AN: So...this is my first story! I hope you enjoy it~

Warning: Character death (duh), Romano's ranbow coated vocabulary, 2P Characters, blood/violence, Plot Bunnies are vicious, and don't eat Englands scones.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. I only own this story.

And seriously, if I owned Hetalia, why would I write fanfiction?


He had another dream. A vivid one. Like always. For the past two months Alfred F. Jones has been having weird dreams, they were never one thing. It was always a slide show of images or . . . memories? He wasn't sure. Alfred knew that he has never seen these people before, and yet, they felt familiar. He felt like he belonged with them. The dream went like this; a small Alfred was running across a field to a young man with outstretched arms.

He had unruly light blonde hair, bright eyes that were an unearthly shade of forest green, and the bushiest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen. Alfred was taking his sweet running to the other person who eventually yelled, "America! We have to go home!" The man had a thick English accent. It almost sounded as if someone had mixed all of the English accents into one. It was impossible to not detect the utter happiness in his voice. Alfred—or was it America?—giggled childishly before speeding up. But right before Alfred—or America?—reached the man's outstretched arms, the scene melted away and reformed.

They were both standing in the same field, but they were both older. The English man only looked a year older but America—Alfred?—aged dramatically. In the last scene America—Alfred?—was, at most, six. But now he was at least six-teen. The English man still looked around twenty. The English man was wearing a Revolutionary War British Red Coat uniform while America—Alfred?—was wearing a Colonial uniform. They stood a good fifty feet away from each other, musket and bayonet trained at each other respectively. The once bright, happy, forest green eyes were now glazed over with sadness and worry. America—Alfred?—glared fiercely at the Englishman, his bright cornflower blue eyes were now darkened with a seriousness that no boy his age should hold.

"England, the things you have done to my people are unforgivable. I am no longer your colony, nor your little brother. I am America, and from now on I'm independent!" The Englishman—England—looked at America—Alfred?—with utter sadness for a split second before his teeth gritted and eyebrows furrowed (making them look even more like a furry caterpillar decided to fall asleep above his eyes) with rage. His body tensed his eyes clenched shut, and his face screwed together in concentration. England tried to hold in his anger, but to no avail. He exploded.

"I WON'T ALLOW IT!" England yelled and rushed at America—Alfred?—who only had enough time to put his musket in front of him defensively. There was a loud clatter as the musket fell to the wet ground a few feet away. England had his bayonet pointed at America's—Alfred's?—face. England panted heavily while America—Alfred?—looked at him in panicked shock before wiping all emotion from his face. England at him glared at each other for a minute or two.

Then, suddenly, England lowered the bayonet. America—America, not Alfred—looked at him in shock. England looked at him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Do you really think I could shoot you? Y-you idiot!" England collapsed on to his knees, his whole body shaking from silent sobs. "D-damn it, why? It's j-just not fair!" America's shock melted away and a small depression settled in. The scene melted away and reformed.

A now eight-teen year old America was standing with a relatively unchanged England. The only difference was that they were both wearing WWII style military uniforms and America had glasses. America's uniform was tan with a bomber jacket over it, and England's was a dark green. They were in a large tent with a blackboard that had battle strategies written on it. England had a pointer stick and was pointing at the different pictures on the board while talking. There was an obvious tension between the two.

"Okay then," England began. "We will move our forces over the—" Then suddenly a large star burst into the tent, imbedding itself into the side of England's head. The look of absolute shock was present on his face. America had a different reaction, however.

"Hahahahaha! ENGLAND GOT A STAR STUCK IN HIS HEAD, THAT'S SO BAD-ASS!" The scene melted away and reformed.

An unchanged America and England were sitting in a room with three other people. One of them was a man with chin length wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and stubble. He was dressed . . . flamboyantly to say the least; a dark (but still bright) blue trench-coat like uniform with red pants and an equally as blue cape. He sat hunched over, chin resting in his palm, with a slightly zoned out expression on his face. His other hand moved slowly, as if on its own accord, to England who was sitting next to him. Without looking at the man, England smacked him—rather hardly—upside the head.

"Bloody Frog." England muttered angrily. The man looked at England with a fake expression of hurt on his face, hand over his heart.

"You wound me, Angleterre!" He said overdramatically, revealing a very French accent.

"Belt it, Frog."

As this was going on a tall, mountain of a man was busy scaring the crap out of an Asian . . . man? Woman? Who knows? The tall—large—man had a surprisingly child like face with ashy-blonde hair, bright purple eyes, and an innocent smile. The only thing that really stood out was his prominent nose. He wore a tan winter coat-like uniform with brown accents, a beige scarf, and brown gloves. He scooted closer to the Asian man/woman and his appearance suddenly changed. His purple eyes were no longer bright, but menacing. His smile was no longer innocent, it was just plain creepy. He had an intimidating aura around him that was so thick you can see it. Who knew that the color purple could be so scary?

The man/woman next to him shuddered. He/she had long, dark brown—almost black—hair tied into a ponytail with bangs framing the sides of his/her face. He/she wore a dark green uniform with a red armband with a white star on it. Bandage like wrapping were around his/her wrists and ankles. He/she was doodling a picture of a panda, trying to ignore the stares of the man sitting next to him/her. Finally he/she couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell do you want, aru?" The man snapped, revealing a Chinese accent. His voice was feminine but still masculine enough for someone to tell he's male. The other man grinned creepily. The Chinese man couldn't help but shudder.

"I was just wondering how China was doing~!" The man said in a creepily innocent voice that revealed a Russian accent.

"I'm doing fine, aru." China said stiffly. "Now leave me alone, aru."

"Nope~!" The Russian man said, scooting even closer to the poor Chinese man.

"Aiya!" China shuddered violently at the close contact.

As this was going on, America sat at the head of the table. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He combed one of his hands through his already messy wheat colored hair, his cowlick still sticking up defiantly.

"How about we continue this meeting?" He asked/demanded in his loud obnoxious voice.

"Humph, well do you have any ideas?" England asked irritably while punching the Frenchie again.

"Of course!" America beamed, he stood up. "England," He pointed at said irritated Brit. "You back me up! France" He pointed at said pervert. "You back me up! China," He pointed at said freaked out Chinese man. "You back me up! Russia," He looked at said creepy Russian who was still smiling innocently. "You have the most important job! You'll back me up!" America grinned confidently. Russia raised his hand.

"Um, so what are you going to do?" He asked in his innocently creepy voice.

"I'll do what I always do!" America said, he jabbed a thumb towards himself and beamed. "I'LL BE THE HERO!"

The scene melted.

Before it could reform, Alfred F. Jones snapped his eyes open. He was pale, shaking and sweaty. He groaned.

Today was not going to be a good day.


AN: Please review, i love getting feedback! Tell me if you loved it or hated it or if i made any mistakes^^ I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story! This isn't the first Fanfiction i've written, but it's the first one i have had enough courage to actually post. I came up with the idea during a car ride and i wrote most of the chapter while waiting in line at a restraunt (i know i spelt that wrong . . . i have a feeling). :D I hope i didnt depress you guys or anything because when i showed this to my best Hetalian friend she said that she'd kill me if i made more sad stuff. T^T i fear for my life.

I typed this up while listening to a song called Innocent Days by Heroicplights on Youtube. It fit so well! I love you all~

Stay as awesome as Prussia! -Prussianess