A/N
The song used is "Superman" by Five for Fighting. The word count is 1,477. I might add on to this or make it into a series of drabbles, but I'm not sure :/ so for now its labeled as complete.
I own neither the song nor Hetalia.
Edit: 15 October 2015: Due to copyright issues, I had to remove the lyrics. So you'll just have to imagine "Superman" lyrics between every few paragraphs or play the song while you read or some stupid thing like that. Sorry :(
Enjoy! :)
The meeting had started, and Alfred was late, as usual. There were times when he was on time, of course, and even early, Queen knows why, but Alfred was most often late. Whether it was to piss the nations off or so the bloody git could pick up some Mickey D's, Arthur would never know. But that idiot would always come running in through the door, anywhere between five and twenty minutes late, making some comment about being the hero before rambunctiously taking his seat.
It was curious, how the nation claimed heroism so often. There had to be done reason behind it, yes? He can remember young, clear blue eyes looking up at him with such admiration it made him feel invincible, a childlike voice pleading, "Tell me a story." Arthur always gave in, and he told his favored colony of princesses and their knights in shining armor, of quests taken up by brave men to do things for the better good, and of kind mythical creatures that would help out along the way.
Maybe that is why Alfred is so obsessed, or maybe it's for another reason entirely. Maybe Alfred just feels the need to protect, like Arthur had felt the need to go and venture out across oceans despite many sea monsters to go and see two blue-eyed colonies that meant the world to him. Maybe there's a maybe, and maybe there isn't. Either way, fifteen minutes into Germany's speech, a blue-eyed, blonde nation with a cowlick fondly called Nantucket burst into the conference room, enthusiastically calling out, "Don't worry, the hero has arrived! The hero just had some awesome heroic duties to attend to."
Arthur rolled his eyes, as did many other nations, and Alfred took his seat in hasty excitement. His usual grin sat upon his lips as the usual excuse fell from them, and as usual, no one saw the tightness around his eyes, as if fighting back tears. No one saw the way he gripped his ribs, as if in pain. No one saw, no one noticed, because he was the hero, and heroes don't bleed.
~~~30 minutes earlier~~~
He whistled as he walked from his hotel, his hands in his jacket pockets. He had just left, and was moving to the World Meeting (it was being held in Germany this month). He was in no rush, and knew that if he continued on, he'd get there on time, maybe even early. It shouldn't give anyone a heart attack, he was known to be on time every once in awhile. If it happened more than two consecutive times, however, people would worry. They wouldn't have to, though, because he's the hero. (Even though his economy is total crap right now. He could feel the need to just eat something, anything, but it wouldn't do any good with the slight economic depression he was going through. His people are starving. But that doesn't matter: He's the hero. He'd be fine.)
It may have left him a bit weaker, but he was as strong as ever! No one could take him down, because he's America! (He's Alfred F. Jones, too, though.)
He walked past an alleyway, still whistling his merry tune, when he heard it; a whimper. He discreetly glanced in, an eyebrow raised behind his glasses, and saw two figures in the darkness. One was clearly a man, and the other, a woman. The man was holding her against the bricks, demanding for money in German.
"Please," the woman pleaded, in a language that Alfred understood as Korean, "I do not know what you are saying."
Alfred clenched his fists, angry at the scene, and marched in. He pulled the German off the woman quickly, growling in German, "What do you think you are doing?"
The man, either brave or stupid, growled back, "Mind your own business, dummkopf! Go crawl back into whatever hell-hole you came from, ja?"
Alfred gave the man a cruel smirk, one that he usually reserved for the commie bastard, and said, "My friend, I am the bringer of hell, ja?" The man paled, and in a sense of 'I don't feel like dying today!' he punched Alfred in the gut. Alfred winced instantly, his country's current position not being helpful to him in this moment, and he threw the man against the other wall with all his strength. The man was knocked out before he knew what hit him.
Alfred turned back to the woman, a kind and gentle smile now on his face. He said to her in Korean, "Are you okay now, ma'am?" The woman blushed and nodded shakily, still upset over what just happened. "Good," Alfred said, pulling out his phone, "I will call the authorities now, alright?" The woman nodded again, and asked for Alfred to stay until they arrived. "Of course," he replied, the phone ringing.
It took merely a minute or two for German police to get there, and they loaded the man (who was now awakening) into the cruiser. The woman, Hana, refused to be driven to the hospital to be checked out, and said she would get home on her own. She thanked Alfred profusely, unable to express her thanks just once, and he accepted it with a laugh of how it was nothing, that anyone would have done it. He his his winces of pain, certain that his ribs were bruised, but he didn't speak up. It would be... unheroic.
Then he left for the meeting, knowing he'd be late by at least ten minutes. The entire fiasco was five minutes, plus an extra minute waiting for the police, and two minutes explaining it all and being a translator for the woman and police. Hah, ten minutes late. More like fifteen.
It wasn't like this was the first time this has happened. In fact, him being unable to resist his hero complex is why he was usually late, not that he'd let the nations know that. He isn't she why he didn't want them to know, but it always felt weird, whenever he thought about telling the truth. Besides, its not like saying "the hero" every five seconds is far off: Today, he was a hero. He was a hero to a woman in a foreign country in a dark alley. He didn't need anyone's approval on his heroism. He knew what he was, but sometimes, he wishes that the others knew it, too.
So he walked to the meeting, knowing that there would be scoffs and harsh comments, despite having just done what he did, despite having pulled many of them from their own messes, and it didn't bother him (much). He was ready to be a carefree fool, he was ready to not have to worry about those people like Hana that he's saved, or their cold, dead eyes if he got there late. (He just wanted to forget, sometimes.)
Call him a dreamer, if you will, because of his need to be the hero, but he loves it. (Again; despite their cold, dead eyes that sometimes haunt him at night, scaring him awake and torturing all day with questions like, "Why didn't you save me sooner?") He'd do anything to save an innocent, anything. (One day, it will be his downfall. Let it never be said that America did nothing.)
He throws open the doors to the conference room, giving his stupid and usual excuse. Germany tells him to take a seat, and Alfred barely keeps himself from telling everyone why he really was late when he sees Arthur and Mattie roll their eyes, but he remembers that he's the hero and he doesn't need to tell the truth to feel good about himself. He sits down between Britain and Lithuania, his hand dancing around his wounded ribs, waiting for the perfect time to start to sprout off nonsense.
Lithuania, bless the boy, slid a note over to Alfred. He scanned over the words that asked, "Mr. America, are you alright? You're nursing your ribs as if you've been injured." Alfred grinned at his friend, a bit solemnly, comforted that at least someone noticed. His grin grew wider when he realized that if he wanted the nations to know why he was always late, this would be the time to come clean.
"How many times have I asked you to call me Alfred, Toris," he whispered, and suddenly his mouth did the opposite of what he wanted, "Besides, I'm fine. I'm the hero, after all!"
Alfred sighed when Lithuania accepted this with an uneasy look, biting his lip. He perked up, however, before anyone could notice. He pulled on his usual idiotic grin, already forming his upcoming hero speech in his mind that would involve a giant superhero fueled on hamburgers.
He was fine. He's The Hero, you know, and heroes don't bleed.
(Much.)