's other side. He could feel his other set of ribs snap. And it burned. It burned more than anything else. He gasped out of the shock of the agony and fell to his knees, whimpering miserably. He regretted throwing his cellphone on the ground and failing to pick it back up. He wished he could hear England's voice telling him that he was going to be okay. "England…England…" he cried.
America tried to pull himself up. He was nearly trampled over as bystanders started to sprint away from the towers as fast as their legs would allow, their survival instincts kicking in.
More black smoke billowed from both the towers and then it started to spread to where the people could breathe it in. As pedestrians rushed away from the danger time seemed to freeze. America looked up and saw an even more unimaginable horror, worse than the charred body. From the windows of the south tower America could see figures, tiny figures in suits, jumping.
Thud…dead.
Thud…dead.
Thud…dead.
His eyes were no longer able to focus on the jumpers. His sight became blurred and fuzzy with a salty onslaught of tears. He howled in pain and sobbed tremulously into his quaking hands. "Fuck…FUCK!" he screamed. Although he could no longer see the jumpers he could still hear the sound of bodies smacking onto pavement. "FUCK!" He put his hands over his ears so he wouldn't have to hear the sound of a departing life again. It wasn't a sound he could try getting used to. It was so…loud. How bad is it up there that the better option is to jump?
For the second time, America returned to the lobby of the south tower. There was still a small company of firefighters inside but most of them had started the climb. America tried to dash to the steps but was immediately restrained by a team of young firefighters.
"Please just let me help! Let me up there! LET GO!" America roared barbarously.
"Absolutely no one is allowed up there! Especially some kid off the streets! Do yourself a favor and go home while you have the chance, eh?" yelled one of the firefighters.
America went limp under their restraint and stumbled to the ground. He cried out in pain as his side hit the floor.
"Are you hurt, kid?"
America shook his head. "I'm fine! I'll be fine…" He scooped himself up off the ground, trying his best to ignore the shaking of his limbs. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his cellphone that he had dropped, its battery wasn't too far away from it. He swiftly snatched both and put the phone back together. As the phone turned on, America was immediately bombarded with missed call after missed call. There were fifteen altogether, every single one from England. He ignored them for the time being.
Again he found himself storming out of the lobby and back into the streets where people had their cell phones out, recording the horror. America retreated deeper into the streets to get the full picture. As he walked briskly something beneath his feet caused him to stumble forward and fall face first into the hard concrete. His cheek skidded against the pavement leaving a streak of blood. When he pulled himself up and looked at what he had tripped over his heart sank. It was a huge round metal disk, undeniably a piece of the plane. He took an apprehensive step back and nearly tripped over another metal piece of the plane.
Around him those who weren't running were conversing to one another in a panic, exchanging rumors.
"I heard there's a third plane comin' through any minute now!" said a man dressed in business attire.
"A third? I'm not a religious man but I say God is punishing us for something, eerie isn't it?" asked an older man next to him, dressed more casually.
Just rumors…just rumors, America reminded himself. Things that aren't true can't hurt me.
He suddenly thought to call England but then thought better of it. "It's better he doesn't find me like this…so weak and useless," he said to himself. He clung to that thought until the ground started to rumble. Buh-boom. Buh-boom. Buh-boom. His muscles stiffened in dread but he forced himself to sprint back to the south tower. "I have to try to get up there just one more time and maybe they won't notice me," he muttered as he sprinted towards the danger.
Upon arriving he saw firefighters retreating and immediately he knew something was dreadfully wrong. Why would a firefighter retreat? It was their job to save lives so why were they leaving?
America slinked into the lobby unnoticed amidst the chaos and felt the ground rumbling. Buh-boom. Buh-boom. Only a few firefighters remained inside, helping to clear everyone out, barking orders in a fearsome hurry. Before America could come close to the steps a new feeling washed over him. It wasn't shock, it wasn't confusion and it wasn't physical pain. It was fear. Pure unadulterated fear. He could see it in the eyes of the firefighters who remained. They were actually scared now and so was America although he hated to admit. I'm scared, he thought. I'm so fucking scared.
Buh-boom. Buh-boom. At that sound it was like every cell in America's body was telling him to leave, to get out, to run. But before he could act on that impulse, it began. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. People sprinted for their lives. The tower was falling. Only after a short second, America was lost in thick grey smoke but he ran regardless. He let his senses guide him to safety. He hacked and hacked as he inhaled debris and his eyes stung and itched from all the dust floating in them, but he pressed forward. He wished he could call England but he didn't dare think about anything but escaping.
It seemed like he was running forever but when he had finally escaped the building he had never felt so relieved, his racing heart finally beginning to slow. He still panted heavily, trying not to take deep intakes of breath and inhale more debris.
His victory was short lived however. The real impact of the pain came crashing down on him within seconds. The feeling of flesh burning, bones snapping and hearts exploding all bombarded him at once. He was feeling the pain of his people and at that moment he was sure he was going to die. Others around him had not noticed his obvious agony as they began to retreat further away. He was left to suffer or so he had let himself believe.
"America!" came a voice that seemed to purge the darkness engulfing him. Covered in dust and debris was England, sprinting towards America in a hurry. For the first time in a very, very long time England crushed America into an embrace so warm and loving that America thought for a second that maybe he had died and gone to heaven.
"England…I…" he began as his body went limp in England's arms. America whimpered in pain, clutching England's shirt for dear life. "England…help me…"
"It's okay, America…I'm here…" England replied soothingly while rubbing America's back. America felt so vulnerable and small in his arms again, just how he was when he was a colony. England could have stayed in that position forever, holding America fervently, rubbing his trembling back. But then…it happened again.
Buh-boom. Buh-boom. America and England both knew that where they were was not a safe place to be, their instincts told them so. "This joke just keeps getting sicker and sicker…" America mumbled into England's chest.
Buh-boom. Buh-boom. The time was 10:28 and a huge roar rang through the debris filled air. There was no time for either nation to think at that point, they just ran. America barely had the strength to run but England pulled him along, determined not to let any more harm befall him. America took a daring glance over his shoulder and saw that it happened once again. The second tower was falling and the smoke was chasing them. The smoke was faster. Much, much faster.
In an instant America felt a hard body crash into his and tackle him to the ground. The body stayed on top of him protectively, pressing America as close to the ground as possible. Then, all of his surround went pitch dark.
America was positive he was going to die. Absolutely one hundred percent sure. There was no way he was going to live and that was a fact that he tried to come to terms with. Around both him and England it was raining dust pellets but it sounded more like hail. Finalizing thoughts swarmed America's mind.
"England…" he began, unable to know if his voice would reach him. "I love you, dammit. If we survive…I'm going to tell you that everyday," America promised.
England made no response, clearly not hearing America. The hailing pellets washed out America's voice completely.
And then…there was dead silence. No radio calls. No sound. Nothing. The dust started to clear as the wind started blowing in the opposite direction. All the dust had settled and America could see light once again. He was alive. The crushing weight on top of him was lifted. England tried to shake the dust out of his hair as he stood up.
The city was covered in a layer of dust. It almost looked like snow, the way it piled up on benches and the streets.
England knelt back down next to America. All he could see was the shocking blue pigment of his eyes. So he took his hand and ran it across his former colony's face. When England had unmasked America's entire face he immediately wished he had not. It was grief and horror stricken beyond repair. His mouth was agape and he breathed in and out heavily, almost to the point of hyperventilating. His stare was empty. Looking into his eyes was like looking into a vortex of hopelessness. England didn't know what to do or what to say. Perhaps it was selfish of him to be relieved when America had finally lost consciousness, collapsing forward into his former guardian's arms. England was grateful that America's brain had shut down even if it was only temporary.
England cradled his ex-colony fervently, letting his love spread into his bones, hoping to somehow absorb his grief. He stroked his dusty hair and planted a warm kiss on his forehead. England sighed, feeling exhaustion finally settle in. "What am I going to do with you…once you open those eyes?"
A/N: I spent a lot of time watching 9/11 documentaries for this so I hope I did an alright job with this fic. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself but this was exceedingly difficult to write...but, nevertheless, I'd love to continue to challenge myself with this story so type me up a review if you want to see another chapter. Thanks for reading! :)