Hetalia Feels

An Eagle's Flight (S)

Sorry that the request isn't done- I've been working extra hard on it!
~~~~~

America grinned ear to ear, supposedly delighted at the chance to show off what his country had to offer. The nations all gathered around, each with a blindfold on, as he had wanted to surprise them.

Needless to say, quite a few were suspicious of other, more malicious intentions, but they quickly complied after seeing America's pouting face.

No one says no to America's pouting face.

He let out a cheerful laugh, boisterous as usual. "Alright dudes, take off your blindfold and see what the hero's country has in store!"

The nations took off their blindfolds, staring blankly at the vast expense of land all in front of them. "This is a desert." England stated blandly.

America laughed again, shaking his head. "Turn around!" Was all he said, as he himself turned around to admire the view.

Spreading his arms for maximum dramatic effect (for who was America if not a bit of a drama queen?) he motioned proudly to the breathtaking view. "Welcome...." He began, "To the Grand Canyon!"

There were no sounds but those of suppressed gasps. Perhaps some of the other countries had landscapes similar to this, but none had expected something so grand, so natural, from America. He bet they had thought he was just taking them to another giant city, or a McDonald's.

Saddened by this realization, America frowned, but just as soon as it had appeared, he masked it once again with another grin. "So, dudes, whatcha think?"

England gaped. "It's.... It's beautiful..."

There were murmurs of agreement, and America's smile grew. That is, until another voice spoke out. He didn't know who it was, but the words hurt him nonetheless.

"Not what most would expect from such a hamburger loving pig! I thought that he was taking us to some sort of new fast food restaurant- or worse- another one of his polluted cities!"

America's smile faltered, but it did not leave his face. "Oh, come on, I'm not that bad of a country, alright?"

The voice responded once again. "If I'm judging based on the buffoons running for president, and anything else on the news relating to America, I would say yes. You are quite the terrible country."

America swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Geez, man, way to hate!" He joked, looking back at the view. "But you've got to admit this is pretty awesome."

"For a pig's country, I suppose."

America felt tears well up in his eyes. This person was just like those voices in his head, making him want, no- need- to get thinner. To throw up. To get better. To act happy.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" England intervened, sighing. "Let's stop behaving like children and enjoy the beautiful view."

America didn't turn back to the others, afraid that they would see his watery eyes. "Thanks, Britain!" He laughed, hardly noticing when his voice cracked half way through.

"America, are you alright?"

The question had come from Canada, and America wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for his acute hearing. "Yeah, Bro, I'm fine!"

He rubbed his eyes, doing his best to be discreet, and turned back towards them. All he had to do was smile.

And so he smiled, ignoring that painful clench in his chest. He smiled, trying to ignore the thoughts that threatened to overcome him. He smiled, just so that he could see the hesitant smile from of his brother returned back to him.

The countries edged closer to the canyon, trying to get a better look. America didn't mind, since everything seemed safe enough.

But something in the back of his mind seemed wrong. Something was off. It wasn't just the suicidal and depressing thoughts running through his head- there were definite alarm bells ringing.

America scanned the area, scrutinizing every last pebble. Then he saw it. The sniper rifle (he knew it wasn't Finland, Finland was right next to him, and it couldn't be any other country, either). It wasn't aimed for him, as he'd expected, but for....

... His blood seemed to turn cold upon realization. The sniper rifle was aimed at Canada's heart.

It seemed like slow motion, though it all happened so fast. America saw the sniper preparing to shoot, saw his brother standing alone, and ran.

"Canada!" He screamed, the other countries looking around, startled.

He ran forward, jumping in front of his little brother just in time.

He heard it before he felt it.

A distinct gunshot, albeit quieter than most.

He felt an icy, somehow also fiery pain. His chest burned with such a ferocity that he wondered how he was not dead already. His body, though, felt cold. Like ice.

It wasn't an accident that America had jumped in front of his brother, instead of simply pushing him to the ground. He wanted to die.

If only to escape the thoughts.

Perhaps it was foolish, but America had hoped that it would be fast. That he wouldn't feel a thing. That one moment he'd be alive, and the next, well... He'd be dead.

He hadn't expected such an intense pain.

There was a chance he could live, and America, surprisingly, found that he wanted to. He wanted to live. Shame how only on his deathbed did he realize that.

A country cannot be killed...

... Unless both their actual country and their mental state are suffering immensely. In that case, a new representative would likely be born. One less pure and tainted than the old.

America fit that first description perfectly.

So, in that case, he was going to die. Unless he got lucky enough to survive the bullet wound in conditions such as this.

When America tripped, and found himself falling into the canyon, he knew it was all over. All those years of heartache, loss, triumph, it had all come down to this. Death.

As though in a dream, he saw the countries defending themselves, and running towards him.

As though through water, he heard them frantically calling his name, reaching out in a vain attempt to save what simply could not be saved.

Despite his fear and pain, America closed his eyes, smiling. He had done his job, or so he hoped. He had done the best he could to be what he wasn't. A hero.

A peculiar sight graced America's eyes when he opened them less than a second later. A bald eagle- his bald eagle, no less- gliding down just as fast as the country was falling. It was accompanying him to his death, America knew. At least he also knew the eagle, at least, would live.

He liked the thought of falling with the eagle. Or perhaps should he consider this flying?

Yes, that sounded perfect.

He was an eagle, and his death was merely an eagle's flight.

~~~~~
A/N

Well this was long. At least, for me it was.

I worked pretty hard on this, heh... I need to stop writing so late, don't I? You guys deserve quality content made when I am not half asleep and slightly delusional.

Okay, brutal honesty time! Any opinions and or/constructive criticism?

Bai~

~Weirdanimewriter out!