So this is the first chapter of a fic I've had sitting around. I'm just gonna put the first chapter out and see what people's response toward it is to determine if I'll continue it. I have one more chapter that I'll post regardless sometime later because I have it ready, but whether or not I legit continue it is up in the air.

Anyway, be warned: it has some rather dark elements to it.

I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidakaz.
I do not own Rise of the Guardians. RotG belongs to DreamWorks.

Matthew never particularly liked holidays –the times when everyone is in a tizzy to say the least and the music is loud and the crowds are thick and moody. He much preferred the mundane of life. The serenity and security routine brought to people's lives. The humans didn't tend to enjoy what they viewed as just the monotony of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc., but it made Matthew, the Warden of Peace, feel centered.

However, this holiday in particular, was the most unsettling to him –the Fourth of July. How more un-peaceful can you get when you're shooting off explosives into the sky at hours when people should be enjoying relaxing sleep? However, the children that lived where it was celebrated loved it. The bright lights letting them for once enjoy the darkness many were afraid of and relishing the freedom of being allowed to stay up past bedtime. A few even got to play with sparklers or small bottle rockets.

While this gave Matthew and all the children's parents a heart attack, the children loved it, and if the children loved it, Matthew couldn't bring his heart to stop them. Besides, his brother was the self-proclaimed Warden of this specific holiday. Wherever he was, Matthew was certain the Warden of Freedom was watching over the children on his favorite holiday. He wouldn't let anything screw up this day on his watch.

And that was the reason Matthew was out and about, facing his discomfort, when he'd much rather stay inside and huddle in a mass of blankets until the night passed. His brother, Alfred, had been missing for many years. Alfred had run away when the two were still too young, and Matthew had made it is secret mission every American Independence Day (his brother always had a special place in his heart for the country) to look for him. The night he knew his younger brother (by six minutes) couldn't help but show himself.

Matthew opened his huge, white wings to the night air and, with a running leap, took off into the sky. He was sure to fly well above firework range. He knew better than to risk getting his wings blown off. Arthur would absolutely kill him. Okay, Arthur would probably just take his wings away for a month or however long he chose to stay mad. After all, the Warden of Peace didn't originally come with wings. They were accessories sold separately. The Warden of Peace was, however, not without his own abilities.

He looked over his shoulder to see the fluffy, white, half-translucent bear floating loyally beside him. Smiling, Matthew arced around, looking for another flying Warden who would surely be the source of the most obnoxious but no doubt the grandest fireworks display.

Matthew had been traveling along the coast recently. Like most other nymph and mythical beings, he was a wanderer –drawn to where his particular power felt the most needed. However, being a minor sprite, he was not bound by these instincts. He could never be rid of them, but he could ignore them. Besides, why would anyone want to be alone when they didn't have to be?

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed as he once again thought of his brother. It would be selfish to think that Alfred wouldn't have found some other beings to hang around, but they were brothers. He liked to think he had a special claim.

He occasionally landed throughout the night to investigate the fireworks shows and look for Alfred, but he was disappointed time after time. As the night wore on, he began to grow anxious. He wasn't sure how far north he should push. He didn't know how long it would be before Arthur started wondering where he was. He didn't think Arthur would take it too lightly that he was out searching for Alfred. He would at the very least see it as a waste of time and misuse of his wings not to mention it might unbury a painful subject.

Suddenly, Matthew came upon one of the biggest displays he'd ever seen. He could hear the booms like they were cannon fire and there was so much smoke in the air Matthew started to cough. He was rather forced to land. He had to get underneath the layer of smoke or he was sure he'd asphyxiate.

It wasn't one of his more graceful landings, but he pumped his white feathers back and slowed his descent just enough to where he could land safely. Feeling like he parachuted rather than fluttered to the ground, he quickly regained his balance and looked around.

The atmosphere was on fire both literally and metaphorically. The people were oohing and awing at the explosions of red, white, and blue glitter in the sky, stretching out on blankets and folding chairs across the lawn of grass. The breaks in between the resonating booms were filled in by a full orchestra playing the 1812 Overture.

Matthew was in hell.

Every fiber of his being told him to get out of there. This was too loud and too crazy and too chaotic. He needed to leave. But, forcing his instincts aside, he focused on his goal: finding his brother.

Something told him this would be the day.

He cringed every time a firework exploded and found himself balling his fists tensely and folding his wings tightly against his back as if to suck them into his spine. He maneuvered his way through the crowd not worrying that he was sporting angel-like wings. After all, being such a minor sprite, he had no legends about himself and, therefore, no possible way for anyone to believe in him. He and his kind were permanently invisible to humans, the people they protected. But, that was okay. It was easier to accept it when there was no chance instead of going crazy with the hope that he could be seen one day. Besides, he didn't need to be seen to know he was doing good.

He hurried his way to the outside of the roaring crowd, and he couldn't help but pause to watch the display even if for a moment as it was reaching the finale.

Suddenly, he sensed a very un-peaceful child. It was so strong he couldn't just ignore it. Wading through the people, phasing right through them because the unbelief made him akin to a ghost, he found her.

She was an adorable, tiny girl –no older than two. She was holding her hands firmly against the side of her head. Tears streamed down her face as she flinched every time a firework detonated. Matthew's heart melted. He couldn't possibly do anything until he helped this girl. Her parents were occupied with what looked like her older brothers that were enthusiastically bouncing around and pointing happily at the exploding colors.

The girl was crying, unheard through the noise. She was scared. She didn't like how the loud blasts were hurting her ears, and she didn't know why anyone was so happy that fire was falling from the sky. She was certain one of the ashes would plummet and burn her.

Matthew kneeled down and whispered kindly to her. He knew she couldn't hear him, but he liked to think it helped.

"Hush, hush. No need to be so upset, little one." He smoothed a hand over her soft hair and under her eyes, which would have wiped away the tears if he were not intangible.

"It's just noise. Just loud noise. Don't worry. Your Mommy and Daddy wouldn't have brought you here if you could be hurt. They love you."

A purple aura which matched the hue of the sprite's eyes slowly began to spread out from where his heart beat. The comforting words floating unheard but somehow sensed by the child as the aura grew and enveloped the little girl. Slowly, she stopped crying for reasons she wasn't sure of. Gradually, the bright sparkles dripping from the sky looked less like fire and more like garland on her Christmas tree or like little fireflies that bobbed and floated with a friendly glow. Now, discomfort forgotten, she cautiously allowed her hands to unpeel from her ears and gave a tiny smile.

The purple glow leisurely retreated back into Matthew as he completed his job. He "ruffled" her hair once more as he stood up to leave. Smiling himself, he returned to his mission.

Searching for a little while longer ended when the spectacular show launched from a boat was finally over leaving behind a billow of ghostly smoke-skeletons of fireworks that once-were. However, a little ways in the distance, on the other side of the river, the show continued. Except, this show was launched in what looked like the forest –where no part of the huge city touched. It was probably going on the whole time of the main show, but no one noticed because, from the angle, it would look as if it were a part of the official show only to be revealed now that the main event had stopped.

It was him. Matthew had no doubt in his mind.

He felt adrenaline shoot through him as he smiled like the children he protected. His wings practically beat on their own, he was so excited. After what was probably his fastest takeoff ever, he exploded into the sky, much like a firecracker himself.

He landed on the other side of the river and gave a good distance seeing as, if it was his brother, he didn't want to get accidentally burned. If he was the brother he remembered, he wasn't too in control of his powers yet. He ran through the forest and upon arriving, saw who was launching the fireworks.

Matthew's heart stopped. It was two hillbillies in their pickup truck, beers in one hand and lighter in the other.

The sprite didn't know if he wanted to scream or cry. He…he had been so sure he'd find him. He knew it deep down somewhere. He knew. Forbidding himself from crying, (He was over two hundred years old! He was too old for crying, darn it!) he took off into the dark sky hoping to return to Arthur's house before the Warden of Belief woke up.

Unfortunately, luck was still not on Matthew's side. Before he even landed he could feel the green, narrowed eyes of Arthur laser right through the magenta-eyed sprite. He made the descent much more carefully than his previous, making sure to float down like a bubble, much more controlled and soft. No need to make him angrier by abusing his wings. Feet on the ground, he folded the pure white wings in and stiffened for a moment as his cold feathers shocked him before succumbing to the warm of his back.

Arthur, his thick eyebrows helping perfect his look of condescension, had his arms folded with tension carving his every surface. He knew full well that this amount of animosity was doing double the effect on Matthew. The un-peace was making the sprite bristle. Arthur never had to do much to punish Matthew when he raised him. All he had to do was radiate how disappointed he was and that did the trick just fine. That was, until he was older and more skilled with his powers and the Warden was able to calm him.

"I told you! You were not allowed to go out tonight. Why didn't you listen to me?"

The best lie at this point would be to say that he sensed disharmony that he felt wouldn't be smart to ignore. However, Arthur being the Guardian of Belief, would be sure to remind him that he could tell if someone was lying by an extension of his main powers.

The second best lie –the one he could possibly pull off- would be to avoid the question altogether. That was the option Matthew chose to go with.

"I'm sorry, eh," he said.

It wasn't a complete lie. However, he made the mistake of being too general. He was sorry for upsetting Arthur, but he wasn't sorry for going to look for his brother. Because it was a tiny, white lie, it was possible that Arthur wouldn't pick up on it. Unfortunately, Arthur's senses were especially sharp today.

The green-eyed sprite's frown deepened and Matthew shrunk. He looked down to see his ghost bear come up and nuzzle under his hand –wanting attention. Matthew complied by stroking the top of the bear's head. It was a strange sensation because neither the bear nor Matthew were technically tangible. His bear was just intangible to everything and everyone where Matthew was only intangible to humans. He brushed his hand over the bear's fur, feeling nothing, but, apparently, the bear actually thought he was being petted. Confusing as it was, the two never separated.

Matthew gladly turned his attention to the ghost bear, but Arthur was growing more and more impatient by the second until the Warden of Peace couldn't stand it any more as the tension reached an unbearable level of disharmony.

"I went to look for Alfred…." he blurted knowing that the tension would only get worse, but he had no choice.

Arthur's heavy eyebrows flew up and his wings twitched for an uncomfortable split second, but he quickly returned to his default angry glare.

He stomped inside the house probably to make himself a cuppa. It was his stress reliever. Matthew followed him inside as he wondered why the green-eyed sprite always seemed to forget Matthew was a stress reliever in Warden form.

The house was an old, rundown thing. It was well due for a fix-up, and he figured he should have found some time in the last century or so to address the issue, but he just never got around to it.

He sheepishly trailed into the kitchen to find the man standing with his back facing him filling the kettle with water for tea. Soundlessly, he summoned the light purple aura and directed it with his hand across the room and to his elder brother. Because Arthur was a sprite too, he could see the aura. Matthew always had to be stealthy with using his powers on other mythical beings, especially Arthur, who would resist the calming. However, he had been naturally light on his feet since his birth so sneaking up on someone was really no big deal to him.

He worked the purple aura to slowly encompass the green-eyed man keeping it thin and spread out so the tint wouldn't be noticeable. Slowly the aura began to sink into Arthur's skin and he visibly calmed. Whether he noticed it or not, his ramrod back softened and his stiff shoulders relaxed.

"That isn't necessary, Matthew. I am perfectly capable of containing my own emotions."

Matthew's smile vanished and so did the violet aura. He didn't mean to insult him. Could anything go right for him? But before he could call it a night and retire to his bed, he heard a mumble.

"Wait."

The younger sprite stopped, suddenly worried.

"Y-yes?"

He wasn't sure what was going on. Was he about to be punished? Was he about to take his wings back? It wasn't painful when he got his wings taken away, but it was extremely limiting. Having to walk everywhere after you had been able to fly was probably akin to losing a leg in Matthew's mind. He shuddered at the thoughts.

"Do…do you miss him that much?"

Matthew remained silent, unsure of how to answer.

"Is that why you always seem to disappear every Fourth of July even though it hurts you to be amongst such wildness?"

"It doesn't hurt me. I just keep myself focused and ignore the… uneasiness it brings me."

Arthur sighed. He could sense that Matthew really believed he would find his brother. He sensed it from miles away that Matthew's belief was proven false, that his hopes were dashed. It was the horrible feeling he sensed so strongly that it even caused him to wake up in the middle of the night fearing for Matthew's safety. That's when he decided it was time.

"I'm going to help you look for him."

Matthew's brows furrowed and Arthur sensed the disbelief.

"Matthew, you know I can't lie."

The sprite was still trying to comprehend this before he finally dashed it all and believed him. Rushing over, Matthew hugged him tightly and thanked him profusely as if he were still the child Arthur remembered him being centuries ago.

"I just don't get why. Why are you going to help me find him?"

Arthur folded his arms and scowled down at his feet.

"It's not right for us to have a grudge that's lasted this long. Besides, you're twins. There's just something wrong with you two being separated."

Matthew nodded vigorously as he tried to contain his happiness. His over-enthusiastic curl that draped off his forehead bobbed violently.

"And that little thief still has that set of wings I gave him! If he hasn't burnt them to ashes by now. I swear, that kid is a walking fire hazard!" Arthur continued to rant but there was only a slight tinge of actual bitterness. He would know if Alfred had really burnt his wings off though, but the sarcasm helped him release his anger.

Matthew hugged his mentor tightly again before running to get the map he secretly stashed in his room. On it were several red X's.

"These are the areas I've covered over the last couple decades looking for him. The only areas I haven't really searched are the high mountains, deserts, and the farthest north. I figured that…"

"You'll never find him on Independence Day." Arthur interrupted him.

Matthew stopped in mid-thought. "Why?"

"Because everyone's shooting off fireworks. You need to find a place that launches the blasted things regularly. Somewhere the moron could use his powers more than just once a year –preferably every day. That's where you'll find him."

Matthew sat down on a wooden chair and drummed his pale fingers on the table. He closed his eyes as the tried to think of a place that would do that.

Fireworks are for entertainment so it would have to be some place that's purpose was to entertain people –specifically, considering their line of work, children. Fireworks were rather expensive so it would probably have to be some place with a lot of money especially if they did fireworks shows frequently.

"No," Matthew began as he put his head in his hands.

"If you want to find him, that's where he'll most likely be."

The younger Warden rubbed his temples and groaned. Of course Alfred would be some place where it was a holiday all the time. A place where kids went crazy and lost themselves in the thrilling rides and over-priced food.

Disney World.

Peter stood. That's all he could do. He stood. His feet steady despite the tilting and swaying of the suspended cage. He just needed to keep standing. His eyelids felt like weights. It was like his eyelashes were tied to his cheeks. It was impossible to keep them up. He pitched forward, but the vertigo of the sudden level change caused him to stumble forward and out of his sleepy haze momentarily –just long enough to right himself and stand again.

He didn't know how long he could go without sleep, but he was determined to break records. He wasn't a human and so he knew he could last longer than they did, but he still didn't know if he was immortal. It was something he didn't exactly want to test out.

"Why do you still fight?"

The voice sent chills up his spine, but he tried to use the sudden noise as a method of keeping his eyes open. Because the conversation could keep him awake, he answered the demon.

"Because you still try to hurt me."

The response was not cutting nor did it carry any venom. He was too tired, too weak to muster the volume for it.

"I am merely trying to teach you just as your Arthur taught you."

"Arthur never taught me anything. He…sent me away."

"He did, didn't he? Why is that? Is it because he couldn't teach you? Or because you were too thoughtless to comprehend his lessons?"

"No. I…he…."

He tilted forward again as a wave of sleepiness tried to drag him under. He caught his balance by gripping on to the thick bars of the cage. The chain above him squeaked and groaned.

"He gave you those wings and then sent you away. Even he, the Warden of Belief, didn't believe in you."

"No…."

He sunk to his knees, trying to stay awake but the swaying of the cage resembled a crib for an infant, and the Nightmare Giver's voice was like warm milk.

"You're not a Guardian….You're not even a Warden….No one believes in you." He began to circle the cage and Peter tipped over and landed on his side. The pain temporarily waking him.

"Isn't that what you want? Someone to recognize you? You were desperate and went looking for the Warden of Belief. You thought he could get someone, it didn't even have to be a human, anyone to believe in you, then that'd be all you needed. But you couldn't even convince him that you were worth it. He's probably forgotten your name."

"No. He will come looking for me. I have something he wants," Peter said, yawning.

"Oh, yes. Those wings. Those wings he manages to manifest off your back. They are rather difficult for him to conjure up and maintain for you –the both of you. They must make him so tired~," Pitch breathed.

Peter moved his hands to pry his eyes open by force. The Nightmare King appeared in front of him, rocking the cage gently.

"Why hasn't he come to retrieve them?"

The boy dug his fingernails into his skin. Anything to keep himself from becoming vulnerable to his nightmares.

"He can't find this place. You're hiding me," Peter whispered, too weak to add volume to his voice.

"Even so. You were wandering around in the sunlight for years, weren't you? That was plenty of time. He just doesn't care," he continued, circling tantalizingly slowly.

"You kept wishing he could help you. Wishing with all your little heart. How far has wishing got you?"

"There's always something to wish for." He was able to shine just a small ray of determination in that statement.

"Is there now?" Pitch chuckled. "What a lovely sentiment. I wonder how long a wish can be thwarted before it gives way to despair, before it ceases to exist?"

Peter was unable to answer him. The rocking of the cage lulled him into an inescapable exhaustion.

"I think I know the answer because," the Boogieman whispered, somehow now in the cage with him and leaning close to his ear, "you don't exist."

Sleep drug him down into a pit and left him there. He couldn't escape as the darkness surrounded him. The sleep stages began.

Pitch smiled. He would wait until the deepest part of the boy's sleep. Right when the youth's slumber became intimate and his mind began to wander, he would release the nightmares.

Fear was what Pitch Black fed upon. It reminded him of what power he possessed. Not all fear satiated his hunger though. His prisoners were, unfortunately, too tired to release worthy fear while awake. He would take what he could get, but the fear that radiated from nightmares was the sweetest and most delicious.

Suddenly, a burst of light exploded followed by a boom that echoed off the walls of the hallow chamber.

Peter jolted awake, jumping to a stand with a new energy he found with the adrenaline.

Pitch snarled.

"Stay awake, Petey! Don't listen to him!" A voice echoed from a cage across the dim cavern.

"Insolent fool!" Pitch materialized near the source of the colorful light, holding in a wince at the brightness.

"Actually, I prefer "courageous hero", but you get credit for trying," the blond chuckled, but Pitch saw through it.

He could sense the fear leaching from him. He was fearful for Peter, the young boy with whom he shared a prisoner's fate. He could look through the strong façade and see the purple bags under his eyes, the frailty of his thin limbs, and the redness of his eyes. He was cracked. He only needed a prodding to crumble. Pitch could easily do more than that.

"And you've done a fabulous job thus far. If you were truly a hero, you would have escaped and saved him by now."

The teen fell silent but kept a defiant upper lip, memories laced with a signature accent echoing in his ears.

"You can't rush a hero. I'm working on it."

There was that smile. The bane of Pitch's existence.

"Yes, with much progress, I might observe. Just like every other endeavor you've ever attempted."

"Thanks. Glad you noticed."

Pitch ground his sharp teeth together. So he was feeling particularly bothersome today, was he? He really wanted to play this game now? The Boogieman was more than prepared.

With a snap of his fingers, darkness wove huge, heavy chains around the teen's wrists, ankles, and neck causing him to crash to the floor of the cage with a loud shuddering.

Next, the cage began to shrink. It compressed from its normal circular mold which resembled a sort of bird cage into a long and thin rectangle that had just enough room for him to lay down in.

The teen felt his heart start to race as he twisted and writhed in the cage. His one fear that he couldn't escape and, of course, Pitch, Lord of Fear, knew it.

"It's called claustrophobia, Alfred. The fear of small spaces, of being confined. The fear of being buried alive, being locked in a small space, or being trapped in an elevator that might suddenly fall."

Suddenly, the chains holding the now much smaller cage snapped and Alfred couldn't suppress his scream. Fear, even in those quick seconds, poured out of him and Pitch snapped it up like candy falling from a piñata.

It crashed to the ground sending the boy into a panic attack that dictated his breaths and demanded more. It was never enough air. He was going to suffocate. He was going to die.

"You'll always be trapped here. Unable to help yourself or that pathetic boy."

Alfred couldn't respond. He didn't have time in between his rapid and desperate gasps.

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

He reached through the bars and grabbed a hold of the small, runt wings that grew off Alfred's back. Alfred couldn't stop the fear from building within him.

"Please, no!" he begged as he flapped his tiny, foot-long wings in terror.

His body trembled from the panic attack and the anticipation of the oncoming pain.

Pitch Black relished it as he let the suspense feed him as much fear a possible. A smile contorted his lips as the Warden writhed. He clenched his hand hard and twisted.

Alfred screamed.

So there you go. Chapter one. Pitch will probably be the only RotG character. And it will be very Hetalia character-centric.

I really like the relationship of big brother-little brother with America and Sealand. I don't think there are many fics that deal with their relationship. They need to have more bro-moments.

To clarify, I didn't want to make the Hetalia characters Guardians, but I wanted them to be sort of personifications/protectors of a certain aspect of childhood like the Guardians. So I made up the term "Warden." Wardens are not believed in because no human has ever heard of them so they couldn't know to believe in them. That's okay and that's only a Guardian problem. Being believed in is not going to be the main plot of this story. What Sealand is going for here is he wants to become a Warden. He's not trying to be believed in by humans. He knows that's not possible and is okay with it. He just wants to be a Warden. Anyway, I'll add in the relationship between England and Sealand later and why America ran away. And also America's wings -why they're tiny.

Anyway, fav and review as you so desire! Hope you enjoyed it!
Looking forward to it.