Double America! (Hetalia Avengers crossover)

Back from the dead

The Bread is back with another fanfic, probably sukks but oh well...

Thinking of doing a Pottertalia fanfic too, comment if you want it!

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Steve decided instead of breaking another punching bag, he would go for a walk and see what modern day America looked like. Sure, he caught glimpses, but that was after he was tricked into thinking he was in a hospital and while he was fighting evil aliens.

While he was walking down a busy street, he saw something that was sure to make his day. He smiled, walking into the small cosy pub and sitting on a barstool.

He asked for a beer, which was classically slid to him across the wooden counter. Steve smiled, looking into the drink and remembering all the times he had shared with his comrades back before the... accident.

He looked over to an empty table to his left and pictured the time he and Bucky shared a drink after successfully uncovering some of Hydra's secrets. He remembered the warm smile Bucky had on his face, and the way she patted Steve's back and told him he was "too modest" when the conversation turned into one about him.

The longer he played the memory, the more he dreaded. He shouldn't have been drinking that night, there was somewhere else she should have been.

You see, the mission he had just come back from, he had not done alone.

Earlier that day, he had been assigned someone to tag along with him. It was a happy young man, with sandy blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. He wore a classic uniform, but refused to take off the bomber jacket he seemed to love way too much.

Alfred F. Jones.

He had come along with Steve into the Hydra base and they made it all the way through...

almost.

Just at the last second, as they were about to hide in a nearby forest, the boy seemed to freeze. He looked deep into Steve's eyes, his trademark, contagious smile wiped clean from his face.

His hands and knees where shaking like crazy, Steve felt it when he abruptly grabbed his arm.

"They're dying..." He whispered, just loud enough for Steve to hear him,

"Who? Who's dying, Alfred?" Steve pressed, panicking when crimson blood leaked from the side of Alfred's mouth.

"The... Th-the-"

Alfred was cut off by a loud gunshot, and Steve's eyes widened in horror as his comrade's hand dropped, limp, a hole going right through his skull. He had been spotted, and shot.

No-one could have survived a shot like that. It was impossible.

When Steve had returned to America, his friends all told him that while he was gone, there was a bombing, and then an earthquake. Steve wasn't really listening.

He couldn't stop thinking about the young man's face when he was struck down, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He fell right into Steve's arms.

He was forced to leave without Alfred's tag, or he would've been shot too.

Steve should have payed his respects to Alfred, but instead he got caught up in his liquor.

Steve shook his head to get himself out of the trance he had fallen into, but he couldn't stop hearing Alfred's voice.

It sounded so real, it made Steve want to scream, for some odd reason.

It was as if when he turned his head, he would see the same sandy blonde hair and brown bomber jacket sitting at a table just across...