Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
A/N: First Hetalia piece I've written, and by God, it's been scary finishing it. The plot bunny first came to me when I was wasting my time away watching Youtube videos (yes, look at the lack of my social life), and I happened to stumble upon a really cute Alfred/Arthur video. It's called "World is mine - Hetalia (Eng Subs)". If you haven't watched it yet, GO NOW AND SEE. It is the legit cutest America/England video I have ever, EVER seen. Anyway, I really hope that you readers out there enjoy my story. Heroics for Dummies is not a oneshot, although I prolly will update during the most random times. Hopefully this idea's not already too cliché already. I dunno... It just seems like it'd be a pretty common topic for an America/England fanfic.
Pairings: Yes, the main pairing here is America/England, but there will be cameos of a few other couplings. (Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, France/Canada and all that jazz)
Summary: America, bored with the lack of awesome things going on in his life, enlists in the help of his new guidebook to becoming a hero. Along the way, England is semi-reluctantly dragged into playing as his damsel in distress. Poor, poor England.
"Bla bla bla" : Dialogue
Bla bla bla : Thoughts, emphasis, flashbacks and hero rules (always at the top of the page)
Heroics for Dummies
-- Written by Shoop da Boop --
Hero Rule no. 1: When in need of a situation pertaining to a damsel in distress and none is available, simply create one yourself.
---
If there was anything America ever took seriously, it was his hero business. Because, according to the bespectacled nation himself, hero business was always serious business.
May woe betide any nation who dared to say anything otherwise.
What most people didn't know however, was that America had a guidebook to help him through his famed hero business. He treated the book like one would a bible, and it never strayed from the inner recesses of his bomber jacket.
Of course, since America was so decidedly awesome, he had never needed to refer to it for instructions – it was mostly a last-resort kind of thing. But lately, hero business wasn't doing so well. There just weren't any cute girls needing his help for anything anymore, and the lack of activity was starting to get pretty darn frustrating. Plus, it was a generally known fact worldwide that America simply wasn't one for staying still.
Which was why, America admitted somewhat grudgingly, it was finally time to concede defeat and look into his handbook for some advice.
After all, desperate times did call for desperate measures.
Just as America reached into the infinite depths of his beloved bomber jacket, he had a sudden revelation. He didn't even know the title of the book, having randomly picked it out during one of his impulse trips to the mall. An uncharacteristic frown adorning his handsome features, the blond nation fiddled around his jacket in vain hopes of locating his guidebook.
After unearthing about twelve or so hamburgers (all of which America devoured happily in a span of two seconds each), he finally managed to find something small and flat. Enthusiastically, he pulled out…
His handy-dandy notebook!
The ash-blond let out a soft sound of delight and relished in his moment of absolute, unadulterated glory. Then, he peered down onto the title of the little book, which was written in large block letters.
Heroics for Dummies, it read. 10 Quick and Easy Steps to Becoming a Hero!
Instantly, the grin on America's face widened tenfold. Practically radiating waves of excitement, the American examined the book's cover thoroughly. It was only then that he discovered how pathetically thin the book was. When a quick look through the manual revealed only eleven pages, America pouted in disappointment.
'The index and a sentence or two per page,' he deduced sullenly.
Oh well, it was all the help he could possibly get at the moment, and he supposed it would have to suffice.
Shrugging nonchalantly, he turned to the second page of the book, eyes squinting a little at the tiny instructions written upon it.
Hero Rule no. 1: When in need of a situation pertaining to a damsel in distress and none is available, simply create one yourself.
It was vague and almost entirely unhelpful, but it did strike up a certain point.
So now all America needed was someone to help act as the damsel in distress, even if it was just for a while. His mind immediately conjured up a number of possible candidates for the prestigious (or according to America, at any rate) position. Canada was the first to flit across his mind. After all, they were pretty close, and to top it all off, his mild-mannered nature would surely be one befitting of a true damsel in distress! But that was where America's train of thought halted. Canada was his brother, for goodness sakes, and the similarity in their appearances was somewhat of a turn-off.
'It'd be a little weird rescuing someone who looks so much like me,' America mused, scratching the bottom of his chin. He mulled about for any other possible options.
France…was definitely out of question. America would greatly prefer it if the distance between them was as far as possible, thank you very much. He decided that, while hero business was of extreme importance, his decency far outranked even that. Plus, it was considered a given that being within a fifty-mile radius of France did have the tendency to bring about an aura of perverted awkwardness. So France was a no-go, then.
Russia wasn't a likely candidate either. The only possible result of that would be coercion and the distinct order of "becoming one with Russia", as the fair-haired man liked to put it. Besides, the taller country had an uncanny resemblance to a ghost, a trait America wasn't quite so fond of. After that last assessment, Russia quickly left the ranks of America's possible damsels in distress.
China then. He was small, petite and even had the long hair of a girl. Surely he would be the perfect solution to this annoyance of a problem! But then again, it would probably come as a surprise to the Asian, seeing as the Western and Eastern views of a hero were pretty different. Culture shock was definitely not one thing America was anticipating in his search for his damsel in distress. Without much further ado, China was swiftly crossed off the list too.
Which really only left…
"England…" the blond nation murmured absently.
And with that final thought in mind, America began his journey towards the small island nation.
Now if only I can persuade him to try…
---
England was the epitome of tranquility, the very picture of grace and serenity.
A porcelain teacup in hand, the Briton was quite content with simply lounging around on his plush armchair. The past few days had been an absolute hell (with America and all those other idiots he dreaded to call his comrades shoving themselves in his face all the time), and he savored the silence which lay across his study like a pleasant, comfortable blanket.
Slowly, in a deliberate manner, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped the slightest bit of his delightful Earl Grey brew. Relishing in its strong, acidic flavor, he gently inclined the cup to drink more fully –
"EEENGLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDDDD!"
– And promptly choked on his tea.
At the very same moment, the culprit of England's current misery poked his blond head from behind heavy mahogany doors. Upon spotting the Englishman, America gravitated toward the desk in a matter of three seconds flat. Had England not been so preoccupied with his own problem, he might've found it within himself to be somewhat impressed with the American's speed. But as luck had it, the slighter blond was already having a decent amount of difficulty even getting air into his lungs.
As if only just noticing the bluish tint to England's face, America tilted his head curiously. "Are you alright, England? I don't think that shade of blue is what one would exactly call natural, you know." He frowned dubiously. "Or is this the result of one of your so-called magic tricks?"
In response, England flailed his arms with a little more vigor.
Turning his gaze towards the overturned teacup, America was quick to piece together enough clues to understand how to help the ailing man. He slammed his powerful fist down onto England's back. A string of coughs, sputters and curses soon followed.
Whirling his head round, the smaller nation fixed the very much unwanted intruder with a heated glare. America gulped – England looked positively livid.
"Bloody hell, America! What the blazes are you doing here?" He demanded angrily.
"About that…I've come to ask you for a little help."
Crossing his arms, England raised one of his bushy eyebrows in obvious disdain. "Really now?"
"Yeah, well…It's nothing big and I…you know…" America trailed off uncertainly, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort.
"No, I don't know," England snapped back irritably. "Care to enlighten me?"
"It's about my hero business." When the Briton gave America a blatant look of disapproval, he hastily rectified his statement. "It's not…that hot lately, is all."
Originally, America would have been quite happy to have simply left his explanation like so, but now that the dams have broken, the taller man was very intent on releasing his pent up frustrations.
"So now I'm really, really bored, and I have absolutely nothing to do!" He complained, wringing his hands in the air for an added dramatic effect. "And if this keeps up, I'm going to drive myself crazy!"
"God forbid," England agreed despite the knowledge that America could not, in fact, possibly get any crazier.
"Here, take a look at this." America brandished his guidebook for the Englishman to see. "This book clearly says that if no opportunity comes along, I just have to make one up myself!"
Rolling his eyes, England leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the book's title.
"For dummies?" He snorted. "How suitable."
America ignored the British man's snide remark and continued to elaborate on his master plan. "And that's where you come in, see? I need you to, uhh, play the part of the victim for a while. Get yourself in a little trouble so I can save you."
The damsel in distress, in other words, but America would be damned before ever admitting as much.
Previously sitting lax on his armchair, England stiffened. "I absolutely refuse to act as the damsel in distress."
Oh damn.
"No! It's not like that! You get to be the…err…rescue-ee! Yeah, that's very, very different from being the damsel in distress."
"Assuming that I do fall into the role of the 'rescue-ee', as you ever so eloquently put it, what's in it for me then?"
"I…well…"
"I thought so," England sighed, resting his head upon the back of his right hand. "Now go along and disturb someone else with your childish fantasies. And next time you ever get the urge to consult me in the matters of your hero business…don't. I'm not interested."
"Aww, England…" America whined with an astonishing resemblance to a petulant kid. "Just help me out this once, yeah? C'mon, don't be such a bum."
"I highly doubt that declining your offer to partake in such ridiculous antics would constitute me as a bum."
America blinked. "…Was that England-ese for 'Sure, I would love to?'"
Scoffing, England shot the other nation a condescending smirk. "Actually, that was English for 'Hell no'. And don't look at me like that; I wasn't the one who completely massacred the English language. In any case, you probably wouldn't recognize proper English even if it came up to you and slapped you in the face."
"Englaaand…" At this point, America decided that he couldn't care less whether or not he was begging. "Please help me out just this once?"
England visibly flinched. Oh God, America was using his ultimate weapon. Inwardly, England cursed the living hell out of the other country.
'How dare he?' The shorter nation fumed. 'All these years and he still… Regardless, it shouldn't have any effect on me now, right? He's already used it so many times in the past…'
But even as England continued to look on, he felt his resolve slowly crumble into dust. After all these years, he couldn't believe he was still so affected by such a show of utter…
Adorableness seemed to be the only word suitable enough.
"I-I…can't…" Dear Lord, could those eyes possibly grow any wider? "And…and…" A closer inspection led England to discover slight moisture brimming in the corners of America's large blue orbs. "I mean…I…" The younger man's lip quivered slightly, and England instantly knew that he'd lost.
"I…Oh, alright," He finally relented, all fight draining out of his body. "I'll do it."
The result was instantaneous. Whooping triumphantly, America jumped away from the study desk and then went on to do a strange little victory dance.
England sighed as he gingerly rubbed his temples and silently willed the America-induced migraine away. Try as he might, he knew that he could never deny the younger man anything, be it some kind of food or favor. Hell, he'd even let the damn Yank gain his independence. In fact, pretty much everything that England could offer had already been given. Refusing America would be synonymous to kicking an injured puppy in the face. Multiple times. With spiked boots.
The honey-blond man paled a little at his own imagery.
Shifting uneasily in his chair, England decided to just grab the bull by its horns. "So, what silly ploy are you going to make me do?"
When the question seemed to catch America completely off guard, England looked incredulously at the taller nation. "You don't have any ideas yet, do you?"
America's blank expression merely confirmed it.
"Oh, for the love of-" Groaning, England buried his face in his hands.
"Hey, it's not my fault!" The boisterous blond defended vehemently. "How was I supposed to know you were going to agree in the first place?"
An eyebrow disappeared underneath England's hairline as he gazed skeptically at the younger man.
"You never thought very much about this in advance, I assume."
"…I guess I didn't."
Scratching his head, America fell into a train of deep thought. "Well, we can always just have you get stuck on a tree. And then, right when you're about to fall…Whoosh! America the Super-Dee-Duper Awesome and Totally Amazing Hero comes to rescue you!"
Apparently pleased with such a scenario, America nodded confidently to himself while simultaneously striking his trademark hero pose. England, on the other hand, seemed nowhere near as thrilled.
"I'm not some kind of kitten you can place on a tree on your whim and will just so you can rescue me."
"Huh? Oh, fine. How 'bout I rescue you from falling off a balcony instead?"
"America…" England's voice sounded exasperated and strained.
"Okay, okay!" The ash-blond looked into the carpeted floors in frustration, wracking his brain for better ideas. Suddenly, inspiration struck him.
"I know!" America exclaimed jubilantly. "We can burn down this house, and I can come save you just before you die a painful and agonizing death! It'll be like in all those awesome movies I've watched when I was younger!"
England felt the inexplicable urge to bash the ignorant nation's head into a hard brick wall (preferably one reinforced with heavy-duty titanium in case normal brick wasn't strong enough to withstand America's thick-headedness). Maybe if fate smiled upon him that day, America might get a shock great enough to result in actual functioning brain cells. Then again, the presence of said brain cells probably depended on America having a proper brain to begin with, which, as far as England was concerned, was practically nonexistent.
"You bloody well know we can't do that!"
"Shoot down a man's hopes and dreams, will you?" The older country's snarky attitude was starting to grate on America's nerves, and he found that keeping his temper in check was proving to be much more of a challenge than he originally thought it would.
Scowling, the Briton merely fidgeted in his seat. "As the person requesting for my help, I should hardly think that you're in any position whatsoever to be complaining. If anything, it should be you playing as the rescue-ee. I am older than you are, after all."
"But you're shorter than me. And a whole lot skinnier too. Geez, England, everyone knows that the hero can't ever be smaller than the rescue-ee! Plus, you said you didn't care about my hero business."
"Point taken," England admitted reluctantly.
"We can always just do something simpler," America offered, although the tone of his voice betrayed how put-off he felt by the older country's lack of enthusiasm. "Like in the movies, the hero picks up the dams- err, I mean, rescue-ee's handkerchief when it's dropped. We can just do that if you want."
While it certainly was very simple, it was also very…womanly. And England definitely did not do womanly.
"Let's go for something a little less feminine," the Briton suggested.
For a moment, a small thought flickered briefly in depths of his mind. Just a few days ago, he had purchased a magnificent antique grandfather clock which dated back far into the late fifteenth century. He had originally planned to place it in the left corner of his room, but the movers – those blundering fools! – had conveniently set it right against the entrance to his study.
Really, it wouldn't have bothered England so much if his favorite mat had not been underneath the clock. It may sound silly, but that worn piece of fabric was of great sentimental value to the Englishman.
America and I made it together, after all, back in the colonial days when I used to give him embroidery lessons.
While the mat turned out awfully ridiculous (America's earnest attempts of sewing a bunny botched up and left a vague boar-like blob instead), merely the sight of it would always bring a smile to the older man's face. Unfortunately, the grandfather clock had effectively blocked out any possible view of the mat. And try as he might to deny it, England always felt a pang of loss whenever he looked in the direction of mat, only to see the lumbering grandfather clock instead.
He had tried a few times before to move the clock elsewhere, but his efforts often proved futile. But America had superhuman strength, did he not? Perhaps he could…
"Actually, I do have a favor to ask of you," England muttered. The formerly dejected American perked up straight away.
"Yeah? Well, ask away!"
"It's nothing too important, really," the older blond mumbled hesitantly. "But it would certainly be very nice if…"
"Of course I'll do it!" America smiled brilliantly and flashed him a thumbs-up sign. To his abject horror, England felt his face heat up. "Just leave it to me! So, what do you want me to do, anyway?"
"See that mat?" England tilted his head slightly to the article in question, and America nodded when he caught sight of the light blue fabric as well. "I need you to help me move the clock so that I can retrieve it. It shouldn't prove too much of an effort to you, given the fact that you seem to be unnaturally strong."
America winked at the older nation and grinned disarmingly. "Anything for you, Iggy."
Again, England was dismayed when he found himself flushing a deeper shade of pink. "Hurry up and get on to it, you twat."
Chuckling, the taller man strode over and knelt down beside the large timepiece. England obediently followed along, eventually stopping right in front of the clock so that he could stand next to America. Before his very eyes, England glimpsed a flash of some unknown emotion pass through the American's baby blues.
"Hey, I know this mat…" Unbeknownst to the younger country, a trace of nostalgic affection leaked through his voice. "Didn't we make this together back when I was real young?"
"…Yes," England replied, unable to prevent the small smile from appearing on his face. "It certainly has been a while since then."
A comfortable silence lapsed between the two men until America coughed into his fist, clearly a little nervous at the quietness.
England sighed. 'That brat always did know the perfect way to ruin a moment.'
"Well? What are you waiting for? The next day? The next month? France to take an oath of celibacy?"
From his position off the floor, America grinned. "That last one's never going to happen, Iggy."
The corners of the petite nation's mouth twitched slightly. "One can always hope."
"Not in this case, I'm afraid. France is already too much of a lost cause."
England hummed absently in agreement before gesturing to the mat. "Come on then, we don't have all day."
Nodding his affirmative, the taller blond reached forward with his right hand to grasp at the mat's corner. With his other unoccupied hand, he tilted the clock to one side. Expertly, with a small tug, the American pulled the mat out. Behind him, America could hear the other man's sigh of relief. He smiled brightly and turned around, ready to present his trophy to his pseudo-damsel in distress.
Unfortunately, the moment his left hand was removed, the grandfather clock rocked precariously due to the lack of support. Barely a second later, the enormous timepiece pitched forward and toppled over.
…In England's direction. The British man was frozen to the spot, shock and fear paralyzing both his legs.
America's heart stopped painfully for a brief moment.
And the room was filled with a resounding crash.
---
The first thing England saw when he opened his eyes again was a bright blue color of the sky on a cloudless day.
...So beautiful…Is this how heaven looks like?
Underneath him, he could feel the ground digging painfully into his back. Breathing was difficult too due to some strange but not entirely unwelcome pressure against his chest.
He frowned. If this was heaven, he didn't want to remain there for long. It was definitely a little too claustrophobic for his liking.
Suddenly, the whole world around him snapped into focus. With a start, England realized that he had never been looking at the sky, but…
"…ngland, England?"
Blue…the color of America's striking eyes. All this time I've been looking into America's eyes.
At once, England's eyes widened dramatically. He hastily tried to shove the other man off him – Blimey, America was heavy! – but stopped short when his efforts proved to be completely fruitless.
Wait a minute…if I'm under America, then that means…
Oh no…
"A-America! Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" A million emotions swirled in dazzling pools of emerald green, the most prominent one being that of concern. The larger nation strained not to get lost in their beauty, but golly were England's eyes absolutely stunning.
Blinking out his reverie, America shook his head and laughed lightly. It wasn't until then that England realized how precious the sound truly was, and the smaller nation unconsciously tugged his ex-colony closer towards him. He ducked his head and mumbled something incoherently.
America looked confusedly at the other man. "Come again?"
"…I said, 'get off', you idiot."
Again, America's bright laugh rang throughout the entire room. Grunting in slight exertion, the blond man hefted the large clock over and stood up, extending a hand to England as he did so. The slighter blond gave a hesitant smile before accepting America's offered assistance. With minimal effort, America helped his former mentor up onto his feet.
A brilliant smile erupted on the American's handsome face.
"That was so awesome! Did you see how epic I was back then? I totally saved your butt, you know. Gosh, what a great hero I make!"
England rolled his eyes affectionately, but not even the younger man's constant babbling was enough to dampen his mood.
"Yes, America, and for that I am grateful," England spoke with utmost sincerity, a genuine smile gracing his sculpted features. America's face flushed attractively as he grinned back and shot the other man his signature thumbs-up sign.
"Ah, no prob, Iggy. Anything I can do to help, right? I mean, that is what heroes do, after all. Save people and all that good stuff."
"Sod off, you bloody git," the older man snorted, but his words lacked his usual venom. If possible, America's smile widened to the point where it looked almost as if his face had split into two.
Then, America stroked his chin pensively, as if in deep thought. "Say…in all the movies, the rescue-ee always gives their hero a thank-you kiss. And seeing as how awesome I was just now, I think that a reward is in order." He tapped his cheek suggestively as his eyes gazed unwaveringly at the flustered Briton.
"W-What? Surely you're not implying…"
"Oh, but I am. What're you going to do now, England? It's very ungentlemanly to leave people hanging, you know?" America's grin was impish, and his sapphire eyes twinkled in amusement and mischief.
Rolling his eyes again, the England leaned up against his former colony and placed a chaste kiss upon the other man's cheek, a tiny smile playing upon the older nation's face throughout the entire ordeal.
"Thank you…my hero."
And America proved right then and there that one could quite literally grin from ear to ear.
"Any day, Princess."
---
Phew... I'm DONE. So, did you like it? Hate it? Were the characters OOC?
I've already got one down...and nine to go. Boy, I see a lot of sleep-deprived nights ahead.
In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much romance yet. I decided to keep it that way so that their relationship will seem a little more believable. Don't worry, their relationship is somewhat slow-building, but it'll happen eventually.
And yes, Heroics for Dummies is an established ten chapter fic. Each chapter will focus on another one of America's new hero rules, this one being the first out of ten. Please, please feel free to leave me any suggestions or ideas for future hero rules. I'd love to hear them out, especially since I don't exactly have ten hero rules thought up yet...
*Sheepish look*
Anyway, I really hope that you guys liked reading it as much as I did writing it. As sad as it sounds, Hetalia is like, my life right now, and writing this chapter was definitely a lot funner than I thought it'd be.
Thanks for reading!