Deleted scene - Weirdmageddon begins and America breaks into a thousand pieces.

This is the first thing I wrote for this story. I really like it but I ultimately decided that it was too much to start with. I also view this more of a Gravity Falls story than a Hetalia story and I didn't like starting everything out with America.

That being said, it did help me really wrap my head around the broader effects of Weirdmageddon.

State personifications are Original Characters.

I haven't done any kind of editing on this so I'm assuming it's full of typos and missing words.

One moment, America was tightening his belt as he dressed for a long day of meetings, the next he was on the floor, screaming, back arched as he jerked and spasmed, fingers stabbing down into the old wood floorboards and ripping up shards of broken timber.

The splinters digging into his skin, the iron nails piercing his flesh, the blood oozing down the side of his face from where he'd hit it on the way down-

None of it mattered.

He didn't even feel it.

Far on the other side of his land, a literal hellscape had opened up to consume what had been a sleepy logging town in the state of Oregon.

In an instant, the delightfully weird town of Gravity Falls went from a small crossroad of the mundane and the supernatural to wrong.

As the dream demon Bill Cipher howled and cackled in triumph, Gravity Falls warped, changed - tearing and rending America's mind as the new dimension overtook the town.

Trees turned into twisted feet, landmarks like the water tower and giant wooden lumberjack screeched as an unnatural life and sentience was bestowed on them. Water turned to blood and the air was quickly filled with ash, smoke, and the other strange and frightening smells.

As even more demons appeared, his people were run down, captured and . . . changed . . . America's mind began to fracture. The wrongness of this new dimension imposing itself on him-

As the natural laws of the world were twisted and broken-

America's screams suddenly stopped with a choking sound. Eyes rolled back in his head and his body began to spasm. His mind, his boy, unable to cope with the forced, horrific warping of a part of himself, shattered into a mess of misfiring neurons.

Once the seizure ended, America found a mind - a single, brave, young, defiant, foolish mind that roared in fury and vowed to put an end to this- Weirdmageddon.

Clinging desperately to this mind even as a new wave of wrong swept over him-the-land-his-people, sparking a new round of misfires that twisted the body collapsed on the ground in Washington, DC.

In Gravity Falls, Dipper ran. He ran from Bill's henchmen, from the smell of the destroyed journals. He was going to find Mabel, Grunkle Stan, Wendy-

A small sob escaped his throat.

help me help him them us stop bill wrong bad weird stophelpmustpleasestop

The thought flickered so quickly, Dipper didn't even realize it came from outside his own mind.

He would find everyone, save Great Uncle Ford, and stop Bill.

Back in Washington, America dimly felt a brief flicker of hope.

He'd known the pain of his injuries before his mind finally grew aware of itself.

Ow.

He hurt everywhere.

It was over.

What was?

They'd won. At a cost-

With a strangled whimper, America struggled to put his thoughts in order.

Weirdmageddon.

The word flashed through his mind, sending a shudder of terror through him while the shards of his battered psyche stabbed at his , America struggled to force back the madness he could feel encroaching once more.

Hands suddenly touched him, his face, fingers clutching at his skin.

"Papa, it's okay, you're okay, you're safe."

The voice was hoarse, tired, sad? Upset.

"Just- just breath. Breath. In and out, in and out." Cutting off with a sob, one of the hands moved, pressing against his chest.

After several moments, America felt a pattern. The hand pressed and relaxed over and over. Pushing back the fear, the insanity lurking so very close, America struggled to follow the pressure, taking in a gasping breath when the hand was light and forcing the air out as the hand pressed down. The rhythm continued for several minutes until America was breathing steadily again.

The voice sighed and then the hands vanished. Metal scraping on tile suddenly sounded and the hands returned, reaching out and clasping one of his. Clumsily, with a hand that didn't seem to want to more properly, America rotated his hand to clumsily thread his fingers through the other's.

There was a sudden, quick intake of air. "Papa?" the voice whispered.

When he finally opened uncooperative eyes, when the light stopped burning holes in his skull, a weak smile worked its way across his face. "Hey," he croaked.

It felt like days had gone by when the doctors finally left the room, when New Jersey's additional tests started to repeat and New Hampshire forced him out the door. Turning, he fought back a fresh round of tears at the sight of America sitting up and alert against the angled head of the bed. He was frighteningly pale and hollow-eyed but even that was a dramatic improvement over the mindless screaming husk of a man he'd been the day before

Papa, America, the man who'd been so strong when he'd started gathering the new colonies to him, protecting and loving them as they won independence and became free states. Striving to make peace as their people spread West and their family grew. Refusing to cast blame even as a family squabble turned into a horrific and bloody war.

Giving him another weak smile, America spoke, "What do you think they odds are I'm the only one of our kind to have that many seizures, brain hemorrhages, and strokes?"

"It's not funny," New Hampshire whispered. Nothing the doctors tried had stopped the medical episodes and no one, personification and doctor alike, could figure out what was happening. Or how it could be happening to one of them .

"Sorry," america muttered. He stared down at his hands, taking in the bandages wrapped around his fingers, palms, and up his arms. "It just doesn't quite seem real."

"If you weren't one of us you would be dead," New Hampshire said in a flat voice.

"It I wasn't . . . this . . . " he gestured vaguely at himself, "it wouldn't have hap- Oregon!"

New Hampshire dove forward as America started to clamber out of bed, his movement frantic.

"She's okay, well, I mean…" Gripping America's shoulders, New Hampshire forced America to sit back against the bed.

"After Virginia found you," New Hampshire hesitated, trying to find a non-threatening way to say 'in the middle of a deadly medical emergency and psychotic episode' (there wasn't one). "Um, found you," he continued awkwardly, "she activated Code Red, got the phone tree going. Washington found Oregon about two hours later. You've both been, err, presenting the symptoms, so she came to a little after you did."

Pulling out his (nearly dead) phone, New Hampshire found the updates Washington had sent out and turned the device around so America could see for himself.

His father reached out and took the device, scrolling back through the messages with a quick flick of a bandaged finger.

"Even Canada doesn't know," New Hampshire reported with satisfaction. "I mean, he knows something's happened but so far, everyone non-American is under the impression you went on another horror movie marathon and we're still working through the panic attack."

"Nothing like a well known phobia to keep inquiring minds at bay," America chuckled.

"If only it truly was an epic misdirect," New Hampshire sighed wistfully. America's fear of ghosts was very real if, perhaps, not quite what the other Nations thought it was.

"Brat." Crossing his arms, America continued, "Now, tell me how-"

"Nuh uh," New Hampshire interrupted in a sharp voice. "I know you want a full sitrep and we want a debrief from you on what the hell happened but right now you need rest."

Recognizing the stubborn expression on New Hampshire's face, America begrudgingly allowed himself to be tucked back into bed.

"Go home," America ordered as he pulled the scratchy hospital blanket up to his chin. "You're making me tired just looking at you."

Despite clear reluctance, America managed to convince New Hampshire to head home and sleep in a real bed. Two hours later, wind whistling through his hair, America was trying to decide just how mad New Hampshire, Virginia, and the others were going to be once they realized he'd flown the coop.

Glancing around to confirm no other cars were around, America pulled his stolen Cadillac to a stop in front of a small battered looking self storage building. Wincing as he cranked the handle to manually roll the window back up, America took a deep breath before opening the door and climbing out of the car.

Ginny was definitely going to kill him. Or at least chain him to his desk.

But he couldn't stay in the hospital. Not when trying to remember what had happened made the world twist and bend in on itself while sound warped and became color. Something BIG and TERRIBLE and WEIRD had happened and he had to find out what it was so that he could make sure it never happened ever again. Not to him, not to Oregon, and not to anyone else.

Happily, the lock on his secret storage unit was able to read his biometrics even through the bandages and wounds and he was quick to pull the lock free of the latch. Then, after a bracing, deep breath, he dragged the heavy door open.

Lights flicked on inside the shed, revealing a gleaming, high tech interior. America grinned. He should add a sound system. This was totally a moment that needed some awesome rock music.

The walls of the unit were lined with gleaming stainless steel shelves, each packed to the brim with weapons, ammo, survival gear, and everything else a superpower on the run might ever need. He had supply caches like this scattered all over his land, and even a few in certain select countries abroad as well. It never hurt to be too careful.

Feel better than he had since he had awoken, America stepped into the shed and pulled the door shut behind him.

It didn't take long to get ready for his surprise road trip, although longer than he would have liked. Still, it was a good test run. He hadn't done a bug out drill while injured in, what, almost a century.

Once he'd changed out of his stolen scrubs (which he tossed onto one of the now-empty shelves), America grabbed a baseball cap to complete his transformation from America, hospital escapee, to Alfred Jones, Road Warrior.

Taking one last look around the shed, he ran through his mental checklist one last time: extra clothing, food, medical supplies, emergency cell phone, extra gas, extra bits and pieces that could come in handy on a road trip to Destination: Unknown, check check and all check. He was ready to roll.

Casting one final cautious look at the nurse's station, Virginia pushed a little extra power into her Notice-Me-Not spell and hurried to America's private room

She'd raced to the hospital the moment she'd gotten the sleepy text from New Hampshire that he was heading to their father's house to get some sleep now that he had woken up and visiting hours had ended. It was hard to fault her little brother wanting to sleep somewhere besides a small, hardbacked hospital chair but the thought of America lying alone in the hospital was, well, frightening. Especially after what had just happened.

And, while Ginny loved her father, she was all too aware that "predictable" and "reasonable" and "good at following orders" were not words that described him. Awake, alone, and hurting from a bizarre attack (or accident), it was all the ingredients needed to make America do something very, very foolish.

Virginia stepped into the private hospital with a warm smile on her face as she canceled her concealment spell, one of her father's favorite books tucked into one arm.

The room was empty.

No no no no no.

A single piece of paper sat forlorn on the neatly made bed.

"Sounds like y'all have things well in hand! Going on a va-cay while I heal up. 3 u! Xoxo -Alfred"

The book flew against the wall. "Damn him!"