Disclaimer: Dudes, we don't own Hetalia!
A/N: Hey, everyone! I found a new place to write this chapter where Castor can't find me! Here's another chapter only written by me. The next chapter will be by both of us, so don't worry! I mean no offense to anyone in this chapter. I have nothing against Wickens.
Enjoy! Please review!
What's this one?
America was rigid as he sat in the center of the swirling sigils. The pulsing symbols screamed magic. Magic was death. Death was unwanted. Therefore these sigils were unwanted. America hated magic with a passion. Wickens might have been accepted by his country. But personally America hated them.
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"Do you admit to being a witch?" America sat in chains at the table, staring up at the accusing judge.
"No!" America said helplessly.
"You were caught doing magic in the forest," the judge said scornfully. America dropped his head. There was no denying that. He had been in the forest trying a new spell from one of England's books when the villagers had found him. They had dragged America to the jail for the night and then to the courthouse.
"Well?" the judge asked, reminding America of his predicament.
"I-I'm not," America whispered.
"We'll see about that," the judge snapped. "To the hanging tree with the witch!"
The villagers roared their approval. Two of them seized America by the upper arms and dragged him out of the courthouse. America wanted to break free with his strength or magic but he was too afraid to. These were his people, he just couldn't get the courage to attack them.
America saw the hanging tree high on the hill, silhouetted by the setting sun. Where was England? Why wasn't he charging out to save him?
A noose was thrown over a bough of the willow tree. America struggled weakly as they dragged him under the swinging rope. He didn't want to die. Could he even die? The noose was hooked around his throat and tightened.
"Dad!" America screamed, struggling. "Help, dad!"
"He's calling on his fellow witch for help!" a villager shouted.
Three men seized the other end of the rope and pulled. America's air circulation was cut off as he was lifted off the ground. They were doing it. They were killing their own country. Black dots filled America's vision and a buzzing filled his ears. He thought he heard screaming in the distance. The sensation of a cold wind danced across his skin. Was this what death felt like?
"America!" Someone slapped him gently across the cheek. "Brother!" America's eyes struggled to open. Canada knelt over him, a fury in his violet eyes America had never seen before.
"Are you alright?" Canada asked worriedly. "I heard your scream through the earth so I traveled through the northern wind. Those . . . those bastards were hanging you!"
America surprised Canada by breaking down in tears. "I hate magic!" he sobbed. "I hate it! I don't care what England thinks. I'm never doing magic again!"
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Pain seared with every step America took. He could feel the blood pouring down his legs and filling his boots. If his plan didn't work, then the doctors would no doubt amputate his legs without a second thought.
America saw Rebel not far ahead shooting at anything that moved and wore a blue uniform. Rebel turned, her braid swinging through the air, and froze at the sight of America. Her gun dropped from her hands.
"How?" America couldn't hear her voice but he read her lips.
"This is payback," America snarled. He stormed straight up to Rebel and kicked her in first one shin and then the other. Rebel fell back in surprise. "I'm going to win this war, Rebel."
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America tore the room apart in his fit of rage. He snapped the table in half and cracked the chairs against the walls. The door was ripped off its hinges and the window smashed through.
The temper tantrum was completed by a fist through the cement floor. America sat on the floor, his chest heaving. Russia stood in a corner watching the whole scene with a bored expression.
"I will see you next time, da?" Russia asked. America nodded, still breathing hard. "Goodbye, Little America."
America was left alone in the hidden military base until the next time he needed to vent his frustration. Russia hoped for the end of the Cold War. He couldn't take much more of this crazy nation.
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America opened the door for Belarus. The female nation dropped her bag in the mudroom upon entering.
"How was your trip over?" America asked nervously. Belarus glared at him but didn't answer. "Um . . . if you wa-" America was interrupted by a small black bear waddling into the room. Belarus raised an eyebrow at the sight.
"What is that?" Belarus asked.
"That . . . is Smokey," America said. He regretted what the bear was going to say, no doubt an insult.
Smokey looked Belarus over. "I've seen paper more emotional than you." America groaned and hit his head on the wall.
"Thanks for that, Smokey."
Belarus glared at the bear. "Why do you have such a rude bear?" she demanded.
"He's my sister's," America groaned.
"I was not aware that you had a sister. Who is she?"
"The Confederate States of America, she should be around here somewhere."
"North!" There was the pounding of footsteps and a young woman jumped at America, wrapping her limbs around his neck and torso. "You came back! I'm sorry! I promise I'll be good!"
"Belarus, meet my baby sister, South."
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"North?" the voice echoed throughout the New York penthouse. "Big brother, are you in here?" America groaned softly. His whole body was on fire, his bones felt broken, and he was coughing out smoke.
"North!" America felt himself being rolled over, his younger sister kneeling over him. "I saw what happened on the news," South said, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sorry."
"South," America coughed.
"Yeah, North?" For once South seemed to be in her sane mind.
"We love our sheep," America sighed. "We Dogs of War."
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America shifted uncomfortably in the center of the sigils. He wanted out.
America's Memories
A/N: From June to September in 1692 was the time of the Salem Witch trials in Massachusetts. Ergot, a rot in rye, could have been the source of the town's troubles. When consumed, Ergot causes hallucinations and eventually death. America gained an aversion to magic after his own bad experiences of the repercussions of witchcraft.
The Battle of Gettysburg lasted three days. The Union won the third day.
Just to clarify, so we don't teach children the wrong idea, the Cold War was not America throwing a temper tantrum.
Here's a fun fact (and remember that I'm American, so my point of view might not be yours) after World War Two ended in Europe it was still going strong in the Pacific. We Americans were tired of seeing our sons, fathers, brothers, and even sisters die in the war. We wanted it over. So we dropped the bombs on Japan. This caused a quick end to the war for many reasons. Here's only one of them. It shocked the world for the most peaceful country to show them that yes, we do have nuclear bombs and we aren't afraid to use them. But also remember this. After we dropped the bombs we returned to Japan to help clean up and help them build up a new government that didn't include an emperor.
America has avoided every war until we have been attacked.
Here's an excerpt from a personal favorite poem of mine.
Then from the carnage, from the rout,
Comes the cry, "Turn the sheepdogs out!"
Thus is our nature but too our plight
To keep our dogs on leashes tight
And live a life of illusive bliss
Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss.
Until he has us by the throat,
We pay no heed; we take no note.
Not until he strikes us at our core
Will we unleash the Dogs of War
Only having felt the wolf pack's wrath
Do we loose the sheepdogs on its path.
And the wolves will learn what we've shown before;
We love our sheep,
we Dogs of War.
Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66"
Someone save me! Castor's going to kill me!