Protect It From All Evil

by FlyingPigsAreEverywere

And when Alfred had looked out that window he had seen an American flag in a distant garden. The flag of blue, white and red. The stars and stripes. His flag. And his only thought had been that this was his home, his flag and he was going to protect it from all evil. AU ONESHOT

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Alfred F. Jones had always wanted to discover the world. See what was there. Travel to faraway places. Learn all sorts of languages. Just be there. Searching. See how different life was at different places. Yeah. That was what he'd always wanted. Ever since he was a little boy.

But, even though he wanted to see all of the countries that there ever were, Alfred knew which country was the best. He knew where his heart was and which country that was the strongest, the best, and the most beautiful. America. That's was where he had grown up. Lived his whole life. That's where he was born. Yes. Alfred loved his country with his whole heart and would give anything for it.

When Alfred had ended high-school he suddenly hadn't known what to do. He didn't want to go to college. He wanted to do something. He wanted to save the world. Or at least someone. He wanted to help. Be a hero. But how could he do that? He was just an eighteen year old boy. What could he do to help the world?

When he was out strolling, the answer came. The answer in form of a short grumpy man with huge eyebrows.

"Hey kid." The man had said. "What are you going to do after summer?" When Alfred said he didn't know, but that he wanted to help someone, the man had smiled at him. Said that he knew the perfect answer.

"You should join the army. They always need new people. In fact, I work there myself. You get to serve and protect America from all evil. Isn't that the greatest help you can ever be?" And Alfred had thanked the man. Then he walked home. And thought for a long, long time. Maybe he should really become a soldier. If he could protect his country, then, maybe that was as good as protecting the world. After all, America was Alfred's world. He had looked out his window when he thought. The window of his little room in his parents' house. The room still filled with action-figures and posters of different superheroes.

And when Alfred had looked out that window he had seen an American flag in a distant garden. The flag of blue, white and red. The stars and stripes. His flag. And his only thought had been that this was his home, his flag and he was going to protect it from all evil.

So he had really joined the army. He went through all the training. He learned to shoot. He exercised. Learned the theory. He got stronger. Smarter. Better. He was good, very good. And happy. So very happy. He had made such good friends. He was doing something. And when this training was done he was going to see the world. It was a wonderful bubble. Only laughing, talking, training and dreaming. Yes. It truly was Alfred's dream.

Then the training was over. He became a real soldier. He was stationed out in another country. When Alfred had told his parents this he was ecstatic with happiness. His father had been as happy as him. He had shaken his son's hand with a proud look at his face. Yes, Mr Jones was happy that his son had chosen to become a soldier. It was an honorable profession and something that Mr Jones would be able to brag to his colleagues about. Especially if Alfred managed to do something brave. So that's what he told his son to do. And Alfred had smiled. Told his father that of course he would. He would help America in the battle against evil.

Alfred's mother on the other hand, was a little more careful. She hugged her son hard. Kissed his cheek. She, in contrary of her husband, had told him to be careful and not to put himself in unnecessary danger. Alfred had just smiled at her worried face and said that he would do fine. That there was no risk of him getting hurt. He was a good soldier, many people had said so.

Then Alfred had climbed into the plane. The plane that would take him to another world. Out of his America. This new world was a desert. An orange desert with white tents and other soldiers. Soldiers with different goals and dreams of course. But one thing seemed to be constant. The will to fight for America. The will to fight against evil. And Alfred had felt pretty good there the first days. It was different, and he missed his parents. But it was nice. It was the world he had always wanted to explore.

Then the time came for them to actually go out on a mission. Alfred was excited. He was finally going to see a city in this new world. A city they were going to destroy, yes, but that was for good. It was to prevent them from taking his America. That was what the others had told him, and he trusted them. Why would he not? They were also here, with him, fighting for the same good as he. Alfred himself had never quite understood what this country had done. He had never quite understood why you needed to do these sorts of things against a whole country. Just because of the actions of a few people. But this was what he was told to do. So he would do it. That was a soldier's job, after all- to take orders from people higher up and obey those orders.

But soon enough Alfred really got out there. In the village that they were searching. Looking for someone. Alfred couldn't remember who. How could he possibly? There was smoke. There was blood. There were houses on fire. There were dead bodies. Alfred couldn't think at all. He just stood there, looking. Was this what he had signed up for? He had done this to save America. To help his country in the battle against evil. That was what he had wanted to do. Not kill someone.

But how stupid he was, Alfred had thought to himself. Why would they otherwise have needed to learn how to shoot? But Alfred had never thought about it before. He had only wanted to help.

And that he would do. If he was told that these people were evil, then they were. It didn't matter that some of them were children. That some were elders. Some women. Some men. He was going to do this. It was his duty. He was a soldier. He was paid to do this. Ordered to do this.

So he shot them. He pulled out his gun and killed everyone not in an American war uniform. He just went into auto-mode and moved forward and forward.

When he had woken up, he had been in a white bed, in a white room. A completely white world. His clothes seemed to be white. The bandage around his shoulder seemed to be white. It was a quiet world. Though, Alfred realized, you could hear distant talking. Whispering. It was calming.

For a while.

Then the pictures started forming in front of his eyes. The pictures of so many peoples. Deformed. Bloody. Wounded. Dead. Life slowly fading away before his eyes. Because of him. He could see them. Every face. And he felt his vision go blurry with tears that soon were rolling down his cheeks.

Was this war? Was this the glory? Was this protecting his country? Was this something he would be proud of? Something that others would be proud of him for?

Alfred had turned his head to the side. And there he had seen it. The one blast of coulor in this world. The small flag on the nightstand. The miniature flag of his country. The flag with the stars and the stripes. What he had always been so proud of. But now Alfred had felt disgusted by it. He had wanted to push it down on the floor. Out of his vision. But his arms couldn't move. So he had laid there, staring at it. Tears still streaming down.

The next time Alfred had woken up, someone else had been there with him. It was the man, the same fucking grumpy man that had told Alfred to join the military from the beginning. He had been there. Standing there in his uniform with his arms crossed. When he saw Alfred looking at him however, he had smiled. Smiled at him. Said that Alfred had done a great work helping America. That it was partially his efforts that made the mission successful. That he was a great American.

Alfred hadn't answered him. He had just stared. Was this really it?

Alfred had shaken hands with the president. He had gotten a medal. People had called him a hero. But he didn't feel anything. If this was what being hero felt like. Then it was the opposite of what he had always called it. In Alfred's book, he was the villain.

AN: This is what happened when I was supposed to write the next chapter in my multi-chapter fanfic… I really need to update that. But since this somehow got written instead I thought that I might as well post it. I'm going to go be sad that I never fucking get going with that fanfiction now. You can go read it if you want to though, it will get updated eventually. Okay now I've both written something completely else than I was supposed to and then tried to self-advertise the story I should be writing at. I am a horrible human being.