I do not own Hetalia characters
It was a typical day, like the others. He would wake up, jog for little bit, stop at McDonald's, and then maybe go bug Iggy. But, as he was about to barge in the older nation's door, his ears started hurting, and his vision blurred, along with a killer headache. He got a painful migraine to the point of blacking out. It was when an annoyed England came through the door did he really black out, the last thing he saw in consciousness was England's shocked and scared face-along with a random, but equally as shocked, France.
In the moments he was passed, he saw terrible things. He saw it. Saw the destruction, the chaos, the fear and desperation. He could hear the sirens, he could hear the screams. Every explosion was a staggering pain, both mentally, physically, and emotionally. He was there, he felt everything. He wanted to wake up, tell himself it was all a bad nightmare that he would wake up from soon. He saw his citizens get crushed under debris, civilians and firefighters, policemen and medical helpers. He felt on the edge of hysteria, insanity, fear mixed with immense panic. He screamed for it all to stop, to wake from this living Hell.
Soon, he did, covered in sweat, tears, and hyperventilating. England and France stood hovering over him, smiles of relief on their faces, only to have those grins immediately wiped away when he demanded they take him to New York, in any way possible. England quickly teleported them with magic, and there they were, not exactly in the midst of it all, but in a building across from the destruction. Someone was videotaping the whole thing, a look of horror on their features. He ran against the window, despite a terrible pain in his body and an aching headache, he looked through the window down to the streets. There, he saw his people, mortally wounded, screaming and running frantically, helping others, dying under rubble. Dying. That was the key word. Death, destruction, the concepts screamed in his head as he witnessed the terrible things they can do. He could still feel pain in his entire being, both mentally, and physically. His heart went out to every citizen in his country. He could feel another black out coming on, but he stayed to watch the terrible event to the end, ignoring France and England's pleas and suggestions to leave and get somewhere safe and quiet.
After it all ended, after Hell passed over, America stayed to help search for the missing, to help comfort those who were both mentally and physically injured and scarred, even though he himself was suffering as well. Later in the year, he helped construct the monuments and memorials, giving his own tribute and respects to those who have lost their lives.
Years later, he can still remember the chaos in his dreams, he can still feel a dull, but aching pain from that day, and he can still feel the regrets and sadness of his citizens, every anniversary. Every year on that one, single date. England, France, Canada, and the other countries come, bearing gifts and sympathy to help him go through it, and he greatly appreciates it, but he can still feel the pain. He always travels to every memorial he helped to build on that day; sometimes a country will accompany him. Sometimes he bears the pain alone. He can see every face of those who died, of those who suffered. He still remembers and regrets everything that happened on that day.
Every year he is hurting. Every year he cries. Every year, on that one date, he remembers...
Every year, America remembers that awful tragedy...
Every year, America would remember it all...
Remember 9/11, and the attack on the Twin Towers.