Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia or its characters. If I did, I would not be writing this.
Alfred F. Jones raised a curious eyebrow as he re-read the letter in his hands. England? Suffering? From what, Alfred wondered. Francis was there for more than five minutes, so the situation had to be bad enough to the point where England didn't even have the motivation to throw the Frenchman out the door right away. Was it the apocalypse? Was Arthur's economy failing? America couldn't help but be incredibly curious of his friend's situation, and decided to take Francis up on his offer to fly to England's house. Placing the letter on the coffee table and bounding up the stairs to his bedroom, America packed his largest suitcase with clothes that would hold him over for a month. Heroes were never needed for more than a day, he knew, but he liked it where England lived and perhaps a vacation was best for him. With his economy being healed, he was feeling a bit better, but his people were continuously rejecting his boss. With a sigh, Alfred trudged back down the stairs and to his Ford Mustang, popped the trunk, and plopped his suitcase there with a satisfying thunk. He then situated himself in the front seat and began his drive to the D.C. Airport, jumping on the web with his Motorola Droid to book last-minute tickets to London.
The D.C. Airport Terminal was as crowded as ever, with shouts, cries, and curious calls flooding Alfred's ears. People pushed past him, jostling his luggage around a bit, but this was all normal for Alfred. It was what he went through every time he visited England. Park, check-in, get pushed, shoved, and yelled at. Then proceed to idle around the terminal until his flight was boarding, then board, proceed to be pushed and shoved again, and then finally nestle down in his first-class chair next to some crazy businessman. Said businessman would be rapidly slamming the keys of his laptop, fervently e-mailing another crazy businessman about what stocks to buy or sell that week. All of that bored Alfred, to be honest. He usually ended up watching a movie on his iPod, because karma hated him and never gave him the window seat. As much as he loved flying, it wasn't the same without the stunning view of the topography of the land below. Or, if he happened to book a plane at night, the view of the shimmering stars in the sky. Seven hours was a long, drawn-out wait; especially when you were sitting on a plane doing absolutely nothing except for deciding which movies still fit your taste. This is all worth it, Alfred tells himself every time, because I'll get to see what's up with England.
"Passengers, we are now landing in London Airport in the United Kingdom. Please fasten your seat belts and be sure to turn off all electronic devices…" Alfred obliged, putting his iPod away in his pocket. Glancing to his left, he noted that the businessman hadn't bothered to pay attention to the announcement and neglected to even glance away from his computer screen. Alfred had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the man; honestly, what was five minutes of his time? Could he not type a simple "be right back" to whoever it was he was talking with? Sometimes, though Alfred would never admit it (he's a hero, after all) he did grow tired of watching his people's rude displacement. As the copilot called out signals for the first and coach classes to disembark, Alfred stood and thanked the pilot for the excellent, turbulence-free flight, and hurried down to the baggage claim. It wasn't as if he feared that he wouldn't be able to find his luggage. Hell no, his bag was adorned with more than 20 American Flag stickers, and had a 'Hero' keychain linked to the handle. If he couldn't find his bag, he needed his eyes checked. The reason why he wanted to hurry to the baggage claim was so he could get his hands on his bag first, and be able to hail a cab and get to Arthur's house as soon as possible. The letter Francis had written him was shoved hastily into his bomber jacket pocket, as he had almost left it on the coffee table. None of the events that happened following the receiving of that letter had been able to quell Alfred's anxiousness. What was wrong with England?
Alfred stumbled outside, breathing in the rainy air of London. Quickly hailing a cab, he tossed his bag into the trunk and slid into the backseat of the vehicle. Alfred recited England's address (it came naturally to him now, as he visited Arthur so many times before) and the cab sped off. On the way, Alfred stared absentmindedly at the usual London rains barrage the speeding taxi cab with somewhat tired eyes. In his rush to get out of the house, he'd left his coffee unattended, causing him to be quite drowsy. Oh, well, Alfred reasoned in his mind, Iggy always keeps extra coffee for my visits anyway.
"Alright, here we are." The taxi driver announced in a heavy British accent. Alfred was knocked out of his trance, and thanked the driver, removing his bag from the trunk before making his way to the front door. Along the way, he noted that England's flower beds weren't as vibrant as they used to be. America's brow furrowed. England always kept a close eye on his flowers; besides embroidery, it was another one of his feminine hobbies. Reaching the cherry wood door, Alfred raised his knuckles and rapped harshly. He heard a muffled "Coming!" from inside, and not soon after the door swung wide open to reveal an incredibly troubled-looking Francis. Which, in Alfred's eyes, was not a pretty sight. His usually glossy hair was unruly and tangled, while his eyes showed dark circles, revealing a poor night's sleep. This was also proved in his attire– his vivid purple coat was rumpled and his capelet was off-center, indicating he had slept in it. Francis's red pants were wrinkled as well, and his French flag-styled house slippers weren't helping him look any more proper. Not to mention his stubble, which had now developed into a slight beard.
"Ah, Amerique! I was hoping you would arrive soon!" Francis greeted with a tired smile, stepping aside to allow Alfred to enter England's home. "I am afraid Angleterre has… fallen into a coma since I wrote to you, mon cher."
America watched as France's brows creased with concern as he looked toward England's living room. "He fell asleep on the couch, and no matter how hard I shook him, He just would not awaken."
"Is he still on the couch?" America inquired, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the matted blonde hair he knew so well.
"Non, I moved him to his own room. But I just cannot figure out what is wrong!" Francis cried, pulling his hair. "He hasn't spoken to me since I arrived this morning! And I only wanted to give Angleterre a pleasant visit…"
I don't think any visit he gets from you is pleasant, Francis. America thought. "Well, I'm gonna go see how Iggy's doing."
"Do not get your hopes up, mon cher," Francis warned, "it is not looking good for our dear Arthur."
Would you quit using 'our dear'? America thought defensively, then stopped himself. Why am I so defensive all of a sudden? I'm just concerned for a friend. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything. Alfred continued on into England's house, knowing exactly which halls to take to reach England's room. The door was closed, but Alfred paid no mind to it and pushed it open, inwardly wincing at the creak it made. The inside of England's room was just how Alfred remembered it– antique wooden furniture, with a twin-sized bed squished into the far right corner of the room. The blanket had the pattern of the Union Jack, and Alfred could see that Francis had bundled England up under the covers. In order to actually peek at Arthur's face, America had to practically stand right next to the Englishman. Upon seeing his face, Alfred's expression grew perplexed. He had seen England sleep before, but never had he seen Arthur's face so… calm when he was asleep; usually Arthur's features would be twisted into a scowl or pressed with sadness. But today… they he looked at ease, as if nothing were bothering him. For some reason, this unnerved Alfred.
"When do you think he'll wake up?" America wondered with anxiety.
"I do not know, mon cher," France appeared at Alfred's side, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but all we can do now is wait, oui?"
America shrugged his hand away. "I guess."
So they waited. To Alfred, this was even more agonizing than the plane. This was simply because not only did he have to sit around and do nothing, but he had to sit around and do nothing while listening to Francis drone on about "our dear Angleterre." And aforementioned "Angleterre" could do nothing about it, because he was busy being damn near comatose while Alfred hovered at his side. After about three hours or so, something inside Alfred snapped.
"...and oh, what if our dear Angleterre does not awaken? That would be the worst; there were so many things I could have done for him in that time…"
"France! What is going to be accomplished if we just sit here and do nothing?! This isn't the heroic thing to do! Heroes don't mope and worry about things that haven't happened! We have to do something!"
It was at this precise moment when England's eyes fluttered open. Alfred and Francis immediately turned toward him. Arthur blinked a few times, fighting away the grogginess that was paired with first waking up. Sitting up in bed, Arthur stared to and fro from Alfred to Francis. Both of the nations waited with baited breath to see if he would, at last, speak.
"Okay, I know who you are," England pointed to France, "but… who in the Queen's name are you?" He added, looking pointedly at Alfred.
America's eyes widened in shock. England didn't know who he was? But there were so many things that Alfred and Arthur had both been involved in throughout history. There were both World Wars, the Great Depression… even the Revolutionary War! How could it be that England forgot?
A/N: So, there we have it. First chapter of a new project that, for a change, I'm actually enjoying. This hasn't necessarily been completely looked over, so there might be a few errors. Alert me of them in a review if you see them! Speaking of, if you like the story, review. Feedback keeps me in check. If I'm ever OOC, review and let me know. Because if you don't I'll just keep ignorantly thinking that what I have is in character. Thanks for reading!