Stimulation (Hetalia Fanfiction)

It Is Called 'Helping', Da?

I'm in a good mood. A very good mood. In fact, it could almost be called a killer good mood. And because of this killer good mood, I am happy, so I will make my characters very happy. *smiles sadistically* 

America walked into the meeting room the next day. Beaming, he shouted, "THE HERO IS HERE!" 

No one batted an eye. Even England, who usually would start a fight by this point, said nothing. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Still smiling, America sat down on his seat.

He caught Canada's wary side glances and Japan's nervous fidgeting. England was decidedly looking anywhere but him, and France was surprisingly calm. There wasn't much noise other than the shuffling of papers and occasional whispers and muffled conversations. 

His fists were curled under the table. Something was wrong. He just didn't know what... and that frightened him. 

Breathing in and out, he smiled brighter and took a bite out of his Big Mac, finishing it quickly. A loud bang echoed through the room, drawing attention towards the front. Germany cleared his throat and started to talk.

"It is time to commence the World Meeting. Please say a 'here' or 'present' when your name is cal- Italy, you can have pasta later, we are in the middle of a meeting here..."

Germany continued to talk, but America wasn't paying attention to his words. What he found most interesting was the way Germany was squared up, muscles tensed. It was almost as if he was expecting to be attacked...

America met Germany's eyes. For a split second, Germany almost looked guilty before his eyes hardened in resolve and turned around.

America's blue eyes widened behind his glasses before disguising his surprise, lazily doodling figures on his paper. Pretending to fully concentrate on his drawings, he scanned the nations again out of the corner of his eye. 

Many nations were looking at him with half-disguised glances. The gazes ranged from guilty to curiosity. Some, like China, were bordering on just plain predatory. 

His heart started pounding. Something was wrong. His instincts were screaming at him to leave the room immediately. Withdrawing his hand from the paper, he put it inside his jacket, fingers curled. 

He stood up abruptly, hands slamming on the table top. "I have to go," he said, still smiling. Turning around, he started to quickly walk around the table to the door. 

Sweat gathered on his brow. How had he not noticed that they had moved his seat to the furthest place from the exit?

A hand reached out to grab his arm. Denmark. The nations quieted. 

The normally cheerful country smirked. Pulling America closer, he asked, "Where're you going, America? We still have a meeting, ya know."

His voice was light but had an stiff undertone. America reciprocated the smile, if a bit strained. "I just remembered I had somewhere to be. The hero has to save the world and stuff. Now Denmark can you please let go of my arm."

Denmark's hand tightened. Smile rigid, he answered, "You see America, I can't exactly do that."

America smiled rigidly in return. "Then Denmark, allow me to help you!"

He pulled his arm out of Denmark grip forcefully and continued walking, quickening his pace. The rest of the nations watched him walk through narrowed gazes. 

As his hand was reaching for the door knob, an ax embedded itself in the door just centimeters from his face. Strands of golden hair fell to the floor. A line of red appeared on the side of his face, drops of blood falling to the floor as he whirled around to face Denmark.