Disclaimer: APH doesn't belong to me.

Blending in with the humans had always been the easiest on his birthday. He could go all out and no one would give him a second glance. Even decked out in his most festively patriotic wear, he, the hero, sometimes paled in comparison to some of his more fanatical citizens. And honestly, that was fine with him. His boss had been telling him to tone it down a bit for a while anyways. Something about a walking fireworks arsenal being bad for the community. Party pooper.

That was the only thing he really looked forward to on July 4th. Fireworks. Who needed cake and candles? Fireworks were his candles. (Of course, cake was always tasty and everything, especially when it was blue, but that was beside the point anyhow.) Fireworks exploded! That beat boring old wax sticks any day.

He knew that everyone else expected him to throw another giant party, during which he would demand presents and congratulations from all there for the 234th time (hey, 234 presents is nothing when you're a nation), and then proceed to force-feed the guests coffee, or McDonald's, or whatever else it was they stereotyped him to do.

He didn't need that this year. Spending a birthday alone was good sometimes. Well, not alone, precisely, since he was standing rather uncomfortably amidst a crowd of excited people, but without any of his own kind. No, he was satisfied to wait among his people in some urban downtown (not sure which city; he wasn't exactly fussed about it), humming along to patriotic tunes while munching on a delicious hamburger. He didn't really want anything else. After his second century had passed, he thought that maybe it was about time to consider his brother and stupid England's feelings about being dragged into his madness all the time.

And that would be why he was standing as just another unknown, craning his neck to watch the inky sky as the first rocket launched itself up into the air, blooming into an amazing spectacle of light and brilliance.

He did not forget the men who had died to make his name. He did not forget – he remembered and honored them every year. And what better way to show their respect by setting off a ton of sparkling, flaming projectiles into night? It was good fun, and they were big, and beautiful, and impressive. They painted his colors into the air, and didn't let anyone forget.

He swallowed his bit of hamburger, singing now – you can't not sing along to your own national anthem, after all – and with his eyes raised to the heavens, he watched the bursts extinguish themselves with a bang (almost loud enough to make your heart skip - to make waves across your skin from their volume - ), only to be replaced with so many more, so many more to burn their images into three hundred million retinas –

America sang his national anthem with pride, his voice joining his citizens.

Alfred F. Jones made his 234th wish as the flames of his candles burned to ashes in the dark.

Happy birthday, Alfred! Happy birthday, you hero!

Erm, right, I kinda wrote this in a rush, it's the first fanfiction I've written in AGES, so do forgive any crappiness or whatever. Just had to get this done for Alfred's b-day and all. So yeah. Happy 234th birthdaaaaaaay! And now I'm off to go watch some fireworks myself. :)

EDIT: They were awesome. Loud enough to almost make my heart skip. ;) And I think the only reason I really wrote this was to satisfy my fireworks fetish. Not even kidding; I love them to pieces.