He was the hero. He always was, and always had been. He had to be, because he knew without it he would be nothing. Saving people was just what he did. Which is why it felt so natural to just take a step, reach out, and push his closest friend out of the way of the sword hurtling towards him. Of course, that single step had taken him directly into the path of the weapon. And the time to move was gone. Everything seemed to slow down. The sword struck him with a kind of sick, wet thump, and yet he could not feel it. He could see it, sticking out of his torso, it's red handle glinting in the late afternoon sun, but there was no pain. He wondered what was wrong with him. Adrenaline? Or maybe this was what death felt like. He certainly expected nothing less.
As he contemplated his condition, time seemed to snap back to the present. Around him, all of his friends, those he had sworn to protect had fallen silent. He couldn't blame them. A voice sounded from the left, on the ground. Must have been the friend he'd pushed. The friend he'd saved. His time was running out. His legs refused to hold him up. He crumpled to the ground, caught just seconds before impact by the still living friend. He almost smiled, but his muscles didn't seem to respond. His eyes wondered up to the man holding him, whose mouth was moving, speaking to him. But he couldn't hear.
For the first time a slice of hot pain ran through his body, and without meaning to, he jerked and gasped, his nerves a mind of their own now. He could tell that someone had tried to remove the weapon. He knew it was hopeless, but he was grateful to them anyway, for at least trying to save his life. He knew the end was near. His vision was fading. The never-ending black started to spread from the corners of his eyes towards the center. He was scared. The hero was scared, but he was also brave. And he was happy. He was happy before he died. Because he had saved the life that mattered most. And that was all that mattered. He took one last glance up, and then his eyes closed forever.
He was supposed to be the protector. The guardian. But instead he was the protected. The guarded. He hadn't noticed at first, the deadly weapon flying towards him. At the last moment, it had appeared in the corner of his vision. But it was to late. Far too late. There was no time left to move. But at the last second, he was sent flying in the other direction. Impacting hard with the ground, he slid a short dstance before coming to a halt. He sat up rubbing his head where there would surely be a bump later, then noticed that the world was unnaturally silent. He looked around him, and saw all his friends standing, staring at where he used to be. So he looked too. And there stood his best friend, with the blade meant for him embedded deep in his torso.
He seemed to stand there, swaying for a few seconds before he crumpled towards the ground. He was screaming and lunging forward at the same moment, catching his friend and laying him on the ground while shouting at everyone to just do something! But they all knew there was nothing they could do. He started speaking to him, hoping that he would respond in some way, any way, but his glazed eyes barely seemed to even register the words. He looked like he was trying to smile, but it was a half ditch, failed effort.
One of his other friends was kneeling there, trying to remove the sword. It came out all at once, and in his arms his friend 's body spasmed, and a weak groan came from his mouth. His eyes were fluttering, and even as they staunched the bleeding, bandaged the wound, they all knew that there was nothing they could really do. He was going to die, and none of them could change that. He was breathing more slowly now, not gasping for breath like some, but letting it out all at once. A last breath, and he was gone. His eyes stared up glassy, all the life drained out of him. He still cradled his friend's head in his arms. He had played the hero again, and he had sacrificed his life to save him. He had finally proved it without a doubt. He was the hero. And he raised his head to the sky and howled, a long mournful, pain filled cry. The cry of the defeated.
So, I recently got into Hetalia, and I don't know why, but I just started to write this. I guess I'm tired, and it's late here, but anyway… if anyone who reads this is confused by which character I am referring to during this, I promise it was meant to be this way, hard to differentiate them. This was not USUK, it was just friendship.