A Hero Without Flaws {Hetalia}

Chapter One - Truly Alone?

  America trudged into his room, feeling deflated and broken. "Alone, alone, sooooo alone." He scoffed at his own self pity, and flopped onto the bed. "Stupid mattress," he muttered. "Stupid hotel. Stupid London. Stupid England. Stupid Europe. Stupid world."

  He curled up under the blankets, feeling guilty and exhausted. "Stupid jet lag," he growled. He drifted off into an uneasy but dreamless sleep, curled up around a pillow, with his suit and shoes still on.

  A knocking sound awoke him, and he groaned, rolling over. "Who is it?", he called as he sat up.

  "It's me, England. I've been standing here knocking for nearly a minute, you bloody git."

  America stood up, and walked over to the door. He yanked it open quite forcefully, and glared at the Brit. "What?", he snapped.

  England let himself in. "You're grumpy today. Jet lag getting to you?"

  America sighed and nodded, sitting down in a chair. "What're you doing here, anyways?"

  England sat down across from the sleepy nation. "I just noticed that you seemed upset after the meeting. Is your economy alright?"

  "Somebody noticed!", America thought excitedly, but instantly felt guilty, and like some attention seeker.

  America shrugged, trying to act like he didn't care. "Just tired, I guess," he replied.

  England eyed him, looking concerned. "I noticed you have quite a debt racked up."

  America dropped his gaze to the floor. "Thanks for the reminder," he thought, annoyed.

  "You're not going into another depression, are you?", came another question, snapping America out of his annoyance.

  America snorted. "Dude, no way. I'm fine."

  "Show me your arms."

  America frowned slightly. "Huh? Why?", he asked, although he already knew what was going on.

  England sighed. "Because that whole 'I'm fine' thing is exactly what you said in the 30's. And then I found you covered in your own blood in the closet. Now, show me your arms."

  America huffed and rolled up his sleeves, putting them on the table in front of England. "See? I'm fine. I wasn't lying when I said I was tired. You know that planes make me grumpy."

  England stared at the ground, looking a tad uncomfortable. "Oh... Yes. I suppose I was just being a bit paranoid."

  America smirked slightly. "Sounds like you." He got up from the table and walked over to the bed, sinking down onto it and yawning loudly.

  England followed him, and sat down beside him. "I just worry about you, lad," he sighed.

  America looked over at him, smiling. "I know. But you don't need to. I'm ok, really. I've been fine since the 40's."

  "Okay... Only partly a lie..."

  England patted him on the back. "How about we go get some dinner, lad? I know you're tired," England said as America began to interrupt, "but I also know that you haven't had breakfast or lunch."

  America sighed. "How'd you know?"

  England scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Your stomach is growling louder than a lion."

With a slight shake of his head, the American laughed. "Fine, fine. Let's go get some dinner"

~thirty minutes later~

  America burst out laughing at England's lame attempt at a joke. "Dude, that fell flatter than a pancake!", he cackled, slamming his fist down on the table.

  England snorted loudly and took a bite of his fish and chips (although America kept insisting that it was fish and fries). "Aren't you going to eat? You've barely touched that burger of yours."

  America swallowed. "Oh. Um...", he mumbled, hoping a good excuse would pop into his mind.

  England frowned once again. "Are you alright? Usually you inhale those bloody things."

  America shifted slightly in his seat. "Oh crap... What do I say? I can't say 'Well, I've decided that I'm too fat to eat. But I don't have an eating disorder. I just decided that this morning. So don't stress.'"

  "I'm just.. You... You know how planes make me." England's gaze softened and he put a hand on the younger nation's shoulder. "It's ok, lad."

  America gave a weak smile, and grabbed his burger. He took a bite of it, feeling a bit awkward as his older brother watched him eat. Eventually he felt England's gaze shift away from him as he went back to his own food. America ate about half of it before setting it down. He still felt hungry, but at the same time, he felt like he had done something really bad.

  "Quit acting like you have some sort of damn problem! This is some decision you made this morning. Stop it."

  "You full already?", England asked, sipping on his tea.

  America glanced up at him. "Uh, yeah. I am."

  England nodded and cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we're done here, then. You'll take it to go?"

  America stared down at the floor. He was caught between not wanting to take the food, and not wanting to waste it.

  "...Sure," he said eventually.

  England gave him a strange look and called the waiter over, asked for a to-go box, and quickly paid the bill.

  "Oh, I could've gotten that, dude," America said, feeling guilty again. England smiled at him. "I know. But we are in London, and I just felt like doing something for you."

  "Thank you," America said to him gratefully.

  "You are very welcome," England replied.

~ten minutes later~

  America lay in his hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling. England had left a couple minutes ago, and the same feeling of loneliness tugged at the young nation. He switched off the lamp and turned over on his side, sighing softly. He closed his eyes, and fell into a dark, heavy, dreamless sleep.

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