Alright, Green Day obsession taking over...taking little bits of 21 Guns and 21st Century Breakdown mixed around (so it's not a full songfic) to make a mush of my crap writing. Enjoy? I was aiming for America-centric-ness, but if my OTP shows up even the slightest, I'm terribly sorry.

Cursing, general morbidity, black humor, I think I projected my own depression into this, the usual. Yeah, America is a lot smarter than he looks in my head canon. Sorry if you don't like it, but this is what I write.

Uh...no offense to the countries and all too. 'Cause this is a stand-alone oneshot with all of this morbidity and depression in it...you know what, let's just get on with this.

I was raised in Hell
A welfare child where the teamsters dwelled
The last one born and the first one to run

One of the youngest of all countries, he could feel his blood run hot as he watched the rest of them. They all hated him, he knew it, no matter what he did. It didn't matter. He could deal with it. He could, dammit...he didn't need their approval. He could survive.

My generation is zero
I never made it as a working class hero

He wasn't a hero. No, he couldn't deny that. But he could try, he supposed. Everyone hated him, but that was the price he paid. Everyone expected his help, what could he do? Would they like it if he let them alone?

21st century breakdown
I once was lost but never was found
I think I'm losing what's left of my mind
To the 20th century deadline

Losing what was left of him, they were all tearing him down. Everything was pulling him in a thousand directions, a million voices screaming out for his undivided attention and whining when he left for a moment. How he would love to drown out their voices with the charming little rattle of a gun! No one bothered with him, because he was such a waste of their time. Childish, they called him. And stupid. Ignorant. Ignorance, he'd show them ignorance!...

When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control

Calm, America, calm.

I was made of poison and blood
Condemnation is what I understood

Even as a child, they all belittled him. He was just the same as they were, but they expected that he be as miserable as they? Even now, as it grew harder and harder, he could not drop the pretense. It was easier to understand, with the frail barrier of lies in front of him to slow the torrents of abuse they slung at him. He could pretend it was because he was hiding. Because they didn't understand like he did. He held all of the cards, but they weren't the ones he wanted, the ones he liked.

Did you try to live on your own
When you burned down the house and home?
Did you stand too close to the fire?
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone

In the wake of his revolution, his breaking away, his first defining act on his new career, he could feel the bitter bile rise in his throat, the first thrill of savage glee touching his veins. When the fires raged around him and gave his blue eyes a reddish cast, he stood too close and felt them lick at his fingers. The pure rush of adrenaline and power made him crack a lopsided grin, more like a scowl. Even as he sought forgiveness, it was a lie. All a lie. Of course, he'd never get it. But it was his first lie, his first act, the first role he'd fill in this play. All the world's a stage - he supposed it was true, and he could see it.

We are the cries of the class of thirteen
Born in the era of Humility
We are the desperate in the decline

Born to be kind and demure like his brother, like the one he was constantly compared to when they remembered him. He was desperately trying to claw his way to the top and stay there at the top, to watch them all from his perch, the slippery slope.

My name is No One, the long lost son
Born on the 4th of July

He was no one. Just a representation of the real people standing behind him in millions of ranks, their lives averaged into one - his. Under one face, under one name, one birthday, one that he wore proudly for them. (though he really wished he could be anyone else)

Raised in the era of Heroes and Cons
That left me for dead or alive
Do you know what's worth fighting for,
When it's not worth dying for?

He so wanted to be a hero, like the ones that saved him as a child, the intangible idea of being pure and clean of sin. Someone who they'd all look up to with hope and adoration, the same way he looked up at him as a little infant. The ones who left him alone in his darkness and complained of his ignorance and lack of action - oh, he'd like to show them, one day...did he really know if it was worth fighting for them, if he couldn't give them all he had? Were they important enough for him to expend every resource on them? All or nothing. Nothing? No, the hero couldn't turn them away. Of course. He had trapped himself.

When it's time to live and let die
And you can't get another try
Something inside this heart has died
You're in ruins.

When he had no more chances, when they pushed him away and he had nothing to do but stand alone and suffer, when he stood and let the bitter wind cut his shoulders, he could feel something crack inside. Something visible in his eyes made them skitter backwards in fear and morbid fascination. He could let them live their lives separate of him, he promised, he swore, but they always came back. They always did. He let the little fragments of soul left in him flutter away.

I am a nation, a worker of pride
My debt to the status quo

He took pride in all he did, because no one else would. His eternal debt to the pinnacle of his efforts, he forged on, trying to block out their endless criticism with his thin shield of faked ignorance. Sometimes it was nice to daydream that someone could know, that someone was strong enough to push past a little more and see the festering hatred and pain. Oh, the immense joy he would feel, just a simple twisting motion with his hands, the warm liquid gushing over his hands in little rivulets - no. No, not that again.

The scars on my hands and the means to an end
It's all that I have to show

They would not recognize him with any more than a curt nod. All he had were the scars that tore him in half and the bitterly satisfying knowledge that he could crush them easily in one swift stroke. All he had to show, all he could know, all anyone who could know him would ever see of him.

I swallowed my pride
And I choked on my faith,
I've given my heart and my soul
I've broken my fingers
And lied through my teeth,
The pillar of damage control

He had no pride in himself, this body he inhabited. It had gone so long ago, because how could he have any, with such an act? But the faith he had in the world stopped him, painfully lodged in his throat and made its descent painful and well-known. He'd broken every bone in his body for them, lied through a straight face and kept his smile on for the world while he restraightened the bandages they didn't see and probed cautiously at the throbbing wounds they never knew. And if they ever found out - he could blow it off with the 'trademark' insipid grin and airy wave of a hand, preferably the one that wasn't broken. (Ha. He made a joke. Look at the humor.)

Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating?
And you look for a place to hide?
Did someone break your heart inside?
You're in ruins

The voice again, the little insistent hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him constantly how everything was wrong, it was raining upwards and the sun flew backwards and he couldn't breathe from it all. The broken organ pounded strong and steady in his scarred chest, but he still felt the phantom ache - once, twice, for each time someone had stepped on it and snapped it in two.

And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul
Your faith walks on broken glass
And the hangover doesn't pass
Nothing's ever built to last
You're in ruins

The shrill screaming, the strident voice correcting him every few steps; he felt it even when it grew quiet, the echoes that bounced around in his skull over and over and over, the sound that shattered his last confidence in the world. Nothing was ever built to last, and he supposed he was no exception. The dull thudding in his mind never left, and he supposed he could ignore it. He didn't mind it anymore. As natural as the thump-thump of his heart or the slow rush of his breathing, as familiar as the little lines that cut into his his flesh and left dark streaks of scars.

I praise Liberty
"The freedom to obey"
Is the song that strangles me
Well don't cross the line

He kept the same words on his mouth, writhing in pain and screaming behind the ever cheerful eyes. Don't cross me, they said, and he knew they wouldn't. Of course, that didn't stop them from the constant needling, poke, poke, poke yes I know you're there stoppit just go away. The subtle limits he placed were never broken, and he liked it that way.

Oh dream, America Dream
I can't even sleep
From the Light's Early Dawn

Yeah, the patriotism, the love and loyalty that belted out his anthem, his song, it was lovely, of course. The one voice against the rest, even the screaming inside of him, the hatred welled up like venom and its fangs flashed in the dull light of the rising sun.

Oh scream, America scream
Believe what you see
From heroes and cons

To just scream out once, to let down the careful facade and believe in them, to lean unsteadily on the thin arms they would snatch away as soon as they saw the weakness, just to watch him tumble down, down down...

W-o-w. That was a long session of writing...okay, if you liked it, even a favorite would make me so happy, and a review would make me die of ecstasy.

Um...yeah...sorry if this was totally contrary to your ideas on America, but this is my head-canon. -_-;; Please, no flaming. If you want to criticise, please make it on my actual writing skills and portrayal of this emotion. Thankies!

Love to all of my readers, and now we must part. Bye~