Please Read What's Written On My Profile Before Continuing.

Everything Below this line is old.


Hetalia is the property of Hidekaz Himaruya. Support official release.


America breathed shakily, the fever burned him in a way he had never felt before. Whenever he opened his eyes, everything was blurry and indistinguishable. His ears rang with a high pitched whine that ate its way into his mind and tormented him all the more. He shuddered hoping that this agony would soon end. He couldn't recall how long he had been sick or what was going on around him. His head was absolutely exploding. He felt as if hundreds of ant were crawling up to his head and swarming about in his skull. He couldn't even turn himself over.

"Bri...brit..."

Even speaking took a horrible toll on him. His body was sticky from all the sweat that poured down his body. His mouth gaped wide open as if trying to exhale as much heat as possible. The only source of cooling he found was that of his tears that slid down his face.

But eventually, his fever cooled some and body managed to find some ease in the pain. America slept soundly for several hours until he woke. Blinking his eyes, he waited for them to focus on his surroundings. What he saw confused and frightened him a little. He was in a very large, very warm room that was lit only by a fireplace on the other side of the room, and a dim oil lamp that hug above close by. It was pretty dark, but comforting. His sheets were thick, much thicker than any he had slept with before. Not to mention the bed was pretty sizable too. And the mattress and pillows were bloated compared to his small size.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps. America turned his head, still too weak to sit up in bed, and watched as a giant, eerie form hovered over him.

"Ah, your awake."

The figure sat down and America was able to distinguish his features. He had a friendly, kind face, but America could sense something was a bit off about this man.

"Wha...Whe..." he breathed.

"Don't push yourself," the strange man said gently, "You've gotten over the worst of it, but you'll still need a few more days to recover. Just rest until your strength comes back."

"What happened?" America managed to breathe out.

"There was a bad fire in one of your towns. A lot of people suffered. Fortunately it was dealt with quickly, so nobody else is going to get hurt."

America closed his eyes. He breathed for a minute and felt the slight tinge of lingering pain coming from his home.

"Here, try and drink as much of this as you can."

America felt a large hand come up behind his little head. As his neck leaned forward, the man brought a bowl towards his lips. America's lips latched on to the rim and he forced himself to swallow as much as his body would allow. He was surprised how delicious it was and managed to swallow half before his body refused to take in any more. When the man saw that he was done, he set the soup on the table next to the bed.

"Good. I expect that your appetite won't be completely returned until a little later." he rose to his feet. "I'll be back to see how you are in a little while"

America turned "Wh...who...?"

The man guessed his question. "My name is Russia. I'm a country like yourself."

"Britain...where's..."

"I'll explain everything once your better. But for now, try and rest. You're going to need your strength."

Russia left. America laid his head back into the pillow. The nation seemed innocent enough, at least for now. Either way, America was extremely tired and that soup had made him all the more drowsy, his eyelids lowered further and further until he was caught in a deep and peaceful slumber.


Britain sat in his parlor just staring off into space. The grandfather clock made its melancholic tick over and over, seemingly mocking his pain.

"What to do..." Britain muttered simply. "What to do..."

He was scared. America, in his weakened form, was now in the possession of Russia. Of all people, why did it have to be Russia? Even France would have been a better choice than that!

"Well now, lets not be rash!" Britain quickly corrected his thoughts.

He slumped in his chair, hand on his face as it gripped his chin. He sighed in frustration.

Knock, Knock!

The sound of the door snapped him out of his trance. Shaking his head, he heaved himself out of his chair and sauntered to the door.

Knock, knock!

"Yes, yes! I know, I'm coming!" Britain called in irritation.

He undid the latch and unlocked the door. Swinging it open, he was a first surprised, then relieved to find Norway at the door.

"Oh Norway! Terribly sorry, I didn't realize it was you. Won't you come in?"

Britain was eager to what Norway had to say to him. He had sent him the book a few days ago and waited anxiously for his reply. Perhaps if he knew the spell that was cast, he would be able to find and rescue America without having to confront Russia.

"So what did you find?" he asked. "Do you know what the..."

"Who did you cast this on?" Norway cut in.

"I beg your pardon?"

Norway raised the magic book in his hands, his pinky was placed within the book to mark a certain area. He flipped it open with one hand to the page where Britain had read the spell.

"This spell, who did you cast it on?"

Britain looked at Norway and was shocked to find that his typically emotionless face was staring with grave concern. He almost looked angry in a way, something Britain was not used to.

"I..." Britain stuttered. "I didn't cast it on anyone. I was merely trying to...uh...to the first spell on some food before the page got stuck."

"Don't lie to me." Norway said, almost growling. "There is no way that you would take the time to seek my help if you had misread these two spells like this. You would have assumed it didn't work and left it alone. But this spell that you read. THIS spell requires the presence of someone else. Someone else had to have been present for this to take effect, otherwise nothing would have happened. So don't try telling me that you didn't cast this on someone."

Britain grit his teeth in nervousness. He considered the idea of telling Norway about what happened, but found himself resorting to feigning ignorance.

"Well, what does this spell even do?"

"Oh I think you know very well what it does." Norway responded, a note of viciousness present in his voice. "Stop trying my patience and just tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened, I swear!" Britain insisted. If he told Norway about the incident, then it was likely that America would have to be transformed back, and there was no way that he'd allow that to happen.

Norway looked at him curtly. he lowered the magic book and sighed deeply. Without warning, he flung the magic book into the air.

"Here."

Britain scrambled to catch it and looked up as Norway walked away.

"Hey!" Britain called. "Where do you think you're going?!"

"It's clear you're not interested in my help. You seem pretty satisfied with what you've done, I don't need to be here any longer."

"But what about the spell?!" Britain shouted. "Aren't you at least going to tell me that much?!"

"When you decide to tell the truth, then I'll talk."


America yawned, stretching his little arms above him. He rubbed his eyes drearily as he looked around the room. His fever had gone and he felt a lot better, but he was absolutely starving. He looked towards the table next to the bed hoping that the other half of the soup was still there, but to his disappointment it had been removed.

He started to ease his way out of the bed. he had to drop to the floor and wobbled once he was on his feet. He hadn't eaten in a few days, so he was rather shaky. He stumbled and was about to fall when a pair of large hands caught hold of him.

"Well, it's good to see you up and about, but you're not quite ready to be walking around."

America looked up to see the smiling face of Russia. He then felt himself being hoisted into the air and placed back into the bed. He looked over to Russia as his face brightened when he saw what Russia had brought him.

"Eat as much as you can. You've been unable to eat very much, so I'm sure you're hungry."

Russia, knowing America brought an enormous tray of Pirozhki along with a large bowl of Lapsha. America may have been a child, but if Russia knew anything about him, he figured his stomach would not have shrunk that much from being an adult.

And he was right. America downed the soup and started stuffing his face with the meat dish. He went a little too fast however and had to pause in order to completely swallow what was in his throat.

"Slow down." Russia smiled. "It's not going anywhere. Besides, you are a boy, not a wolf." "Although you could've fooled me." He thought to himself.

America hit his chest a few times to help the food go down. once it reached his stomach, he leaned back in relief.

"Sorry, it's just..." he paused and looked at the food that was left. "I've just never tasted anything this good. Not even Britain makes food this delicious."

Russia grit his teeth together to keep from snickering. "Well, it's just a peasant dish, but spasibo."

Soon after, America finished and soon fell back asleep so his still weak body could digest the newly acquired food. Russia sat by him until America was breathed softly.

"You are so fortunate..." He stood and stroked the little head.

"Why..." he said miserably. "Why did you have to have everything work out in your favor." he didn't want to say anything, but looking at America's innocent and frail face, he saw himself all those years ago. Like America, people had sought after what he had to offer. Like America, his strength was incredible even when he was young. And like America, he was often alone.

"So much about us in the same." he clenched his fist in frustration. "We had to go through such similar events. But you. Somehow, it was you who ended up with the better world. It was you people admired and looked up to. And look at me." his gaze fell to the floor. "Here I am, still as miserable and pained as the day I was born. Even now, even now after you broke down the U.S.S.R, even now my people can't stop fearing to future. They flee to your country, sometimes selling themselves like those purchasable brides just for a chance to live at your home!"

Russia squinted. Frustrated all the more.

"And I look at you. I look at your people. Throwing away their freedoms. Complaining about things my people would kill for! You don't even realize what you have! You don't understand what kind of paradise you live in! It's the paradise that I dreamed of all my life.

"My people, I want to give them something better! I want to give them a reason to love their home and to say its name with pride. But they can't because their afraid of what the future holds. I can't even be sure where I'm headed. For me, everything is a blur. That's how it's been all my life. Just a blur of snow and blood."

"So why..." he grimaced. "Why is it that you have all the luxuries of the world? Why is it that you have to have everything?"

Russia relaxed, his eyes wavered and a small smile crept upon his face.

"I would say it's not fair...but I know best of all just how unfair life is."

Russia took one last look at America.

"Maybe now, with you here...Maybe now I can find a way to make my future a future worth seeing."

Russia turned and left, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, America opened his eyes and looked towards the door. He was very good at pretend sleeping. So much so that not even Britain could tell whether he was awake or not. He sat up in bed and looked with concern towards the door.

"What did he mean? 'I am so fortunate'?" he wondered to himself. He was completely confused with everything that Russia had said. All these things he said about America made no sense and didn't fit him whatsoever. He was just a weak little colony, he didn't have riches and luxuries that this country talked about. If anything that would've been someone like Britain or France.

America started to worry. He couldn't exactly tell, but this Russia character must not like him. He didn't understand why, but in any case, he no longer felt safe being in his home. He made a few preparations and climbed out of a nearby window, being sure to shut the window behind him out of courtesy. He was surprised how cold it was, but it was late spring, so there was still a lot of snow on the ground, but it was not as bad as it would have been in the late winter. Besides, he had managed through several brutal seasons on his own, so this cold was nothing that new to him.

He started trekking through the snow, the soft drift of snowflakes steadily covering his tracks behind him.


Russia returned the next morning to find the room empty. He examined the window, and as he assumed, there were signs of America's departure. He was about to leave when he notices a small scrap of paper siting on the bed. He picked it up and found a message written in beautiful penmanship.

"Dear Mr. Russia.

I'm sorry, but I feel that it is time for me to go. You are clearly mad at me for some reason, and in all honesty, I'm a little frightened. I heard you talking about me and I know that you are confused. I don't have riches. I don't have luxuries. I don't have any of those things. It anyone has it, it's Britain, or France or some other important nation. I'm nobody. I'm just a little colony of Britain's, nothing more. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you want. I hope someday you will find the hope and freedom you are looking for.

Signed,

America

P.S. thank you for everything you've done. I am really grateful."

Russia looked at the letter for a while. And then folding it gently, he smiled and closed his eyes as he chuckled softly.

"You're nobody eh?" he sighed. "Now that's quite humerous."

He looked back at the paper in his hands.

"It's so strange how time tends to change things like that."