HIYA! Um...I just have to say, it's a bit sad and depressing...I hope ur okay with that! Of course, every now and then...I'd be writing some serious stuff.

P.S. This is an America centered story! XD...first official one.

I'm thinking if I should add a flashback to this...anyway! ENJOY!

What the world did to me…

XX/XX/19XX

For them, the term stupid refers to lacking no prior knowledge from the most important to the most trivial thing that can be found in a book. The term also means general lack of common sense, direction, and taste buds. It also strongly refers to not knowing what a 'cold' is. It meant 'you're just damned lucky', in some occasions. It meant irresponsible. And it even meant being overly happy. At times it refers to 'burgers'. But most times, 'Stupid' meant me.

If that's their definition, then I am far from it. While Arthur was away, which was almost like always, I read all the books his large library had to offer. I started out with reading fairy tales but as time went on I became more focused on Math, the Sciences, History, and the Arts. I started learning about other cultures and I always hoped that one day I could see how beautiful the world was. Behind his back, I'd actually read French books or any other book that seemed more interesting than his myriad of magic books.

I learned how to cook when he was away. I learned to fend for myself and for my people. I learned to accept others that were not my own. I learned to fight. I learned what freedom was. I learned to fight for freedom. I learned to respect other's freedom. The British Empire made me 'civilized' but I made myself the powerhouse I am now. My bosses made my land threatening as a power yet welcoming to those who needed shelter. But no matter what, they'll still use and hate me.

If stupid meant keeping things positive and being dragged into every significant and insignificant quarrel; if it meant horribly misjudged; if it meant acting out the role of their perfect idiot, their 'beloved' scapegoat or if it meant being scared to know that they wouldn't be able to accept who you really are…then that would be me.

I wasn't always like this. I didn't have to act stupid, although I really was afraid that the world wouldn't like me. Maybe I was too low class for them…too young, too naïve, maybe?

My first meeting was a memory I cherished. Bright smiles were plastered on their faces and laughs were thrown when I fumbled my own name. They kept opening doors for me, I was happy to feel acceptance.

I worked even harder, maybe to impress them. Call me pathetic, I even went the extra mile and learned their languages, cultures, hell I even forced myself to cook their way.

But at the end…they were just using me. I was nothing but a pawn in their game. Their subtle games.

For whatever reason…they did what they did. I'm not mad, but since then I saw no point in making any of them my real friends. Everything is just for economy, trade, and whatever. I'd rather keep the real me outside their circle, I don't want the real pain to settle in.

I write this as Alfred F. Jones, not the United States of America. I write this as a person, not some sort of trophy. I write this to whoever reads it…don't worry.

I'll keep my mask on until the day Death calls me to his humble abode…

-Alfred F. Jones.

Canada was choking in his tears. His eyes kept shifting between the bloody note and his equally bloody brother. Being the ever-caring brother, he wrapped his American twin's bloody wrists and chest; he cleaned up his bruised cheeks, and added splints to his once brilliant golden-brown wings. He knew deep in his heart that he was right, he knew his brother better than anybody. But he didn't understand why he had to do this…again.

He was just glad that he was there in time to save him, again.

He sat on the side of the bed; he wrapped his arms around his sleeping brother as tears streamed down.

"They're gonna pay" snarled Matthew with his eyes gleaming red. Black tribal marking started snaking their way to his hands and the sides of his face. Rage was one thing he avoided but not keeping their promise to their dead mother was something he would never take lightly.

Like a bear…fuck my family…I'd kill you.

"Don't." he heard a weak voice. He felt a callous hand rub his broad back. He felt the broken wings flap as hard as they could. He pulled away and stared at his brother's now amber eyes.

The Canadian knew that if he didn't listen to his brother, he'd be suffering a whole month of tornadoes and thunderstorms. But he couldn't…this has been going on for far too long.

"Don't."

"B-bu-"

"Don't." Alfred was serious. He didn't want his brother to risk his life for him. All he needed was some time to recover…that's all he needed, at least that's what he kept telling himself.

He rubbed his brother's back; he knew Canada wouldn't be able to handle the pressure his power exerted on him. He'd rather suffer than let his brother…er…suffer.

America felt his world getting fuzzy and his eyes getting heavy. His hands relaxed as his mind drifted to peaceful sleep.

Canada smiled through the tears, trying to be strong for his younger twin.

"Why do you have to be the hero, you hoser?" the Canadian ruffled the honey blonde hair of the snoring American.

I hope you liked it! *SIGH* you must be wondering why the hell does Alfred have wings...for me, it represents their native mythology and folklore. They're big parts in what makes a country. So it's justifiable that all countries would have some passive or active forms of power and magic. His an eagle if you haven't figured it out.

I've already made some notes for some of the other Hetalia characters as well...so let me know if you want to know they're powers and stuff! XD...I think you'll be scared if I told what Hungary's power is in my mind! XD