This is How a Hero Falls

When the Stars stop flickering and the candlelight finally goes out.

By Ryukansen

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No, he never saw himself as a tragic figure - a hero who had done wrong, but realized too late. Because a hero who fails, was never a hero to begin with.

But who was he kidding? He failed many times.

No, he does not listen to others who criticize his reckless and brainless actions because to him it is for the better good. And no he does not submit to anyone's demands - only his own, because he's afraid to stray from his path. Yes, he could say he was a selfish person, and yes he could say that sometimes he just couldn't care at all. Maybe that was because he was just so tired from saving everyone else?

Because maybe every one kept on depending on him - the hero.

But no he was not a quitter - because even though he was tired, he would always come to their help - and even those his bones were breaking, his back aching, his wounds reopening and his blood slipping out of him, he would not bother to hesitate in their time of need.

But sometimes he just was so tired.

So many missions to complete, so many requests to finish - and yet he was always left with something left undone, or people unsatisfied. And as he tried to clear his mind from their rants and vulgar complaints, he keeps echoing to himself how defeated he was. In a way, all the things he failed to do…outweighed all the things he had accomplished.

And as he tries to help, it always ends up with something wrong. And the world will begin to hate him a little, maybe even more.

A mission would blunder, or he would have done something incredibly wrong. Everyone would tell him that he was straying from the right path - and was just the same evil as any evil could get.

His allies would secretly whisper malice of his name while he approached the stadium to speak - and his enemies as usual would begin throwing his title with repulsive taste.

Sometimes, he felt that maybe he was doing all the wrong things.

And at times, he tried to withdraw to himself in that small corner on that empty stage. Curled up, protecting himself from all those harsh words. Those ridicules and humiliations he had to face by himself - all because of himself.

And as he withdrew, more nations began to grow.

And those nations were gaining up to him. They were rising in power and wealth as they creep up on the stage, where he had always been alone ever since Russia left. And he feels uncomfortable as he has to share the space, maybe because he's too used to the emptiness left for only him.

China comes up and smiles, wearing the mantle of supremacy Alfred had been wearing with happiness, because it was only for him - and now it meant nothing at all. And next England comes back to rise, and newer nations that had never experienced such status begin to climb up as well - and he gets hidden behind everyone else, staring in bewilderment - helpless. Not hero-like at all.

America stares quietly at the stadium around him. The stage was now filled to the brim, and he could barely keep himself on.

Sometimes America thinks its best for the hero to retire.

The steps were so close, all he needed to do was descend from the stage- and finally let a new person take over the podium. His hand twitches as he lets go of the edges of the familiar stand, and as he looks at the almost empty room, he finds himself tearing inside.

Buts sometimes he thinks its best to keep staying on the stage - directing people where to go and where not to.

He takes a few steps, but the other countries hold him back - telling him that they still need him. But never emphasized they wanted him.

No country ever wanted him. America had been born with sentiment far outreaching hatred, and yet he still smiled benevolently - trying to help.

And although his smile would reach those in need, it would never protect them from the harshness of reality - and America would have to come face to face with the fact that he could not save everyone.

And as America takes a step forward, the hands grab his jacket tighter.

"You helped us, now it's our time to help alongside you."

And since when did the Hero ever need help?

He should have realized, he was never superman to begin with.

And the steps look so much more tempting.

The room is so stuffy and America loosens his cobalt tie. He stares silently and gravely at the mass that had formed up behind him, in front of him, all around him - the mass of nations that had shunned him when he was in power.

Will they ever feel shunned by other nations - just like he had?

England takes a step forward to shake hands, but America is hesitant and keeps away. China and the others stare at him as if he was selfish, while Russia who had come back smirks in satisfaction as America lowers his head in rare defeat.

America does not want anyone to hate him even further, so America shakes England's hand affirming that the new superpowers were now assembled. And as the other nations celebrate and begin creating their own technology, their own laws - without America's help - America retreats to that desolate corner, only left for him.

He withdraws, and breaths, and cries, and all at once he could feel himself breaking - but laughing - he was laughing.

So this is how the hero falls, huh?

He had no more power. The fledgling nations he had harbored under his great wings, the weak nations he had supported throughout his lifetime, the nations that begged for him to come no longer needed him.

And slowly he found himself withdrawing once more from the world.

And as he crouches down, buries his head against the arms that would shield him from the world, he feels the shadows of the countries who had both supported and scorn him, stand above him. Smiling in sympathy, but still lending those hands.

Those hands that America had never seen before.

Another country helping America?

He smiled, tears dragging out of his sore and bagged eyes. He laughs, but does not speak. He hiccups and blows his nose, and wipes the tears with the sleeve of his coat.

And after his downfall , after all this time of loneliness, ridicule, his time in power…someone is actually offering him a hand?

But no…he would not take it - because once he takes that hand - America knows that is when he will pull that other country down - into the same ocean of evil he had created. And America would cry and refuse, and get glares from the other nations and as he cried, he found himself drowning in nothing.

His breathing grows harsh and the other nations have yet to noticed. His presence shrinks, and as his power fades - America finds himself back from the very beginning - where nothing meant anything, and power was everything. America wipes his face, and remains crouched down in that corner of the stage, eyeing those who were now walking his path.

No, he dares not say he had fallen. Because a Hero could not truly fall, unless he quits. And No, America never quits.

He just stays and waits, impatiently, but he still waits.

A smile curls up his lips as he closes his eyes, and for the first time - sleeps and rests with no fear.