APH: World History 101, OCxVarious- Chapter 9

Chapter 9: America's Saddest Day?


It's quiet…too quiet.  I can feel my eyes narrowing in suspicion as I look around the main room, shutting the front door behind me.  Britain is seated at the dining table with a book and a cup of tea.  Japan is kneeling quietly in a corner doing calligraphy.  France is bustling around in the kitchen making something that smells absolutely divine.  And Russia comes in through the back door- forcing France to leap out of his way in fright- carrying a watering can and humming.  He ends up settling on the couch and turning on the TV.

"Ok.  What the hell is going on here?" I finally ask, too unnerved to keep silent any longer.  

All four nations look up at me like they just noticed I was there.  "What on Earth do you mean?" Britain questions looking perplexed.

"This!" I reply, waving my arms around to indicate the room.  "It's all calm and quiet in here.  It's not normal!"

"Perhaps it's because America isn't here?" Japan offers after a moment of thought.

I open my mouth to snap in response but then I realize that he's right- America isn't here.  And that's definitely unusual.  Ever since that fateful day I entered the globe America has pretty much been a constant in the house whether Danny is around or not.  Whether he's watching TV or playing video games or just generally making a nuisance of himself he's always around.  Except for today.

"Where is he?" I ask the other four countries, feeling quite confused and vaguely worried.

"Perhaps he saw a ghost," France comments airily sticking his head out from the kitchen.

"Or maybe he's gone to see his little alien friend," Britain snickers.

"Or maybe China has finally come to collect on his debts!"  France and Britain roar with laughter at this, though why it's so ridiculously funny is lost on me.  Russia is laughing as well, his chuckle light, and while Japan is trying his best to hide it he is obviously amused.  I roll my eyes and allow them to wander as I wait for the nations' mirth to abate.  

Until I see the calendar hanging on the wall behind the dining room table.  "You guys are assholes."

That immediately shuts them up.  "That's not very nice," Russia tells me, looking faintly put out.

"Chérie, what could possibly make you say that?" France exclaims, his tone affronted.

"Look what day it is."  I point to the calendar.  They all turn and look.  After a moment I add, with another eye roll, "It's Thursday."

"But that's…" France gasps.

"Oh dear…" I hear Japan murmur.

"Oh.  It's September 11th.  Now it makes sense,"  Russia comments cheerfully.  He has no sense of tact whatsoever.

"Now hold on just a minute Jordan," Britain says, turning back around with an anxious expression on his face.  "We didn't realize what day it was.  And we didn't mean to…I mean we didn't intend to…"

"Save it," I snap.  "I don't really want to talk to you guys anymore right now."  I turn and stalk to my bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" Britain calls after me.

"To check on America!" I shout back as I slam the door shut.  Ok maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of this then I need to.  But they were making fun of my country behind his back when he can't defend himself and on a day when he's probably not going to be up for defending himself.  Definitely not cool.

I drop my backpack on my bed and stride over to my desk, where the globe still sits, feeling determined.  The only time I entered the globe on my own could be classified as just short of disastrous, but I definitely want to check on America.  So I reach a hand out and spin it.  "Take me to the World Conference!"  God I hope that get's me inside the globe and not into some weird historical event.

I look around as the globe begins to slow.  Just like the last time a door has appeared in the middle of my room.  I crack it open and sigh in relief when I find that it really is just the inside of the globe.  I head inside and out into the hallway that leads off the World Conference room.  And that's when I realize I have no idea where I'm going.  I turn to the right.  Door after door painted with variously colored flags.  I turn left- the same thing.  Well, I'm not going to find America just standing around!  I head right.

After a bit of walking and a couple random turns I spot the familiar stars and stripes in red, white, and blue.  Ha.  I knew it wouldn't be that hard.  Of course, now that I'm here, I'm at a loss again.  I've never actually gone and looked for a country before- there were always around and they just took me where I needed to go.  There's also America himself.  I've got no idea how he's going to react to me just showing up at his door.  I hope he doesn't get upset.  Throwing caution to the wind I knock.

There is a sudden flurry of movement from inside.  A loud bang is followed by an 'Oh snap!' and then the door is wrenched open by a rather flustered looking America.  "Oh!  Jordan!  'Sup dude?" he asks, breaking into an easy smile.

Well this is…awkward.  "Hey America.  I just…uh…wanted to see how you were doing."

"Huh?  What're you talking about?  I'm totally fine!"  America laughs.

I observe him carefully for a moment before calling his bluff.  "No you're not."  And so he isn't.  His laugh is off and it sounds much more strained then normal.  His smile is clearly forced and there are dark circles under his eyes.  And his eyes themselves…the look in them…he just looks so tired.  America doesn't physically look like he's any older than me, but just looking in his eyes…I'm reminded of how very not human he is.  How much he's seen that I haven't.

"Yea you're right," America sighs, immediately dropping his front.  "It's just, you know, today."  I nod in agreement, uncertain as to what to say.  America continues after a moment's pause.  "You remember it right?"

"Of course I do.  How could anyone not?" I reply.  "I was in middle school- what?  Seventh grade?  Anyway, we were outside for PE and then all the teachers starting calling us in saying something about planes falling out of the sky.  We didn't have TVs in our classrooms or anything so no one knew what was really going on but then they told us that planes were crashing.  All the teachers seemed really freaked out.  Then parents started to come and pick their kids up, but I was sure that there was no way my mom was going to come get me.  I realized that something serious was going on when she did.  And then I got home and it was on TV…"  I trail off.  America stays quiet, looking contemplative.

And then, "I was there."  

I look up at him in shock.  "Really?"

"Yea.  In New York."  New York City.  The World Trade Center.  Oh, America…  His expression is haunted, the look in his eyes distant.

"Will you…show me?" I ask after a long hesitation.  America looks down at me in surprise.  "It's just…I was still a kid when it happened, you know?  I didn't really understand what it all meant until it got older.  But it had such an impact…and I kinda of want to see it so that I can really understand..."  I shift under comfortably under America's stunned gaze.

There it is again, that air of age and tiredness in his eyes.  "Are you really sure?" America asks me gently.  This is the most serious I've ever seen him.  And something about the way he's looking at me tells me that he's hoping- for my sake- that I say no.  Too bad I'm about to disappoint him.

"Yes."  My tone borders on stubborn.

"Ok.  Follow me."

America closes his door behind him and sets off down the hallway.  I follow him, but it's hard to keep up with his pace.  I'm surprised when we arrive at my closest.  "Do I really need to change?" I ask uncertainly as America heads down to the far end of the right rack.  It's not just the fact that he wants me to wear different clothes that's throwing me for a loop.  America isn't acting at all like himself and it's almost got me more worried than his obvious gloom that comes from today being what it is.  I mean, I don't blame him for being down or anything, but it just seems really weird…and wrong.

"You'll be glad that you did.  Take my word for it," he tells me as he comes back and pushes a bundle of fabric into my arms.  I meet his eyes, but I can't tell what he's thinking- he's too guarded.

I go and change.  The jeans fit a little differently and the T-shirt is a bit too big, but other than that this outfit is pretty much identical to something I would wear today.  I step back out into the main room, but America doesn't comment.  I'm not surprised because he definitely has a reason to be preoccupied, though it still makes me a bit uneasy.  America opens the door for me and bright sunlight filters out.  Usually the countries tell me to have fun or something like that.  America just says, "Be careful."  I step through the doorway.


…


The first thing that assaults my senses is sound.  Traffic, people, construction- all the sounds of a vibrant city pulsing with life.  I'm standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk being jostled as people on their way to work push past me.  Traffic is heavy on the street to my right with what seems like an endless stream of cars and iconic NYC taxis crawling by.  All the buildings tower above me, their windows glittering in the morning sunlight.  I feel giddy for a moment.  This is the first time I've ever been in New York City before.  And then I remember why I'm here.

There, towering above the other buildings in the skyline in front of me, are the North and South towers of the World Trade Center.  I shiver despite the warmth provided by the sun as I think about what will happen…um, soon.  I don't remember what time the first one hit exactly, but the clock in the window of bank says it's 8:38 so I know it's coming soon.

It's kind of strange to be here and know what's coming.  All the people pushing past me on the sidewalk are completely unaware of how drastically everything is about to change.  I'd like to be able to just keep on eye on the twin towers as I walk- nervously awaiting the beginning of the day's tragic events- but there are way too many people and I'd rather not provoke a random New Yorker's infamous wrath by running into them.  So, instead, I bring my gaze back down to street level in order to watch for America.

Just when I'm starting to wonder when I'm going to run into him I spot a familiar head of wheat-colored blond hair, that stubborn cowlick waving loftily in the late summer breeze.  America is walking away from me down the sidewalk in the general direction of the World Trade Center.  He's dressed casually in a light jacket and jeans.  He's got headphones- actual headphones not the ear buds everyone has nowadays- over his ears and I'd bet that the wire disappearing into his pocket is connected to a CD player.  No iPods yet.  This greatly amuses me for some reason and I have to stifle a giggle.  Talk about nostalgic.

I follow America from a distance, curious as to where he's going, until I hear the roar of an airplane from overhead, the sound way too loud and way too close to be normal.  I look up just in time to see the plane crash into the North tower of the World Trade Center with an almighty boom and a blaze of fire.  My heart stops and another chill runs up my spine as chaos erupts on the sidewalk around me and in the street.  Oh my God, I think numbly.  I can't believe it.  I just saw the first plane crash.

All around me people are screaming and crying.  There is a lot of confused shouting as well, people wondering if it was an accident.  It wasn't of course, but I suppose it makes sense that they didn't automatically assume it was on purpose.  All the cars in the street have stopped, people getting out to gape.  And there are people running, both towards and away from the site of the attack.  I search for America among the confused and terrified masses.  He is standing right where he was when I last saw him, his stance tense and shocked as he watches the thick black smoke roll out of the burning building as flames lick the broken windows.  And then, suddenly, he charges forward, sprinting towards the World Trade Center.  I stare, surprised, at his retreating back for a moment before taking off after him.

Shit, but America is fast!  It's all I can do just to keep up with him.  He uncaringly pushes people out of his way as he runs, though this at least makes it easier for me to follow him through the crush.  We arrive at the World Trade Center complex, a plaza opening out in front of us as we dash across a street.  The cars are all parked, but there are no people in them anymore.  The few stragglers that are left in the street are moving away, though there's a flood of people emerging from the surrounding buildings.  America doesn't hesitate, pushing into the North tower through the rush of people trying to get out without breaking stride.  I follow him with some difficulty, the scream of sirens erupting behind me.  As I step inside I just catch a glimpse of the tail of America's jacket disappearing into a stairwell before people running out block it from my sight.

The lobby was clearly supposed to be a fancy place, but now it's in shambles.  All the windows have been shattered and there is smoke pouring from one of the elevator shafts.  I cough and cover my mouth with my hand in an attempt to stop myself from inhaling it.  People are screaming and crying as they rush from the stairwells and push their ways towards the doors.  Some people are going out the broken windows.  I look towards the stairwell that America disappeared into.  I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing but I plunge forward through the crowd and into it.  Someone else, a young man dressed in street clothes, pushes me from behind and helps me get through before disappearing up the stairwell ahead of me.

Moving up is slow going.  It isn't long before I begin to smell smoke again and by the time I reach somewhere around the tenth floor it's starting to get thick.  I stop a random woman as she makes her way down past me to ask why.  She tells me that one of the elevator banks on the 22nd floor exploded and I get the funny feeling that it's the same one that was burning in the lobby.  I hurry upwards once again, but I'm forced to slow down as I reach the 20th floor.  The flood of people coming down the stairs has slowed to a trickle, but the smoke is becoming suffocating.  It's gotten a lot hotter now too and I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck as I edge on to the 22nd floor landing.  Before I take the time to think about what I'm doing, realize I'm insane, and chicken out I pull the door open and enter.

The smoke is even thicker here, making it difficult to see, and the heat is almost unbearable.  I pull the neck of my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose as I walk forward.  There are a few people still left here, most of them either helping someone else or being helped.  "Hello!" I call as I move farther into the smoke.  "Is there anyone who needs help?!"

"Over here!"  The voice is raspy and quickly overcome by coughing as I hurry forward to its source.  I find an older woman seated and leaning against a wall.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my ankle," she rasps.  Looking down I see that it's swollen and covered with dark bruising.  "I got hit by the edge of the blast when the elevator exploded.  I think it's broken."  She descends into another coughing fit.  Shit.  I need to get her out of here before her lungs get even more damaged.

"Give me your arm," I say.  She does and I sling it over my shoulder.  Carefully I pull her up into a standing position.  "Can you put weight on your other foot?"  She nods.  "Good."  I begin to walk back towards the stairwell, the woman hobbling along with my help.

The descent back into the lobby is difficult.  The woman is weak from smoke inhalation and nearly falls several times before I can get her balanced again.  The other people on the stairwell don't try to help- they're either helping someone else or just rushing past- until we run into a group of firefighters between the 12th and 13th floors.  One of them takes the woman from me and, swinging her up into a fireman's carry, runs back down the stairs.

I turn to head back up, but one of the firefighters stops me.  "Don't go back up.  We'll handle it from here."

I definitely want to listen to him.  The smoke has gotten to me too, making it difficult to breathe, and the heat has sapped a lot of my strength.  But there are a lot of people still trapped in the building and America's probably still up there somewhere too.  "I can't.  I've got to find my, uh, friend," I protest.

"We'll find them.  Just get out of here.  Now."  This time it's not a request, but an order that leaves no room for argument.  The firefighter gives me a gentle push down the stairs and the others hustle me along until my feet hit the next landing.  I turn to watch them disappear into the smoke.  I bite my lip, wondering if any of them will be one of the many firefighters who lose their lives here today.  I whip back around and race downwards desperately hoping that they won't be.

There are more firefighters and quite a few police officers in the lobby when I reach it.  It sounds like they're trying to get a handle on what's going on, most of them shouting into radios.  More people are descending from the other staircases.  The fire in the elevator has been extinguished.  I'm just about to run out the front doors when America suddenly passes me, sprinting just as quickly as he was when he charged into the building.  He's got a person thrown over each shoulder, both of them appearing to be fairly badly injured.  I'm definitely glad I've found him again, though I'm surprised he's still able to move so fast.

I follow America as he crosses the plaza, heading for the waiting ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars.  I feel stupid for not noticing how much debris there is out here before, especially since most of it looks like it was on fire at some point.  Lots of cars have been crushed and I suspect more people have been injured too.  There's smoke rising from some of the other buildings surrounding the towers.  Many of them are still under construction.  At least there wouldn't have been a lot of people to evacuate from them.

America deposits the two people he was carrying with one of the ambulances and then turns and races back towards the North tower.  I pause.  I don't think I should follow him again.  I don't have energy to be running up and down staircases, not too mention the fact that the firefighters or police would probably stop me again.  I turn back towards the emergency vehicles.  Well I may not be able to carry people out of the building, but there's still something I can do.  

I approach a harried looking paramedic and lay a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.  He turns and, after giving me a cursory once-over to verify my health, snaps, "What do you want?"

"I can help.  My mom is a nurse, so I know basic first aid and stuff."

He gives me another suspicious glance before pulling me closer and shoving some supplies into my hands.  "Alright," he says.  It worries me that these guys are so swamped that they'd accept my help without taking much time to think about it.  But I'm glad I can still be useful.

Not that I'm doing anything particularly complicated.  Only people with minor injuries are pointed in my direction.  Most of what I'm doing is bandaging minor cuts, scrapes, and burns or snapping oxygen masks onto people's faces.  Or trying to bring people out of shock.  Ambulances and other vehicles are constantly coming and going, ferrying the wounded out of harms' way.  And we definitely get some people who are seriously injured.  I try not to let my gaze linger on them for too long.  Now is not the time to be getting squeamish.  I see America once more as he drops another two people off and sprints back into the North tower.

I have no idea what time it is, nor do I really know how much time has gone by when the air is once again suddenly full of the deafening roar of an airplane's engine.  People around me scream and I look up just in time- again- to see the second plane crash into the South tower.  There is a massive explosion as it hits, a fireball exiting the far side of the building as more thick black smoke pours into the air.  I get a sinking feeling in my stomach.  The second plane…more people dying more people injured.  And it hit lower too…  I feel sick just watching.  I mean I knew it was going to happen, but seeing it again…

My thoughts are interrupted by the paramedic shoving me into the back of the ambulance along with the girl- she can't be much older than me- I've been working on.  "Move!" he growls angrily.  The paramedic's patient is already inside.  The paramedic shelters behind the door of the ambulance as burning debris rains down around us.  Once it stops he pulls us all out again.  "Get of here," he tells me.  "Take them with you.  It's not safe to be this close anymore."  

The girl I was working on heads off on her own, but the paramedic's patient- a young man also around my age- is still clearly in shock.  I take his hand and lead him away.  Other people are moving away too, along with a lot of the vehicles.  I end up stopping down one of the side streets where another paramedic takes the young man off my hands and begins to treat him.  I stay with this group and continue doing what I can to help.

More time passes.  Apparently the force that draws me to the countries while I'm in the past is still in effect because America shows up several times carrying more people.  I'm glad for this, as it allows me to keep an eye on him.  I do my best to focus on helping the injured, however.  There are just so many people though.  It's crazy.

Suddenly someone screams.  It startles me badly enough that I flinch and tear a roll of gauze much sooner than I intended.  I look around, confused, as more people start to scream, the horror in their voices making my blood run cold.  I realize what all the fuss is about when I see someone jump from high up on the North tower and watch their body plummet towards the ground.  I can't help myself- I scream too.  Clapping my hands over my mouth I look away, unwilling and unable to watch the end result.  Tears well up in my eyes as I think about what must have led to that person intentionally ending their life that way.  It's horrifying.

Following closely after that I feel a surge of hot anger.  There are people out there who did this on purpose, that wanted to cause so much pain and destruction that people were forced to make a choice like that.  And these aren't our military- they're innocent civilians who have done nothing wrong and can't defend themselves.  Close on the heels of anger is hate.  It burns slowly in my gut.  The fact that I feel it so strongly- even though I think I'm completely justified to feel it at this point- makes me feel infinitely uncomfortable.  I didn't think it was possible for me to hate anyone or anything like this.  My hands are shaking so badly that I tear the gauze accidentally again.  Damn it!  I think I can finally understand why we went to war so quickly after 9/11.

I do my best to refocus on my task.  To ignore the shouts and cries of the people around me.  To ignore the fact that people behind me are falling to their deaths or being burned alive or are suffocating.  To ignore the fact that somewhere half a world away there are people who are probably rejoicing in our pain.  I'm trying but damn it, it's hard.


…


The passage of time is all kinds of messed up today, but I think it's getting close to an hour since the second plane hit the South tower… and that means it's going to be collapsing soon.  I'm getting antsy.  I haven't seen America in a while and I'm worried about what will happen if he gets caught up in the collapse.  Will he die?  Can the nations even die?  I don't know.  But if he does die what happens to the country?  Again I don't know, but I really don't want to find out.

Finally I spot him again as he drops another person off at one of the nearby ambulances.  I'm not treating anyone at the moment so I hurry over and manage to get in front of him before he can race back off towards the towers.  "Hold on a minute!" I tell him.  I have to shout practically to stop him from running into me.

Irritation and something that looks a lot like desperation flashes across America's face as he notices me for the first time.  "What?" he snaps.  I never would have imagined that he could look so frantic and upset if I weren't seeing it for myself.  He's sweaty and breathing hard, his clothes and face streaked with soot.  There's a wild look in his eyes that frightens me.  

"You can't go back into the towers."

"What?!  Don't be ridiculous!  There are still people inside!"  America pushes past me but I grab his hand to stop him.  

He shoots a glare at me over his shoulder and easily frees himself from my grasp.  Panic rises in my chest.  "Wait!  America!  You can't go back!"  My tone has taken on a pleading edge, but I don't care- anything to stop him.

America freezes.  When he turns around there is surprise and disbelief written as clear as day across his features.  "You know who I am?" he asks softly, sounding stunned.

"Yes!  And that's why you can't go back!  The South tower is going to collapse any minute now!"

Horror and alarm flashes across America's face this time.  He turns and begins to run, but I grab his hand again and this time I dig my heels in.  I slow him down but not by much.  "Let me go!" he shouts desperately.  "If it's going to collapse then there's even more reason for me to hurry up and go back!"

"No!" I yell back defiantly.  I'm surprised America doesn't just rip his hand from grasp again.  I certainly couldn't stop him if he really wanted to.  "You can't go back!  Look at what's happening around us!  And there's the Pentagon and that plane that crashed in Pennsylvania too!"

"Damn it!" America shouts angrily.  "Let go!"

"No!  If you go back you'll die!  And you can't die!"  America freezes again.  He turns and looks back at me, his expression suddenly and strangely unreadable.  I never pegged him to have a good poker face.  "You're America," I say quietly, out of breath from our struggle and my own heartache.  I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, in response to both my own emotions and the anguish on America's face.  "If you die what happens to the rest of us?"

America never gets the chance to answer as a deep rumbling that I feel more than hear fills the air around us.  We both look around, spinning in search of the source, until people start screaming.  "Shit!" America exclaims and I echo him with my own expletive as I see it too.  The South tower has started to collapse.

Without hesitation America turns around and runs away from it, dragging me along with him as his grip tightens around my hand.  I want to turn around and look, to see if it really is falling because in some ways I honestly can't believe it– or maybe don't want to would be more accurate.  But I can't because we're moving too fast.  The noise of the tower collapsing behind us grows deafening as we duck down another side street.

Suddenly there is an enormous boom and the ground beneath our feet begins to shake violently.  "Get down!" America roars, pushing me to the ground and dropping down next to me.  He throws his arms over my head and neck to protect my body with his own.  That's just like him.  I feel rather numb again.  The ground is shaking so badly that I can hardly breathe as debris rains down around us.  Suddenly we are enveloped by darkness and I cover my noise and mouth to stop myself from breathing in the dust from the thick, dark cloud that has us surrounded.

A strong gust rises, blowing back towards the site of the collapse, but once it dies down everything is strangely silent.  Slowly America gets off me and rises.  After a moment to catch my breath I follow.  It is eerily quiet now and oddly dark, the light a pale gray as it filters through the dust and ash still hanging in the air.  Everything is covered with it- the buildings, the cars, even America and I.  Debris litters the ground, the pieces getting larger the closer to ground zero you get, though I can't see very far down the street.  Some of the debris is still smoldering gently.  

There are other people around us rising to their feet- they turned and ran as soon as the tower began to collapse too- but none of them make a sound.  The sorrow hanging in the air is even thicker than the dust.  And as for me I only have eyes for America.  He's covered in dirt and grime, his mouth is agape, and his eyes are wide and staring.  His glasses dangle precariously on the end of his nose.  But there are two fresh tracks on his face, undoubtedly cleaned by the tears still pouring down his cheeks.  I'm sure I've got them as well because I'm crying too.  And the look on America's face, the complete and utter agony there…it breaks my heart.

"No!"  America's scream tears through the somber stillness and cuts into my chest like a hot knife.  The pain in it is almost unbearable.  I honestly don't think I have the mental capacity to process it all…and the pain he's feeling must be a thousand times worse.  I find I can't move as America suddenly takes off, darting deeper into the cloud and disappearing.

Someone else screams and begins to weep hysterically and the feeling comes back to my limbs along with my panic for America's safety.  "Wait!  Come back America!" I cry, starting forward on trembling legs.  "The other tower is still going to—!"  My voice dies in my throat as a hand catches my shoulder.  I spin around unsteadily and catch sight of the current America standing in front of an open door.

"It's time to go back," he says.  The expression in his eyes gives me chills.  It's just…so…so…dead.  It's way more disturbing than it was before I left.  America isn't supposed to look like that.  He's one of the youngest of the nations.  He's supposed to vibrant and full of life and ready for anything.  So he's not supposed to look so…blank.

"But you…and the tower…" I protest weakly.

America shakes he's head.  "I did some really…stupid things after this," he tells me, something like remorse flashing through his eyes.  "It wouldn't be safe for you.  Come on."  He takes my hand gently and leads me back through the doorway.  I don't fight him now.  I'm too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to even consider it.  


…


Steam follows me briefly as I step out of the bathroom, wearing my original clothing, and pull my damp hair into a ponytail.  When we got back to the globe America offered to let me use his bathroom to clean up.  I was definitely grateful because I was covered in ash and dust and I really didn't want either of my roommates or the other countries asking questions about it.

Now I'm standing in the main room of America's…um…I'm not sure what to call it.  House I guess.  It looks like one anyways.  The main room is just a big family room with a kitchen and a dining area attached, like the house I live in.  There's the bathroom off it and a couple of other doors that probably lead to bedrooms.  The furniture is eclectic, but most of the main pieces are mission style like what you would imagine a house somewhere in the southwest having.  America also has a massive TV and what looks like ever gaming system ever made.  The rooms are spacious, but not huge, though they do get me wondering about what the other nations' houses look like.

The most amazing thing, however, about America's living quarters are the windows.  Or more specifically the view from the windows- out each one is something different.  Out one is a beach in what looks like Florida.  Out another is a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains.  Another is the New York City skyline, the twin towers conspicuously absent after my most recent adventure.  And yet another has a view of the White House.  It's cool, really cool, but as I have no idea how it works I try not to put too much thought into it.

Walking farther into the room I spot America laid out on his couch.  As I approach him I wonder if he's fallen asleep.  One leg is hanging off the couch, his foot resting on the floor, and he's got one arm thrown up over his face.  His glasses are laying on the coffee table.  I hesitate briefly before speaking.  If he is asleep I don't really want to wake him up.  He's seemed so emotionally distraught today- and by that I don't mean crying and weeping, I mean acting so distant- that it'd probably be better to just let him rest.  But I don't know how I'm going to get out of the globe without him.  

"Um…America?"

America shoots straight up into a sitting position, clearly startled.  "Oh Jordan, it's you," he says, laughing slightly though he still seems more distressed than amused.  "So how'd you like going back this time?"  I can tell by America's tone that his question isn't serious.  In fact he probably didn't even realize what he was saying.  He's just trying to deflect my attention away from him.

I ignore his question.  "Were you…crying?"

"What?  No!  Heroes don't cry!"  America tries- and fails- to laugh again.  His eyes are red and his face is blotchy and he looks just as sad and empty as before, though I detect an edge of guilt now too.

I sigh quietly and sit down on the couch next to America, feeling my own guilt.  "Look I'm sorry for asking you to take me back.  If I'd thought it was going to upset you this much I—"

"No, it's nothing like that," America interrupts, running a hand through his hair, his expression slightly rueful.  "I get like this every year…" he admits quietly.

I blink at him, slightly taken aback.  "Every year?  Even after all this time?"

America nods.  He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.  "It's just that…I'm America."  America's hands, which are glasped together, tighten, his knuckles turning white.  "I'm supposed to be the defender of justice and democracy and all that stuff.  All the other countries are always looking to me to see what I'm going to do next and I try so hard to always do the right thing.  To be the hero I always say I am."  America's face suddenly contorts with so much grief and guilt that it leaves me breathless.  "But 9/11…it always reminds that I'm really just an idiot."  

"There were signs before it happened, you see," he continues.  "But I didn't pay attention…I ignored them.  And then, God, all those people…"  Tears well up in America's eyes and quickly spill over his lids to race their way his down his cheeks and drip off his chin.  America doesn't make any effort to try and stop them.   "I tried…but so many people still died.  And afterwards everything just became such a mess…"  America hunches over, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"I'm just a failure Jordan.  I'm not a hero.  I can't stop bad things from happening in my own country so there's now way that I can bring peace to the whole world.  I couldn't even prevent that terrorist attack and protect my own people…I'm just…a failure."

America completely breaks down now.  I sit stock still, unable to think of anything to do or say.  It may be just because he's my country, but seeing America so broken like this tears me up inside.  My heart literally aches for him.  But at the same time I'm a little angry.  9/11 wasn't America's fault and I hate to see him like this because he's blaming himself, because he wants to shoulder the whole burden.

"America please stop crying," I say soothingly as I lay a hand on his shoulder.  He's seems to have forgotten my presence as he continues weeping like I'm not even here.  I call his name again and gently shake his shoulder.  Again, nothing.  Ok, now I'm starting to get annoyed.  And kind of freaked out.

"America!" I practically shout, reaching out and grabbing his face and pulling him around to face me.  America is so surprised by my sudden outburst that his tears stop.

"9/11 wasn't your fault.  There wasn't anything you could have done to stop it, so stop blaming yourself.  And I know people died.  I saw it…" I trail off as those recent memories flash through my mind.  Sniffling once I swallow my own tears.  "But you still saved a bunch of people.  And I know you would have risked yourself to save every one of them if you could have.  You are a hero America.  So stop crying already."

The surprise in America's eyes is replaced by something else, but he looks away before I can identify it.  "No," he mutters despondently.  "I'm not."

Something inside me snaps and I let out a yell of frustration.  "Would you listen to yourself?!" I shout, squishing America's cheeks together.  His eyes meet mine. Surprise is there again, as a mumbled 'ouch' slips between his now pursed lips.  "You're the freaking United States of America!  The land of the free and the home of the brave and all that crap!  How many other countries have changed the way they do things because they saw the things you did differently and realized that it was better?!  Maybe I'm kind of biased because I am an American, but you're the best freaking country in the world!"

With a frustrated sigh I let go of America's face and sit back, crossing my arms over my chest.  America just keeps staring at me, his expression dumbfounded.  "So what if you can't bring about world peace?  That's something that isn't going to happen just because one country wants it to- you're all going to have to cooperate on that.  But you're still awesome America.  I think that and so does everyone else who is proud to call themselves an American.  No matter what America we- your citizens- are always going to love you, ok?  That's why we fight for you, why the rest of the world thinks our patriotism is so obnoxious.  Because we're Americans- your citizens.  You'll always be a hero to us.  Even if you mess up."

I feel my cheeks heat up as America keeps staring at me, the look in his eyes now astonished.  And there's something else too, almost like he's seeing me clearly for the first time.  It's kind of uncomfortable, but I meet his gaze stubbornly and I don't look away.  "Do you really mean that?" America finally asks me, his voice somewhat husky from all his tears.  His expression is unreadable again, but there's a glint of hope in his eyes finally.

"Yes." I tell him firmly.

America suddenly breaks out into an enormous grin, his expression finally something akin to what I'm used to seeing him with.  This time America reaches out and grabs me to pull me into a bone-crushing hug.  "Thank you, Jordan," he tells me, his voice choked with emotion.  I'm pretty sure he's crying again, as he nestles his face in my hair.  "I needed to hear that."

"You're welcome," I sigh back.  I wish he wasn't crying again, but I'm relieved he's not so depressed now at least.  I think it was JFK that said 'Ask not what your country can do for you- ask what you can do for your country'.  And right now I'm pretty sure my country needs a hug.  So, with a blush on my cheeks and a strangely warm and fuzzy feeling in my chest, I hug America back.


…


As soon as I open the door to my room and step out Britain scrambles to his feet from where he had been sitting at the dining table with France and Japan.  Russia is still on the couch watching the same TV channel that was on when I left.  France, Japan, and Russia- all of them (even Russia) looking apologetic- train their gazes on me as I stare back at them confused.  

"Jordan, we're so sorry we—…"  Britain's voice dies in his throat as America steps into the main room behind me.  The awkwardness level in the room just doubled.

"Hey guys!" America greets them all cheerfully.

Britain exchanges worried glances with France and Japan before turning back to his former colony.  "Are you…alright, America?" he asks, his tone suggesting that he's afraid America's going to snap and break down any second.

"Dude?  What're you talking about?" America asks, cocking his head to the side in puzzlement.

"Well…I…I mean we…"

Britain squirms uncomfortably under America's gaze, until America throws back his head and laughs.  "Chill out dude!" he chuckles.  "The hero's always ok!"  At this America throws me a quick grin, gratitude sparkling in his bright blue eyes.  I smile back feeling my face heat up yet again as my heart suddenly races in my chest.  America turns away just as quickly and leaps over the back of the couch, grabbing the remote from Russia's hands and quickly changing the channel.

Russia gives America an irritated look before getting up off the couch and heading back out the back door.  France sighs dramatically and rises to disappear into the kitchen, but not before I catch sight of the small, yet satisfied smirk on his face.  Japan, who had been reading a book when America and I walked in, ducks behind it again with the smallest of amused smiles on his lips.  And Britain just stands there dumbfounded and spluttering incoherently as America cheers when he changes the channel to MTV and sees that Jackass is on.

"I was…you were…you…you git!"

America roars with laughter at Britain's outburst, while Britain's face burns red with embarrassment.  I can't help myself- I begin to laugh too.  Now this…this is how things are supposed to be.