This is an idea I had a while ago. Basically a bit of a tragic look as to why America would want to be the Hero. I do not own Hetalia or the Characters involved.

Heroes saved people from danger. They helped people up to their feet. They defended the weak from those who were stronger. They upheld justice and righteousness. They were knights in shining armor that rescued those in distress. Heroes vanquished villains and dried the tears of the hurt. Heroes did what was right.

Those who had at least heard of Alfred F. Jones -better known as the USA or America- knew about his obsession with being a hero. He was always shouting about how he was the hero… no one ever questioned why. In reality, he had always wanted to be a hero. Even before he had known about the existence of such people, he was born with the instinct to help people. As an infant he couldn't stand to see tears... ever.

So naturally, he knew he was doing the right thing when he refused the tantalizing French food to go to England, the weeping nation who had wished to raise America himself. America had seen his tears and went to him, gently gripping his sleeve and inquiring in his little voice;

"Are you okay?"

During his childhood, England had read him stories of great heroes who were virtuous and true. America instantly adored such characters. Unknowingly, he had been courageous as he pretended to enjoy England's cooking. He did so, and it cheered England greatly. England's love for America only grew over the years, and even though he was gone many times, America was always there for him.

America would be the hero. He would be the people's strength as they rose against Britain and their taxes. He would stand and fight for the people and be a hero.

But now…

Standing in the pouring rain, he declared his independence from England. He would stand for his people as he promised. If this was the right thing... why did he feel a twinge of guilt at saying this?

England charged him then, shouting about how he would never allow such a thing. He slammed the sharp end of his bayonet into America's, sending it flying.

He was pointing a gun straight at him. England was pointing a gun at him.

"Idiot…" England seemed to choke out the word. He lowered his gun.

"How could I possibly shoot you…?"

America watched in disbelief as the great nation England -no, this was Arthur- dropped to his knees, tossing the blasted gun away.

"Why…? Damn it! Why!" Sobs wracked at his slender frame. Alfred could have stood there and pretended it was the rain that made it look like Arthur was crying. But he knew that was the worst lie there was to tell himself. Seeing England cry broke his very center of being. And it was his fault. All he knew is that England could have shot him, and he hadn't. He let him go… at the price of a broken heart. England was the hero here. America was scared then, because heroes only fought villains.

Standing there in the rain, he watched as England ran from him. At that precise moment, he made a solemn vow he intended to never break. He would defend the weak from those stronger and crueler. He would uphold justice and righteousness. He would be courageous and always do what was right. He would help people their feet and dry their tears. He would be their knight in shining armor.

Why?

He could never stand to see anyone cry.

Especially… especially if it was Arthur.