I don't own anything in Hetalia except my OC. Thank you and enjoy!

'Help me…'

That was the first thing I heard.

Now, don't get me wrong; I have a very hyperactive imagination. I hear - and see lots of things. I very rarely see things for how they actually are. I always see more. So much so,that even when I tell my colleagues, they say 'Sir, you're only dreaming!' And 'Pull yourself back to reality, it's 1842!'

What a load of bullshit.

As a new country, I can't help but doubt myself and my own abilities. It all started when I broke away from the United Kingdom - and ultimately, my former caretaker, Arthur. We haven't spoken since...61 years ago to be exact. And as if things couldn't get any worse, I know that my independence alone won't be enough to satisfy me, or my people either.

Half of me isn't even free yet.

'Help...me…'

There it was again...oh, well, maybe it was my imagination.

To put it rather blatantly, I hate slavery. No, I loathe it. For people, my own people to strip human beings of their families, culture, and home, and for them to ship them all the way here to have them dehumanized and work like machinery - makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me disgusted and absolutely ashamed.

But what really makes me ashamed? I can't do anything about it. Yeah, me. America himself can't even save his own people- and granted, if you ever immigrated here or came here for whatever reason you are one of my people. I've even asked President Tyler and he even told me that it "wasn't that simple.''

Like hell it isn't!

'...help...me…'

...what?

Ahem. My point is that, I want everyone to be free. Everyone in this country has a right to be free. I want to be everyone's hero. I don't need any more death. We don't need any more families torn apart. I just hope that-

'HELP ME!'

This time I couldn't ignore it.

I immediately stopped my carriage and got out of it slowly, putting my hat back on my head. I had forgotten how cold it was since it was nearing Christmas, but I was glad I hadn't forgotten my waistcoat. It sounded like there was a young woman crying out.

"Hello? Is someone there? Where are you?!"

I walked through the tall snow of New York and I tried to find the owner of the voice. I searched around buildings tall and small, but still I could not find the voice. Still, though, I didn't give in.

"Excuse me! Who is there?!"

And then, I heard soft, broken, and pained sobbing.

When I turned around, I saw a dark alleyway that smelled of dry blood. It was a smell I knew oh too well.

Even so, I stood my ground and walked in, in case anybody wanted to attack.

Someone was hurting, and I needed to be their hero.

I treaded carefully through the alley, step by step, trying to reach where the injured woman was. It got even colder now from how dark it was, but even more, I pushed forward.

And then, I heard a sob.

The things I heard and saw were in the following order; I heard the crying first, and then I saw a big lump of snow piled up high, but I still didn't see the woman. She was nowhere in sight.

"Where…"

...Oh My God.

Quickly, I ran to the pile of snow and I began to dig. I had forgotten my gloves today, but I didn't care. I kept on digging. Deeper, and deeper. And as if it confirmed my fears, the cries got louder each time I dug.

What I found once I got deep enough shocked me.

I saw a broken and bleeding leg that was a sweet chocolate brown. Not wanting to injure her more than she already was, I began to dig more so the snow was off of most of the badge colored dress I saw and I pulled her up to see her face…

Beauty and horror met me.

This lady was a runaway, it seemed. Her dark hair was mostly covered in ice and her intricately shaped face seemed to be suffering from frostbite. Her gingerbread eyes showed whatever life they had left and it seemed like she was struggling to breathe.

"...Help...Help...me…"

She didn't need to ask again.

Immediately, I picked her up in my arms and I carried her all the way back to my carriage. She would be warmer there. Instead of heading to a meeting - which I was going to in the first place- I went the other way. I went all the way back home.

I want to be everyone's hero, but apparently, it's not that simple. But what if I became her hero? I could save her. I could bring her back to life. Like heros always do.

They would judge me. Everyone would judge me.

And yet I don't give a fuck.

To save this beautiful lady would be the first step to freedom, in my eyes.