I don't own Hetalia or it's characters.
A Tale of Resentment
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.:WW1:.
In April 6, 1917 the USA had officially entered the Great War.
With the papers signed and the nation crying for justice, President Wilson and Prime minster David Lloyd George shook hands and left the office, in turn leaving the two men alone, or more specifically, two nations alone.
To say that the American was mad was an understatement; even hell bent and furious still seemed to miss the mark of the absolute outrage he felt. America glared at the older nation who refused to meet his eyes, instead opting to stare intently at a corner of the rug.
The tension was suffocating.
"You are an ass, you know that?"
"Oh, I'm the ass? Who was the one who ignored my call for help?"
"I sent you supplies, it's not like I ignored you completely."
"But it wasn't enough, was it?"
"It's not my war England." America growled out through bared teeth
"Right, because the whole world revolves around you doesn't it America?"
In one swift movement, America stood and slammed his bare fist against the Prime minister's desk, "Damn you England! Damn you to Hell! You are dragging my men to their deaths just because you stupid European's can't sit still for five goddamn seconds before you go at each other's throats!" England visibly flinched at the sheer wrath the oozed from the American's mouth like an acid eruption. His eyes glowed a furious electric blue as they too damned him to the lowest level of hell.
"It's not like I asked Germany to sink your ship and Goddamn it America, I need your help!"
"Oh, you need my help? Where were you when I needed yours? Oh that's right, you were sending my own brother to burn down my capital and sending supplies to the Confederates. Yeah you were a whole lot of help."
"What is your point?"
"My "point" England, is why on God's green earth should I give a damn about your war when all you do is sit back and watch mine?"
England didn't get to answer that question, because America had already stormed out of the room.
Leaving a broken desk, mangled doorknob, a shattered door hinge and a signed war form, in his wake.
.:WW2:.
The depression had taken it's toil on America and he was elated this war pulled his people out of the crisis, but he couldn't help but feel resentful that he was, once again, dragged out of splendid isolation and thrown into another European war that had nothing to do with him, well almost nothing to do with him. On December 7, 1941 His people had cried for justice, they had cried for revenge, and then there was no turning back.
Now it was the next day, December 8, 1941, and England got a serious case of déjà vu, as a set of different leaders shook hands and left the two countries alone once again.
Almost everything was the same, only now America was bandaged due to a major wound Japan had inflicted. England watched America silently. The nation was no longer fuming; instead he just looked annoyed and tired.
"What, no snarky comments and broken furniture Mr. Hero?"
Was the comment the elder nation chose to hopefully shatter the silent tension between them. But America didn't explode like England expected, instead he closed his cerulean eyes and heaved an weary sigh, "I'm doing this for my people, England." the young nation stood up and calmly, "I have nothing else to say." With that he turned and left the room, once again leaving England to dwell with the burdens of yet another war and another signed war form.
America closed the door gently behind him and He flinched as his lower back throbbed painfully; Japan was going to get it for sentencing more of his men to their graves, and for the physical pain he suffered after Pearl Harbor.
America squared his shoulders and grabbed his bomber jacket from the coat rack. He slid the jacket over his arms and wrapped it around him, the warm wool collar tickling the sides of his neck, while the familiar and comforting scent of the leather captured his senses. Taking a deep breath, the nation strode forward. Tall, strong, formidable.
Oh yes, there was going to be hell to pay.
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A/N: Short and angsty. What is it with me and angsty Hetalia one-shots? Anyway, I wrote this a while ago after my sister and I had a rather in depth conversation on America's involvement in the world wars.
Sigh~ Okay, okay, I'll go back to writing A Really Long Story now.
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