Well here's my first Hetalia fanfiction. This is a UsUk fanfiction in memory of 9/11 and The London Bombings. These two attacks brought up were not meant to be mentioned in a manner that would offend anybody. I know after hearing about the whole 'relief ' thing over Osama Bin Laden dying it kinda really hurt knowing what America as a real life country had done to get rid of one man. I think Alfred would have felt a bit hurt after the 15-minutes of glory to know that innocent folk died because of him.
Should I write more Hetalia stories? If so give me a prompt, a review, and a flame or two.
This is Muttz signing out~!
England paused glancing at the American currently attached to his waist. It seemed as though every year they ended up like this on September 11th, July 7th being too close to July 4th for England's taste. At 4 am America would be standing at his front door, more often the not in the rain knowing London weather. Unlike a normal day the American never knocked or rang the doorbell. He'd remain silent until the owner of the house slipped the door open with a change of clothes and a cup of hot chocolate.
After some struggle America would be changed and laying on the couch alone until England made his way into the room. Slowly he'd work his way around the American until his head laid on a pillow in England's lap tear slowly staining the fabric. One arm would be tucked under England to rest on the knee furthest from him while the other gripped onto the knee by his head.
This was where they sat now with America quietly staring at the fireplace in front of the his glasses moved to the side table. Nothing lit the room with the fire, neither wanted anything more than the lazy fire. Seconds ticked by before England's hand threaded through the wheat blonde hair silently.
"Easy lad... No need to cry anymore. We're safe... You were the hero correct?" The British male's voice shook violently in betrayal as his own tears began to slip free. "There's no threat any-..." His voice choked on itself as he leaned over the American to rest his arms around the male.
Silence merely built another wall both America and England respected this time. It shocked the English man at how easily America allowed him to hold him like this whenever he felt hurt or weak. One of the strongest countries in the world crying in his arms alongside his own broken sobs. Two major events bringing America to him, not anyone else, to him only. Three broken words he'd hear tumble from the other males lips.
"I love you... I love you Iggy." Slowly the American pulled his hands free securing them around the shoulders of the smaller male leaning over him. 'Iggy' didn't flow past the Americans lips as easily as it normally would have in the average cheerful tone of the American male. The words fell past the male's lips and he wouldn't have stopped them even if he could.
He startled Britain when he rested one tear stained cheek against his own in order to get closer to his ear. Finally the declaration of 'I love you' stopped for a second.
"I love Arthur Kirkland."
England froze glancing at the American's faint grin quietly before smiling slightly, "I love Alfred F. Jones." His hand burrowed into the wheat hair once more pulling the American's hair gently till he sat up making room to let Arthur, a bit reluctantly at the fact he was being treated a bit like a woman, settle into his lap. Alfred chuckled weakly when Arthur tugged the blanket slightly forcing him to share. Slowly Alfred began to drift off as the smaller male tucked his head onto his shoulder arms wrapping themselves around the taller man's neck.
Arthur paused when he felt the steady breathing of the man beneath him indicating he'd nodded off. Eventually he relaxed resting his palm against the man's chest to feel the strong beating of the heart representing every soul in the United States. Compared to the small colony he'd once raised it'd tamed from a wildly erratic beat to the steady beat he now knew. Almost as though follow the country's growth the heartbeat had steadily smoothed out with the unity of the county, 9/11 being a day it never beated out of tune.
Suddenly the body beneath him shifted as the head fell back to rest against the couch the arms around Arthur hanging loosely as a faint snore filled the air. At the noise Arthur startled slightly watching the younger male with a startled expression before laughing slightly. Years of wear and tear had attacked his former colony, though he'd never admit it, yet when he slept everything seemed so peaceful. There was no rebeling or fighting and screaming that normally ensued when they weren't alone. No other country could touch what they had in this moment.
"Oh Alfred... What are you doing growing up while I'm not looking?" Everything is his power didn't stop the faint crack in his voice as he traced a scar exposed by his half done shirt, "You're not suppose to hurt my heart like this."
"S'pose I don' like to listen..." Alfred looked up slightly his voice still heavy with the signs he hadn't been resting well, "S'not fun to listen to a grouchy english-man."
"I don't remember raising such a disrespectful prat like-..." His voice trailed into a sudden loud yelp as arms secured around him once more.
"I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about Alfred? You've done nothing wrong..." Arthur pulled away slightly to look at the male before him in confusion, "There's no reason to be sorry?" It came out more like a question as he watched Alfred stare past him.
"I didn't stop them in time... Yet at the same time I fought them so long. I couldn't see a better way out of it," Alfred's grip on him tightened, "You got hurt.."
"...You couldn't have done anything to stop it Alfred don't be silly. It was just four people."
"Why do I feel like this Arthur? I don't want to regret what I did. But innocent people died." His head rested on Arthur's shoulder quietly as he waited to hear a reply that never came. He knew Arthur couldn't comfort him over a battle he'd conquered. That wasn't really possible. To Alfred right now though after the victory faded from his head the pain had hit. Both his people and innocent people on the other end of the war had died. All because of a few foolish commands and attacks.
Slowly Arthur crept his hand up again to hug the American silently humming an old American war tune he'd heard every pilot that'd passed through Britain singing during the wars. Time ticked by before Alfred secured their hands together his rough, larger hand nearly hiding the British males as he held it as though it'd shatter away. Gentle, that's what Alfred was with Arthur. Always ever so careful whether it was trying not to break to male, or trying not to trigger the bipolar side of the man.
Alfred remained silent again for once watching the fire his body shaking faintly as it created a faint shine on the room. The male's partially blind eyes narrowed slightly against the lights as he glanced over the recliner where a American Curl and Scottish Fold laid curled up. Grinning weakly he returned his attention to the male he held in his arms. Moment of thought passed before he settled his old dog tags onto the British man's pale neck.
"You'll always be my hero Arthur."