Disneytalia: Let it Go
A/N: So… haven't seen much Disneytalia around here. And if there is indeed a lot of it, then I guess I've just been blind this whole time. Either way! Welcome to a collection of songfic oneshots inspired by numerous Disney songs! I do hope that you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: PitFTW holds no claim to owning either Disney or Hetalia. In fact, she could probably take over the world with such a combination under her control.
This collection of oneshots shall be updated sparingly as demand and inspiration strike me. I will be happy to take requests from readers of Disneysongs, any historical event, and any AU.
Pairings: USUK, if you squint
His first boss had warned him, warned his people, that only through neutrality could he survive. They were a nation newly born and bred, coming fresh from The Revolution at the time, and just about ready to get involved in European affairs, issues that only big, strong nations dealt with. He had tried his best to honor President Washington's wishes, but his people- the upper classes especially- called upon him, begged him, to allow them to fight.
The result was the War of 1812.
And now they, his people, were at it again. There was a war in Europe, and they claimed that something needed to be done. The combined efforts of the British Empire, France, and Russia were not enough. They were going up against Germany, the Austro-Hungary and Ottoman Empires, and Bulgaria. No matter how strong those nations were, no matter how much he believed that they could pull through this war, his rich cried out. Let us defy Washington's words again, they said, the War of 1812 is nothing.
"If we don't do something now, this war shall encompass the whole world!" the Senator argued, walking alongside his brisk pace as he half-ran through the halls of the White House. Alfred F. Jones, the representation of the United States of America, scowled at him and increased his pace, hoping to shake the fat man off. "People will be killed!"
"George Washington himself said that getting ourselves involved in European affairs will only bring ruin," America growled, uncharacteristically serious. On a normal day, he would be found running around, heckling White House staff and in general showing off his childish nature, with his loud laughter ringing through the halls. But now, in the midst of war, in the midst of his own problems at home, he was enraged. "You were not there during 1812. You don't understand how much we lost. You don't understand how disappointed Washington would be in us if he ever found out that we went against his word…"
"Mr. America, you must understand, this is for the best!" the man said angrily. "We need to go to war! The British Empire has already blockaded Germany, driving our cotton prices down-"
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR DAMN COTTON!" America roared, raising his fist to slam that Senator through a wall. The other man's shocked face stopped him, shaking the young nation down to his very core. He lowered his fist, his entire body trembling, his knees weak. His legs collapsed underneath him, and it was only with the support of his companion that he didn't hit the floor.
Eyes the color of the sky looked outside, to the White House gardens, where he could see President Wilson sitting on a stone bench. The gardens were beautiful this time of year, with the trees at their greenest and the flowers in full bloom. The sun shone on his boss' face, emphasizing the many lines that had developed since the start of the war, making the man who led the United States of America seem older, frailer, than when he was when he was sworn in with his hand upon a Bible. America panted a little as he got to his feet, helped by the Senator, who opened his mouth once again to argue, only to be silenced by a wave of America's hand.
"The sun shines gold on my nation today, never a cloud to be seen," America said quietly, almost singing it as he walked to the window. He stared at his reflection, suit, glasses and all, and sighed. That stubborn cowlick of his, Nantucket, stood at attention as usual. "A country of isolation, and it looks like I'm its King."
The Senator placed a hand on his nation's shoulder. "People are calling, like a swirling storm outside. Couldn't stop it, no, heaven knows we've tried."
America's hand curled into a fist. He watched as another Senator entered the garden and walked towards the President. He pressed said fist to the window, blue eyes glaring, twitching, fighting desperately against tears beginning to build up behind Texas. He truly was singing to himself now, a mantra that he had repeated for years, ever since he left England sobbing on the battlefield. "Don't let them in, don't let them see. Be the hero you always have to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know."
The man behind him sighed. "Son, now they know. Let it go, let it go. You can't hold back anymore."
"Let it go, let it go?" America demanded, glaring at him. He wrenched his shoulder away from the Senator's grip and turned on his heel, once again heading for his guest room in the White House. "Turn away and slam the door! I don't care what they say, let the war rage on! Europe never bothered me anyways!"
It's funny how some distance makes everything seem so small, America thought as he walked past a large map of the world. Indeed, the United States of America stood proud, whereas all of Europe and Asia seemed so tiny in comparison. He paused briefly to admire it, remembering how much he feared these nations back when he was only a colony. Well, he certainly showed them, he certainly showed them what he was capable of. Only he had ever left England sobbing on a battlefield, only he could ever break an empire in such a way. And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all!
"It's time to see what you can do!" the Senator said as he caught up. "To test the limits and break through!" America glared at him and turned on his heel to continue walking.
It was starting again. That feeling that he was under control. He had not felt such a thing since England began levying those hefty taxes on him to pay for the French-Indian war. It wasn't his fault that the island nation couldn't keep his grubby hands off France. And it wasn't his problem that England had drained his treasury so much that he would turn to taxing his younger brother. That was why America broke away; to be seen as an equal in not just England's eyes, but those of the other nations of the world.
"No right, no wrong, no rules for me," America had said on the day he announced his breaking away. "I'm free!"
Though he thought the conversation was over, though he thought he had won, the man persisted. He continued to follow America down the hallway, easily keeping up with the enraged nation's footfalls, despite his large girth. The gleam of determination in this man's eye would have truly been admirable, if America was not so against what he wanted to do. America glared at him, but despite his rage, he couldn't raise a fist against him. He was never one to punish his citizens.
"Let it go, let it go!" the Senator continued. They were nearing America's room now, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his chance with his nation. "You're the one with the wind and sky!"
America entered his room and was immediately faced with a portrait of him and England in younger, happier days. Anger burned within him. Those damn war-mongers placed it here, he knew it. They were trying to break him, trying to get him to relent. He clenched his fists, tears threatening to fall. England was in trouble. England needed his help. England could not fight this world war without him. But America would never fall, no! He had to let his anger towards England go, before he broke his vow to Washington again!
"Let it go!" he whirled on the Senator, hand on his door. "Let it go! You'll never see me cry!" his mouth twisted into a snarl as he stood up straight and proud, heroic and undeterred. "Here I'll stand! And here I'll stay! Let the war rage on!" with strength gifted to him at birth, America slammed the door in the man's face and whirled, ready to tear that offending portrait to shreds.
But then he saw England, smiling that kind, gentle smile he had always loved. He saw the ash gray hair, the large eyebrows, always furrowed nowadays, smooth and even lifted in happiness. The painter did not properly capture his green eyes; those beautiful gems that would close about halfway when England laughed and swam in salty spray when he cried. The painter did nothing to capture the eternal beauty that was England. For a moment, America froze, staring at his former mentor, his fists shaking.
"My power rockets through the air into the ground," America said, a little too loudly, unable to tear his eyes away from the man who raised him. "My soul is flying through the world, all around. All my thoughts rise up and burst like a conquering blast." he tore his gaze away from the picture and turned on his heel, heading straight towards the window. "I'm never going back, the past is the past."
He could see images of England down on his knees, sobbing, hurt, broken. He was on the Revolutionary War battlefield again, and his mentor, his England, was crying. He was sobbing over a brother lost and a nation emerged. And now it was happening all over again, a broken British Empire fighting against an alliance of powers that threatened his very foundation. England's voice seemed to echo all around America, beseeching him, telling him that if he helped in this Great War, everything would be okay again.
"Let it go!" America's fist went through the image, shattering it into a million pieces. He stood there, in front of a broken window, not caring that glass shards were biting into his hand. "Let it go! And I'll rise like the rocket's glare! Let it go!" he clutched his head, trying to drive the images away. They were coming back, clearer this time, rushing towards him, showing him a desolate, broken England, an England that would come to fruition if he did not help. "Let it go! The bombs bursting in air!"
He could hear the Congress session over his radio. He could feel England begin to weaken. Russia was pulling out. France was about to fall. There was no hope left. England was going to fall, and- No! No! No! No!
The sun broke out over America, bathing him in gold. Blue eyes turned upwards and met the sky, comforting in its vasty eternity. Slowly, softly, America stood and faced the sky. He raised a hand, already beginning to heal from his injury with the broken window. And it came to him; he was strong, and so was England. England the brave. England the strong. England the unconquerable.
"Here I stand, in the light of day!" America said triumphantly, turning around and facing the portrait. It no longer offended him. No, it only invoked a heavy amount of nostalgia, and something else, something sweet and gentle that fluttered about in his chest on silver wings. He reached out to touch the portrait, to touch England's face. Perhaps it was time that he finally began truly speaking with his mentor again. Perhaps England would meet him in New York. Perhaps they could chat about days long gone. Perhaps...
No. He had a Policy of Neutrality he had to keep up. That meant siding with neither side of the Great War. They could fight until Europe was a smoldering pile of ashes and every man on that continent was mewling in the dirt. They could rope in Canada, or Mexico, or all of Asia, or all of South America, and fight until not a single man was left standing and the whole world was in ruin. The United States of America would endure. He would endure.
America pulled back his hand. "Let the war rage on." he turned away from the portrait, instead choosing to face the window. "Europe never bothered me anyway."
Behind him, the voice of United States President Woodrow Wilson came over the radio, addressing the Congress of the United States of America. "With a profound sense of the solemn and even tragical character of the step I am taking and of the grave responsibilities which it involves, but in unhesitating obedience to what I deem my constitutional duty, I advise that the Congress declare the recent course of the Imperial German Government to be in fact nothing less than war against the Government and people of the United States…"