So I've recently gotten into Hetalia and the fandom, and about a week ago I finished HetaOni, and I've been watching a bunch of HetaOni AMVs and kept seeing a certain piece of fanart (which I will link to on my profile page) that hit me hard emotionally. This is what spawned from thinking about it too much.
Involves America, England and Canada in HetaOni, one-shot, combination of headcanon and canon (you'll see some changes). I'm not going to tell you where in the timeline—or lack thereof—but I think you'll figure out pretty quickly. This is also my first Hetalia fic, so I'm sorry if I don't get the characters exactly right. I'm still integrating myself into the fandom.
All right, here goes nothing.
"Canada!" America called, running down another hallway and skirting around the corner, his sky blue eyes darting around the empty hallways.
"America, shut the hell up!" England angrily whispered, catching up to America and glaring at him, though his green eyes looked tired. They'd been running around, dodging and fighting this monster for what seemed like ages, without enough time to recuperate before it found them again. "Do you want that thing to find us?" England continued in a low hiss.
America glared right back, still breathing pretty heavily from running around so much. He looked just as worn as England. Both of the countries, now-turned-mortal, were exhausted, adrenaline the only thing keeping them going, and even that wasn't going to last for very much longer. Their clothes had rips and tears, their bodies bruised and their energy resources exhausted.
"So, what? Are you saying you don't want to find Canada?" America snapped, his energy shooting up, as he took a step toward England, going practically toe-to-toe with the Brit.
"Don't you dare start putting words into my mouth, you Yank." England spat, meeting America's steely gaze evenly. "I care about Canada just as much as you do. But we're not going to do him any good if we're injured as well." He paused to let that sink in. "Or worse." Another short pause. "So I suggest you take a breath and think before acting for once. This isn't about just you anymore, America. We need to work together. We don't need a hero."
America jerked back upon hearing those words, and for a short moment he looked wounded, but his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes flashed.
"Now wait just a minute—" America started, ready to chew England out when a cry of agony pierced the air, cutting him off.
Both England and America's head snapped up and they called in union, "Canada!" before sprinting in the direction the cry had come from. America came to a screeching halt—England almost crashing into him because of this—as he turned around the last corner of the hallway to see the Thing towering over Canada, who was lying on his stomach, pressed close to the wall. Those fierce violet eyes glared up at his assailant behind his glasses, but it looked like his body had given out on him because he made no move as the Thing took a step closer to deliver the fatal blow.
Canada's bow was lying a few feet away from him, his quiver empty. There were bloody arrows strewn across the floor of the hallway, so the Thing was injured, but still strong enough to overpower Canada. And Canada had ran out of arrows.
America almost called his brother's name, but remembered what England had said and stopped himself, just as the Thing took another step closer. Panic flooded through America at that moment and he stepped forward as well, ready to attack the Thing. Before he could though, two things happened almost simultaneously: Canada's bear leaped in front of the Thing, growling and snarling, and America was jerked back behind the corner and pushed against the wall.
England's green eyes were as hard as emeralds as he stared down America.
"Snap out of it!" The Brit whispered harshly. "I'll distract ugly, you get Canada out of here."
America was shaking his head before England had even finished, "No. I won't leave you—"
"Now is not the time to argue. Do it, America." Without waiting for a response, England let go of America's arm and turning the corner.
"Hey!" England shouted, grabbing the Thing's attention right before he blasted a ball of magic at the back of its head. His eyes slid over to America. "Go, now." he ordered before turning his full attention back to the monster.
Heart pounding, breathing ragged, America stuck to the wall as he darted around the corner and over to Canada, for England had effectively managed to lure the Thing away from him.
"A…meri…ca," Canada breathed, his eyelids drooping, but a broken smile managed its way onto his blood spattered face. Tears formed in America's eyes, looking down at his brother is such a state. A state he'd never imagined before. He never had to. He never wanted to.
"I'm going to get you out of here, okay." America whispered, his voice quivering, as he gently turned and picked Canada up into his arms, not failing to notice the large blood stain on the front of Canada's clothes. His breathing was labored and when America had picked him up, his head fell into the American's shoulder. America stood, and was about to book it when Canada put a light hand on his chest.
"…wait… Kuma-Kuma…jiro." Canada's fading violet eyes searched around the hall, unable to move his head, his strength running on empty.
"Canada—" America started worriedly. They needed to get going! England wouldn't be able to hold off the Thing for very much longer!
The hand that was still resting on America's chest gripped the lapel of his jacket, but his grip was almost non-existent, telling America just how injured his brother was, which made ice water shoot through his veins.
"Please," Canada pleaded weakly.
Swallowing his fear, America quickly looked around for Canada's bear, who was lying in a heap in the dead-end corner of the hallway. Nervously looking back at England, who was still warding off the Thing, and chewing his lip, America went over to the bear and kneeled, allowing Canada to pick him up into his arms with what little strength he had left.
As soon as Kumajiro was in Canada's arms, America stood up and made a b-line out the way he'd come in, keeping close to the wall again, so as to not get caught in the crossfire. He paused momentarily, though, when he'd slipped past the two, to look back at England, still somehow managing to fend off the Thing.
"Just go, you git!" England grunted through gritted teeth, noticing America's hesitation, before blasting the Thing with another spell.
Reluctant, but knowing that England would just continue calling him names if he didn't get going, America continued down the hallways. He glanced down briefly to check on Canada and almost stumbled when he saw tears streaming down the Canadian's face, his arms tightly around Kumojiro. It didn't look like the bear was breathing anymore.
Blinking back tears that threatened to blur his vision, America continued running onto a completely different floor, before entering the first room he got to and setting Canada down on the farthest bed from the door—for there were two—but didn't let go of his brother, when he had.
Instead, he kneeled next to the bed, keeping one arm around Canada's shoulders, Canada's head still resting on his shoulder.
"Just hold on, Canada, hold on, okay?" America couldn't control the shaking in his voice any longer as he said this, looking back at the door, chewing his lip again. Now what was he to do? Attend to Canada's wounds (the blood stain had grown larger in size)? Go help England who he, foolishly, thought was going to follow as soon as he and Canada were in the clear? He was torn between the two of them. The two of them who he cared about much more than he was willing to admit out loud….
Canada's soft voice calling his name, brought America's attention back to his brother. He looked down, unconsciously tightening his grip around Canada's shoulders. His brother didn't meet his gaze, though, only stared at Kumojiro, now resting in Canada's lap. If America hadn't known any better, the little white bear could've been sleeping.
"I'm… sorry," Canada continued his voice even softer and weak. It pulled at America's heart.
"For-for what? You h-have nothing to be sorry for, man." America stuttered, it taking all of his willpower not to let those tears get past his eyes.
Canada started stroking his fingers through Kumojiro's fur. "For… for not being strong enough." America could hear the tears in his voice, though he couldn't actually see the Canadian's face. "For not… being able to do anything… useful." His hand stopped petting Kumojiro and if America was seeing right, saw little water droplets fall into the bear's fur.
"No, don't say that!" America exclaimed, reaching with is free hand to grab one of Canada's. More tears forming in his eyes. "You—" He swallowed the bile in his throat and some of those tears he'd fought hard to keep in, slid down his cheeks. In all the years he'd been a country, he had never understood why, when someone was dying—in movies and in real life—the people there always lied to that person. He understood it was to comfort them in their last moments, but he just never got the why, the though process behind it. It seemed… kind of cruel and unnecessary to him.
Now? Well, now he thought he finally understood. "You did… awesome"—his voice wavered as his said this—"dude. You fought that thing by yourself. You weakened it, too." It wasn't a complete lie on his part, at the very least. Canada didn't like fighting, America knew this, but when he did fight, he fought hard and well. Still… a half-truth could never be classified as a whole truth.
Canada looked up at his brother and gave a breathy chuckle, a weak smile gracing his face. Fear struck America like a lightning bolt when he saw how dull those violet eyes of his had become.
"Thanks… America." Canada said softly, squeezing America's hand, as the American managed his own smile. "I know… you're lying." Another small, little breathy laugh, and crinkling around Canada's eyes. "But thanks anyway." At this the American managed a short laugh, but it was pained and harsh. More tears slid down his face. Canada looked back down at Kumojiro, the delicate smile still gracing his features. "It means a lot… to me…" Canada's voice faded out and he sighed before his grip on America's hand—what little there was—became all but non-existent.
America's heart thudded painfully in his chest, his breath catching in his throat, as he slowly looked down at his brother. The smile was gone and his violet eyes were now… hollow. America gripped his brother closer to him, his whole body shaking, as tears blurred his vision, and he let out a cry of grief. It was short, and pained, but that was it. That was all that he would allow. The rest of his sobs got caught in his throat, choking him, as he mourned for his fallen brother.
"You fought—" He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to control the sobs that were trying to claw their way up his throat. "You fought hard." He whispered, though Canada could no longer hear him. "You were great." Willing his body to move, though the tiniest amount caused his body to scream in pure agony, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, gently laying Canada down fully onto the bed, letting the hand he was holding drop limply by Canada's side.
America straightened up and looked down at Canada for a quiet moment before removing Canada's glasses, gently closing his eyes, and replacing his glasses again.
It was odd… America had expected a numbness to wash over him, rid him of this excruciating pain that he had no means of getting rid of—he could scream until his voice grew hoarse, he could sob until he threw up, he could do both, but none of that would ever rid him of the immense pain he was feeling right now. His body was crying, screaming, but if you didn't look hard enough, you'd think nothing was wrong. And instead of that numbness, a tsunami of rage washed over him. Part anger for the monster that'd done this to his brother, part anguish for having been the one who convinced him to come to this damned mansion in the first place. If anything, because it was his fault, it was now his responsibility to get rid of that thing.
America's head snapped up and his heart jerked painfully in his chest when he realised something.
"England!" he exclaimed, darting out of the room and back to where he'd left the Brit. He was still fighting the Thing for all America knew. He hoped, prayed, nothing had happened to him! How long had he been with Canada? Why did this keeping happening? England had been right about this not being about him anymore, about him not being the hero anymore, but he'd be damned if he couldn't save England either, because this was his fault, and he was going at least try to make it right.
When he got to the hallway, both England and the Thing were no longer there. America's heart dropped and a cold stone started to form in the pit of his stomach.
No, not again. He thought frantically as he called, "England!" hoping for a response. This can't be happening again. He thought, when no response came. Please, not again! "England!" He started running again, but he didn't know where exactly it was he was going. He had no idea where England had gone, where that thing had gone. If England was even still alive—No. America halted his thoughts then and there. It would do him no good to think like that right now.
America ran past a hallway, when something red caught his eye. He skidded to a halt and backtracked, chest heaving from all the running, and examined it closely. It was blood, smeared across the corner, where the two walls converged.
Please be all right. America thought silently as he followed the direction the smear was going. "…England?" America asked in a normal voice, not caring if the Thing found him or not. He wanted it to. He wanted to fight this thing and avenge Canada's death. "England," America called yet again, more smears of blood continuing down this hallways, before turning another corner. America picked up his pace a little more and he called for the fourth time, "England—" He broke off and stopped a moment as he turned the corner. He'd found England, but he was lying in a heap a few feet away, on the opposite side of the hallway America was.
Seeing Canada almost the exact same way flashed behind America's eyes, before he ran up to England and knelt down next to him.
"England!" He cried. "Are you—are you—"
"…behind… you." England choked, his voice hoarse, his hand sliding out in the direction of the American, who instantly turned and looked to see the Thing towering over him. But instead of fear, that rage and fury washed over him and he straightened up, meeting the monster's large, grey eyes.
"Bring it." America challenged. And the monster sure brought it. He may have been weakened by both Canada and England, but it was still strong. And fast. And even though every hit and every blow the thing got on America threatened to put him out of the game for good, it was remembering Canada and England that kept him going, that kept him fighting. Because if he couldn't save them, or himself, the very least he could do was make sure that thing didn't come anywhere near the three of them again.
When the monster finally faded out, beaten (for now), America was barely able to stand. Now, not only was his mind still suffering from the loss of Canada, but his physical body was suffering from the damage inflicted by the Thing. Bruised, beaten, bleeding heavily on his right side and panting heavily, America stumbled over to England, pushing his body to its utmost limit, taking one of his arms and throwing it over his shoulders before standing up with both their weights. America then put his arm around England's waist to support him better.
"You shouldn't have…" England started, his breathing ragged and broken, as America led them back to the room Canada was in. "…shouldn't have… done… that."
America let out a short, bitter laugh. "Because this isn't about heroics? I'm not a hero?"
"I'm as good as dead—" England started.
"Don't say that." America interrupted, tears forming in his eyes at the Brit's words. "Don't… don't say that." His voice was just above a shaky whisper.
England gazed solemnly over at America, as they continued on at a slow pace, seeing as England could barely stand and America was weak from the fight. "Canada…" he started, unable to finish, seeing how upset America was, and the agonized expression that flitted across his face at the mere mention of his brother. England lowered his gaze and sighed. "…I would say I'm sorry—"
"It's not your fault." America stated as soon as he heard the word "sorry."
England couldn't help the tug at the edge of his lip. "I thought you'd say that."
They continued on in silence, the only sound their ragged, broken breathing, echoing through the hallways in the barren house. When they got back to the room Canada was in, America led England over to the bed a few feet away from Canada's and lowered him onto it. By now, England was just barely able to hang on. America continued to stand for a moment, but his knees suddenly buckled and hit the hardwood floors. The pain it caused him was nothing compared to the internal war going on inside of him, though. He couldn't lose England too. Not so soon after—
He felt England take his hand, which had instinctively reached out for something to grab when he fell, which happened to be the edge of the bed England was currently lying in. Breathing heavily, America painfully and slowly repositioned himself into a sitting position, and looked over at England.
"About… what I said… earlier," the Brit started, staring up at the ceiling, his breathing clearly becoming more difficult, his eyes half-closed, green now faded.
America shook his head, lower lip shaking, more tears forming in his eyes. He squeezed England's hand tightly.
"Please…" he whispered, chest still heaving. "…don't…"
England continued as if he hadn't said anything. "I'm sorry." He turned his head to meet the gaze of the teary, sky blue-eyed American. "I've always… admired that… about you." His words were becoming more airy as he fought to keep oxygen circulating through his lungs. America's grip tightened on the Brit's hand and some tears escaped the corners of his eyes.
"England…"
"You always… fought… for what you thought… was right. Even if… it hurt… someone close to you."
America shook his head furiously. "You're not going to die! Not here. Not now. I-I won't let you!"
The Brit's mouth quirked up in a small smile, his other arm coming up and brushing some of America's hair from his eyes as he said, "You were… always a… stubborn child. I miss that… about you." He slowly pulled his hand away as his eyes closed and his smile faded. The grip on America's hand lessened and America watched in excruciating pain as the slight rise and fall of England's chest… stopped.
America torturously moved into a kneeling position, head bowed over England's unmoving form. He wanted to scream, but once again they got caught in his throat, choking him. His tears were unrelenting, as he silently sobbed, his eyes shut tight, mourning over the loss of yet another person he held dear. This time, though, instead of the wave of rage, it was pure anguish that washed over him and threatened to drown him. He sat back, turning and reaching over to take Canada's hand, gasping for breath as the screams finally stopped choking him.
"I'm sorry," America sobbed, gripping both their hands tight. "I'm so sorry." He gasped. A few more moments of this and one last gasping breath before a calmness started to seep through him. No… no, not a calmness, more like a… tiredness. A sleepiness, lulling and quiet.
Still holding both their hands in his, he shifted—gritting his teeth as sudden pain blossomed up in his side, disrupting the flow of the sleepiness—and rested his right side up against the bed Canada was lying on. Slowly the pain started to fade and the tiredness took over again. He was on his way to a blissful sleep when the door suddenly opened. America lethargically turned his head to his left and looked up to see Italy.
The American managed a smile, even at the horror-stricken look on the Italian's face, and the tears that formed in his eyes. Eyes that flickered back and forth between Canada and England before finally focusing in on America.
"A-A-America… I-I… think I found a way-a way to get… out." Italy stuttered, keeping his eyes trained on America. "But… you… you look—look kind of—"
"Go," America said in a gentle tone with a nod and a small smile.
"Are you sure? I mean… I-I could—"
"Yeah, we'll be fine, so just get out of here and… get us reinforcements or something." America said weakly, almost jokingly, as death—because that's what it was, the tiredness, the sleepiness, the… peacefulness: Death—slowly enveloped him in its fog.
"I can't just—I can't just… l-leave you… here." Italy protested weakly.
"It's fine." America assured. "Besides… I want to… do these two… a favor and… stay with them."
Italy took a small, involuntary step forward. "America—"
America dropped the façade for once, shoulders slumping, eyelids drooping, smile gone, and sighed heavily.
"No, that isn't it," he admitted truthfully, dropping his head, his anguish staving death… for the moment, anyway. Tears form in his sky-blue eyes once again and his chest tightened. His voice came out in a whisper as he said, "They can't hear me anymore." America lifted his head to look at Italy again. "So, I'll tell you in all honesty." His grip involuntarily tightened on both England's and Canada's hands. "I want to stay. With them. 'Till my last… moment." His eyes flickered from Italy to England, then he looked over at Canada. He inhaled sharply, shakily, painfully, and turned his head to look back at Italy. "Because they're both… very important to me." America smiled through his teary eyes.
"I see." Italy said quietly, blinking hard. "You want to… protect them." He smiled softly.
America gave a breathy chuckle and nodded. "Yeah. I want to… protect them." His voice broke on protect and he gripped their hands again. "Even though I can't even move anymore." A laugh bubbles to the surface as he said this and escaped his lips. "But…" He looks between the two again, "I'm not making a mistake." then looks back at Italy. "Got for it, dude. I wish you luck."
Italy stood for a moment, staring at America, almost as if in mourning, before turning and heading out without a backward glance. America sighed and allowed his eyes to flutter close, his hands still holding Canada's and England's. And slowly… slowly the waves gently lapped over him and took him out to sea, took him back to Canada and England, took him back… home.
So, yeah… comments and thoughts in the form of reviews are much appreciated. I hope it was good!
Things to note:
1. I changed where America was positioned because while watching the HetaOni AMVs, the fanart of America sitting between the two beds, holding the hands of England and Canada stuck in my mind and now I can't see it any other way.
2. I changed the dialogue because the original dialogue was a little confusing to me and I feel like it fit in better with the changes I made to where America was positioned and how things happened before Italy found them.
3. I saw more fanart of the Thing bleeding, so that became a headcanon for me, as well.
4. Sorry if I got the layout of the mansion wrong. It's such a big mansion and I wasn't sure what floor they were on. But the dead end hall is part of the headcanon I came up with.
I hope you didn't mind the changes too much. Or my extremely long notes. I thank anyone who actually took the time to read them, because I feel like most people don't.
Thank you for reading,
TheBrightestNight