Warning: Contains OCs (see profile for detaails), Timelines and 9//11. I'm sorry for any who this would upset, but I simply wanted to protray the day through the eyes of these characters. I mean in to way to make light of or demean what happened that day. This is a story, I and I was simply the one to tell it.
Rating: T for 9//11 and swearing.
Disclaimer: I have never nor ever will claim that I owned Hetalia. As much as I wish that were true, it is not. Oh Well, c'est la vie.
9:03 a.m.:
Outside, New York is dragging himself towards the flaming building when the "shot" comes. He blacks out from the pain, his precious Yankee's hat falling off his head. Another bullet-shaped hole appears in his chest, adding more blood to the now red-soaked t-shirt he's wearing.
In D.C., America recoils from another invisible "shot" to his right arm -this one slightly lower than the first- as West Virginia and the EMTs help him out of the ambulance. "Hang in there Dad." West Virginia says quietly, supporting his "father" on his shoulder.
9:04 a.m.: America barks out an uncharacteristically harsh laugh as he spits out, "Don't call me 'Dad.' I'm too young to be a father." The light that West Virginia sees in his eyes is not the normal, stupid, brightness brought about by stories of heroes, and tales of justice that America usually displays. This light is feral, and West Virginia smiles grimly at it; he's just happy that America has any light in his eyes at all.
9:06 a.m.: In Boston, Massachusetts has chosen to stay in his capital and direct efforts from there. He's in direct contact with the FAA command center and taking control like a battlefield commander, all for the aid of his rival. Massachusetts demands that the flights be grounded. Sure enough, the call is sent out; the planes are halted in the Boston area's airports.
In Columbus, Ohio is ordering her those in charge of Cleveland's airports to do the same, and the planes in her state are halted as well. The blonde breathes out a deeply, letting go of the breath she hadn't even know she was holding.
9:07 a.m.: Back in his city,New York is found by an ambulance that takes him to St. Vincent's Hospital in Manhattan. One of the EMTs is especially thoughtful, both grabbing New York's hat, then checks his wallet. He finds the emergency card New Jersey makes him carry, and calls the number listed under "In Case of Emergency."
9:08 a.m.: The ambulance worker reaches New Jersey's cell phone from his own, and tells her what hospital New York has been moved to. New Jersey sobs as the realization sinks in that this is really happening. She thanks the man before hanging up, and continues speeding towards the city, taking a hard and illegal left into an opposite lane in order to avoid traffic. 'I'm coming,' She thinks, 'Hold on.'
9:09 a.m.: Inside the South Tower, Vermont and his party have slowed down due to the smoke that is beginning to filter down into the stairwell from the fires above. One of the survivors coughs, and he turns to help her, but the woman merely waves him away with a steely look in her eyes. He nods wordlessly at her, and continues down the stairs.
9:12 a.m.: Elsewhere,The ambulance carrying New York reaches St. Vincent's Hospital. He is only one of the many injured in the attack who have been brought here, and the hospital is quickly becoming crowded by the influx of wounded New Yorkers.
9:14 a.m.: A man from the senator's office arrives having been informed by a message from Kentucky. He briefs the medics on exactly what's happened to the man they brought in.
9:17 a.m.: The medical team now knows that New York hasn't actually been shot in the traditional sense. Accordingly, they don't send him into surgery since they know they don't have to remove a bullet that isn't there. Instead they send him to the emergency room like the rest of the others who've arrived there without life-threatening injury, where they attempt to close the gaping hole in his chest.
9:18 a.m.: Outside the city limits, New Jersey swerves into the Holland Tunnel, which seems mostly clear in the direction she's going, as understandably, no one is really trying to get into New York City. The outbound lane however, is choking with traffic as people desperately try to leave the city. True to her fashion, New Jersey ignores the lines separating the lanes in the tunnel simply going around the few other drivers in her path in order to go faster.
9:20 a.m.: Somewhere on the road to New York, Pennsylvania gets a call on his cell from Kentucky, he's is telling him about the second plane. The other State is speaking in frustrated tones as he relays all the information he knows. "Washington's working with Massachusetts and Ohio to get the airports shut down. New York's in the hospital, he got found by an ambulance."
In Louisville, Kentucky runs his hand through his hair as he grips the phone a little too tightly as he promises, "I'll try to keep you in the loop."
Back on the road, Pennsylvania thanks him, and hangs up the phone. He spends the next minute or so informing Delaware, who gasps sharply, then presses down harder on the gas pedal.
9:21 a.m.: All bridges and tunnels into Manhattan are closed just minutes after New Jersey exits the Holland Tunnel. Guards begin stopping those who would try to get through.
In the South Tower, Vermont's group of survivors is still continuing downwards, but the strain and smoke are starting to affect some of them seriously. Vermont takes off his suit jacket in the heat, and covers his mouth with it to try and keep the smoke out his lungs. He motions for the others to do the same, and Mr. Neil shrugs off his jacket as best he can, then covers his daughter's mouth instead of his own. The child is resting on his back, looking listless and tired, and Vermont worries that she might no make it. 'Don't think like that.' Vermont tells himself, 'You'll make it; just keep going.'
9:26 a.m.: In Olympia, Washington crows in grim triumph as across the country all plane takeoffs are cancelled, regardless of status or destination.
In their respective capitals, Ohio and Massachusetts give their own acknowledgements to their small victory; Massachusetts by punching a fist into the air, and Ohio whoops, hugging the nearest office worker.
9:27 a.m.: Virginia pulls into the outskirts of D.C., and calls West Virginia from her cell phone. Making a hard stop at the red light, she grinds her teeth as she waits for the light to change, and the other State to pick up.
9:28 a.m.: West Virginia is standing next to America's bedside in the D.C. emergency room when he answers Virginia's call. America is currently sitting up in the hospital bed shirtless, as a swath of bandages has been wrapped around his bleeding arm and shoulder. He's angrily demanding that West Virginia, "help me up so I can go hurt the bastards that did this!" 'I wish we could Dad,' West Virginia thinks 'but we're needed here.' West Virginia gives Virginia the name, and address of the hospital through the phone, then hangs up. He kneads his forehead with the heel of his palm as he reminds himself that he can't charge the foe if he doesn't know where the foe is. Then he smiles grimly, understanding that he'll know eventually, and that once he has a name, no power on earth will stop him from destroying those who would attack his family.
9:30 a.m.: Vermont and his small group reach a flight lower to the ground, and he reads the sign on the wall that tells him he still has twenty floors to go before safety.
9:31 a.m.: Elsewhere in the city, New Jersey finally arrives at St. Vincent's after weaving through the inner-city traffic, which is now even more congested due to panic. She leaps out of her car as soon as she reaches the front of the hospital. She doesn't turn it off, take the keys, or even park; not caring if her car gets stolen. All New Jersey cares about right now is that New York is hurt, and that she's going to be there for him if it kills her.
9:32 a.m.: She reaches the front desk of the hospital, and is directed to the emergency ward, where she finds that New York has been moved to his own room for security reasons now that the hospital staff has closed the wounds as best they could.
9:33 a.m.: New Jersey runs directly to the room where New York is being kept. Once there, she sees him in a hospital bed. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing shallowly. New Jersey stumbles over to his side, and then collapses from rage and grief. Her tears are soaking the hospital sheets as his blood begins to dye the relatively new bandages red.
9:34 a.m.: In D.C.,Virginia gets to the Washington Hospital Center handing her keys and a twenty dollar bill to the valet at the front tarmac loop. His eyes widen at the money, surprised; it's only five dollars to park. The man turns to ask if there was a mistake, but the Southern State has already bolted into the building like a shot from her beloved rifle.
9:37 a.m.: Just as Virginia enters America's hospital room in D.C., the third plane strikes the western side of The Pentagon in Arlington. Virginia screams, and America yells in pain before they both pass out. West Virginia yells for the staff, catching his rival as what looks like a bullet wound appears on her forehead, and is matched on America's left temple.
9:38 a.m.: West Virginia explains to the staff that Virginia is like America, -she hasn't really been shot- and the staff cleans and dresses the wound. More nurses and doctors crowd around America and try to rush West Virginia out of the room.
9:39 a.m.: The staff loses this battle, as West Virginia merely ignores their cries of protest as he shifts his rival into a position that is easier to move.
Back in the South Tower, Vermont and his small group are only five floors from the ground, and Vermont thinks he can hear the firemen shouting into the rubble.
9:40 a.m.: In D.C., West Virginia deposits Virginia on the waiting stretcher in a deadly calm with a startling amount of gentleness. He tries to smooth the blonde curls out of her face, only succeeding in spreading the blood from the wound around. West Virginia then stands, shaking with suppressed rage for a moment before he breathes deeply to calm himself.
Vermont yells out hoarsely to the firemen, which then develops into coughing as he inhales an unhealthy amount of black smoke.
9:41 a.m.: "Kit, this is Lewis." West Virginia connects to Kentucky from D.C. in a dead tone. The other State has become the state in charge of spreading word between the states through some turn of events. "Shirley's been hit; I'm guessing it was The Pentagon."
In Louisville, Kentucky swears colorfully, thanks West Virginia, and then hangs up.
In The South Tower, Vermont coughs harder, and Mr. Neil smacks him hard on the back to clear the State's lungs. As the man steps forward down the stairs, taking the lead.
9:43 a.m.: Vermont looks up in time to see a beam breaking off of the bottom of a flight of stairs, directly above Mr. Neil's head. 'Look out!' Vermont thinks he tries to shout, but only coughs again. Vermont throws himself at the man in an attempt to prevent him from being hit by the piece of metal.
Back in D.C, both the Whitehouse and Capitol Hill are being evacuated. Maryland is aiding the evacuation, helping the President's family out of the building, his lab coat fluttering behind him in the breeze, looking unusually calm and focused for such an absent-minded State.
9:44 a.m.: In The South Tower, Vermont knocks into Mr. Neil, shoving him out of the way of the brunt of the falling beam, but the man still takes a glancing blow off of his head that somehow miraculously misses the man's daughter. Vermont picks up the girl and hefts the beam off of the other man using his other hand, lifting the girl onto his own back before helping Mr. Neil up. "Mr. Neil?! Can you hear me?!" The man looks at the State through glazed eyes, but nods, slowly as they clear the last four and a half floors.
9:45 a.m.: All the planes in the country are grounded as Massachusetts, Ohio, and Washington take charge of the airways. All of the planes in flight are ordered to land as soon as possible at the nearest airstrip. Washington calls "Uncle" Canada to ask if "I can reroute all the international flights your way?" Canada agrees immediately, and begins stopping all of his own commercial outbound flights. He offers to help the States out in any way he can, and asks after America. Washington tells Canada through the phone, "He's- We're- Just- Yeah. Just- Call Kentucky." The State hangs up in the frustrated silence, leaving Canada to confusedly do as the State said, and call Kentucky.
Back in New York City, Vermont exits the South Tower, his pale skin covered in soot as he supports Mr. Neil on his shoulder. The man's daughter is clinging to his neck, still listless. Vermont passes the man to the emergency workers before also handing over the little girl. Someone puts an oxygen mask on the little girl, and carries her into the waiting ambulance. Vermont turns back to the rest of his party and sees that the men and women he faces are covered in as much soot as he is. He gathers his courage, turning to go once again into the burning building; "Wait."
9:46 a.m.: Vermont feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns back around to see the person attached to the hand. It's a firefighter, presumably a young woman though Vermont can't tell under the mask. She's in the colors of the New York Fire Department, though they've been darkened by the soot. "I don't know who you are, but you should leave this to the professionals." Vermont opens his mouth to protest but only inhales another cloud of ash, breaking into another coughing fit. Vermont doesn't have the chance to recover and argue, because the firefighter shoves him onto the nearest ambulance with Mr. Neil and his daughter. He's carted away before he can do anything else.
9:48 a.m.: In his home in Ontario, Canada gets off the phone with Kentucky with a "Thank you." and leans his back against the wall, sliding down it slowly, until he comes to a rest, letting the phone drop from his hands. He has his knees pulled up close to his chest, with his forehead resting on them. All sorts of different thoughts are rushing through his head, but most of them are a repetition of what his "nephew" just finished telling him. 'Two planes in New York. One plane in Arlington.'
9:49 a.m.: 'Shit,' Canada thinks, his glasses in one hand as he wipes his eyes with the other; 'Why him? Why America, for God's sake?' Canada already knows the answer to his question, but he doesn't want to even attempt thinking about his brother's mistakes. Not now. Not today. America deserves a break, today of all days.
9:50 a.m.: Back in D.C.;"Its okay Mrs. President, please get into the van now." Maryland helps the first lady into the evacuation van with a shaking hand, and she looks at him with a tight smile, trying to reassure the worrying State. "Son," she says sympathetically, "You should take care of yourself first before you worry about me." Maryland smiles wryly. "Yes ma'am."
9:54 a.m.: In Ontario, Canada stands. 'Be strong Alfred,' he thinks, putting his glasses back on as he picks the phone of the wooden floor of his house. "England, America's in trouble."
9:56 a.m.: In London, England is in the middle of his afternoon tea when he gets the call. "Canada, what're you bloody talking about…?" England beings, before he's cut off by the unusually forceful Nation. "Turn on your TV to CNN. Or any of his news stations; they're all saying the same thing."
9:57 a.m.: England doesn't even register as his good china teacup drops from his hand and shatters. Nor does he notice when he drops the phone. All England can see, are the pictures of the Towers, and the image of America's face imposed over the smoke that his imagination is adding to the horror.
9:59 a.m.: The South Tower collapses in a rain of fire, ash, and building materials. New York groans in his unconsciousness, and New Jersey turns to the window and watches silently as what was once a monument to New York & his city crumbles. The EKG machine spikes frantically for a few moments, then the wound on New York's chest darkens the bandages as the building falls.
Outside on another street, Vermont finds himself in traffic with the crew of the ambulance, watching the EMTs treat Mr. Neil while en route to the hospital. The man Vermont pulled from the wreckage has a nasty gash on his forehead from the falling beam. 'Probably a concussion,' Vermont thinks, watching an EMT clean the cut. The man's daughter is wailing at the top of her lungs, and Vermont picks her up, in an attempt to do something. He hopes against hope that the firefighter he met made it out okay, and he's shaken by the though that if she hadn't made him leave, he would have still been in the building when it went down.