America. Home of the brave, the carefree, and at one point, the blissfully ignorant.
America was at the top of his game. The people were happy, the leader of his country was happy, and everyone was pretty well off. Of course, things could have been better, but then again, things could always be better. America was definitely not the type to brood over such things, unlike England, who tended to brood over everything and anything.
But that was before. This is now.
September 11th, 2001.
Screams echoed relentlessly through America's head as he raced down the hall. His people were dying, thousands of them: that was all he knew.
He choked back a sob as he tried to stop the blood that was gushing from his wrist. It had been a nasty, nasty wound, and it wouldn't stop bleeding. The hit had been horrendous. Out of nowhere, the side of his wrist had been cut so deeply that he could see the bones, and within another few moments, America could feel his eye swelling, after what felt like a kick to the face. That was when he had started running.
Without knowing where he was headed exactly, America just let himself run. He needed to find someone, he rationalized. He needed to know what was going on.
When he paused for a moment to try to take a breath, there was another attack. This one was much worse. The other half of Alfred's wrist was sliced, as if with a dull knife. He covered his mouth with his other hand, forcing himself not to call out. Adding more screams to the madness that was playing in his head wouldn't solve anything. America's wrist continuously throbbed as the wound deepened, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Blood was also seeping through his shirt, though the wounds on his chest didn't seem too severe.
His breath slacked as he tried to keep himself together. Besides the physical pain, the emotions of all the injured, the dying, the confused, the upset- they all mingled inside him, causing him to almost weep. But he needed to keep strong. Whatever was going on, they could get through this. Although he needed to find out what was going on before he could do anything to help.
"Alfred! Are you alright?" the president gasped, terrified at his country's condition. It had taken nearly an hour for Alfred to get to the president, especially when he found that the president wasn't at the white house. By the time he had gotten to the president, he had completely lost his hand, and America had been forced to wrap the bloody stump to try to stop the bleeding. "You're hand!"
America dismissed his help vaguely. "What happened? What's going on?"
In response, the president said nothing. He simply pointed to the television, which was turned onto the news. It showed the planes crashing, and then the towers of the World Trade Center imploding on themselves.
America stared in shock and confusion, just as his people all across the continent did. They all stood still, trying desperately to figure out what was going on, why this had happened, and who did it?
A physical injury for Alfred meant injuries for his people- something that shook America to his core. Nothing had hurt him this badly in a long time, and he hadn't been expecting this.
But there had been hints…. Whispers about people who hadn't been friendly with America, but it seemed that he had let his pride get in the way. No one in America expected that there were people with the tenacity to actually attack such a strong country. No one had expected that there were terrorists out there, waiting to strike.
"What's the situation? Do we know if they're planning anything else? What needs to be done?" Alfred asked the president completely freaked out.
"The other countries want to know what's going on. It's been almost two hours since the attack." The president said sullenly.
"Right. Right, I guess I should go talk with them." America tried not to stammer, but everything was such a mess in his head, he was having a hard time focusing on his surroundings.
…
America walked briskly to the meeting room. The other countries had met up at England's house, since America wouldn't let anyone even near the ocean's that surrounded his house. They all spoke anxiously, wondering if they would be next on the terrorist's plans. When America finally made it to the meeting, everyone just stood in stunned silence.
Alfred stood in the doorway, blood dripping from his open wounds, his eyes swollen with tears and malice. He was a terrifying and melancholy site.
"Who… did this?" He seethed, glaring at each country. England tried to approach America, to calm him down, but the younger country wouldn't have it. "Where did those planes come from?" He shouted at everyone.
"America, we do not know where those monsters came from." France replied, sadness and worry uncharacteristically spreading across his features.
"Don't lie to me! You're traitors, all of you! You've just been waiting until the right moment to kill all those innocent people!" America shouted at the silent countries. "I can still hear their screams! I can see them jumping out of those towers, or calling their families for the last time before they burned to death! Traitors!"
America sank to his knees, repeating the same word to himself over and over again. "Traitors, traitors. You're all traitors. How could you do this? Traitors, traitors." He let the tears he had been holding flow freely as he wept for his people. All those innocent people.
England crouched in front of America, who paid him no attention. "Alfred." No response from the sobbing country. "Alfred, please listen to me." England pestered. Still no response. "Alfred." This time, America looked up. He had never heard England's voice hitch like that, and he was shocked to see the England was crying.
"I know you like to think that everything's about you America, but it's not." England stated. America gave him a hurt look as the tears silently flowed down his face, but he allowed England to continue. "We're here to help you, Alfred. We won't let those fiends go unpunished. We will find out who did this, but you first have to understand that it wasn't us."
"He's right, you know." France said, coming up behind England. "Nous sommes tous Américains."
Upon listening to France's words, America finally noticed the small lacerations that were on England's face. They wouldn't stop bleeding, just like America's wounds. Looking past England, he saw that almost all the other countries had similar wounds. Even Japan's usually white suit had red splotches on the arms.
"I…guess you're right." America conceded. "But I'm supposed to be the hero! Hero's don't ever really need the sidekicks help."
England smacked the side of America's head. "Now's not the time to be acting like a prat." England admonished.
America smiled weakly at the older country and got to his feet. Upon standing, he turned to address the other countries that were in attendance. "I'm glad you all are willing to help. It means a lot." America smiled gently. "Now I need to get back home, to make sure that nothing like this can ever happen again."
"We're all on high alert, so if anything happens in Europe, we'll let you know." England said, gently patting America's shoulder.
"I wonder how long it will take our wounds to heal." America said quietly, looking at the ground.
"It will take as long as it takes our people." Was England's only response.
America went home after that. The other countries said their condolences as he left.
"Don't worry America; I won't harm you until this is all over!" Russia called.
"We'll never let them get away with this!" Cuba shouted, as he called the terrorists all kinds of names.
Even Canada fazed into America's line of sight for a moment. "I'm sorry." He said, a tear falling down his nose. Even Ireland had a day of mourning over the event.
As America made his way home, he couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of happiness. Despite how awful today was, most of the world had come together to help out. Maybe the other countries didn't suck that badly after all. But he was still the hero, and the hero needed to be able to take care of himself.
"Alfred, how was the meeting?" The president asked.
"It went well." Alfred said, smiling gently. "Almost everyone is willing to help us."
"Probably because they're terrified that they're next." The president sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I know it's been a rough day."
"That's an understatement."
"I know." Alfred sighed.
"We're going to need to protect this country. More security. We'll need to be more wary of travelers, of weapons. If they can hijack planes, they may decide to go for subways, trains, even cars. Who knows where they might strike next?"
As the American citizens grew more wary out of fear, America could feel his heart hardening. No more easy times from here on out. Things would be tough, he could feel it. People will constantly be on their guard, always waiting for another attack. It wasn't fair. Not to him and especially not to them. He wanted his people to live in peace and safety, but those terrorists had taken that away from them. Now they would live in constant fear for their lives.
Would America still be considered the land of the free if its people were trapped by their own fear?
10 years later
The physical wounds had healed, but America knew that the emotional wounds hadn't. Not even close.
Today, people can't get on a plane without being thoroughly searched, something that was unheard of ten years ago.
Today, when you say bomb, people go screaming in fear. Ten years ago, people probably would have laughed at you.
Today, people are constantly on the look-out for terrorists. Ten years ago, terrorists only lived in movies.
Today, many Americans discriminate against Islamic people because of what happened. Ten years ago, most Americans didn't even know what Islam was.
America's heart is as cold as ice, and it gets colder with each passing day. Tomorrow will be the tenth anniversary since September 11th, 2001. England came over to America's house this morning to talk over plans to keep their people safe. They were both worried sick about terrorists.
Before America got out of bed this morning, he cried.
He cried for those that had died on that day. He cried for those that tried to help and died with them. He cried for all the families that lost their loved ones. And he cried for those left behind, those scared day in and day out over whether or not they might be next.
A/N: I'm not going to lie, I cried while writing this.
My Spanish teacher took the time during class to show us a video that showed about eight different newscasters reporting what happened right before the second plane crasehd into the World Trade Center. I was astonished to see that NONE of them expected a terrorist attack. In fact, they all thought it was an accident. Until the second plane crashed, and then they knew it was delibrate. Growing up in a society that's always on the lookout for terrorists, it's mind-blowing to actually see an era that wasn't always on red-alert.
I wrote this little fanfic to emphasis how Alfred must feel, always waiting, always watching.
This is dedicated to all the people that died because of what those shit-faced monsters did. May I someday get the chance to beat them senseless. Possibly in heaven. That would be nice. ^^
This is also dedicated to my Spanish teacher, who I have a whole new respect for. Though she will never read this.
Dedicated to for being such an amazing hetalia fanfic writer. I hope she likes this. :)
And, of course, this is for America. I may give him A LOT of grief, but I realized that it really isn't his fault. It's the dumbasses that try to control him that make this place wacky. I apologize Alfred. Long live the good, beautiful American spirit.
3 And, if there really is a God out there, may he bless America and all the good people.