Okay, I was pretty depressed when I wrote this yesterday, so I'm sorry if it's too moody, I just couldn't help it. After watching my Saints get their butts handed to them by RGIII, I had to channel my frustration into something productive, and this is what I came up with.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hetalia series or its characters. They are the creations of Hidekazu Himaruya.

Other Disclaimer: I do not own any of the professional football franchises mentioned in this story. Any product of the National Football League is a copyright of the National Football League and this author recognizes their right of ownership over any and all content pertaining to the league and its franchises. This is a nonprofit endeavor and I only my wish to exercise my freedom of speech as a fan of the sport.

From an altitude of 30,000 feet, Canada sat in a cushioned seat gazing as clouds flew by at 500 miles per hour. He figured that he should probably take a short nap before his flight landed in the John F. Kennedy International Airport, but he was too engrossed with the streams of condensed air pooling off of the tips of the jet's wings. There was something soothing about watching the currents of fluid lick at the fuselage, rippling at the end of their trails and dissipating into nothing against the backdrop of a clear blue sky. It provided for a nice distraction from the events that were yet to come, and Canada did not need to get flustered before he met up with his brother. Canada was sacrificing a lot to see America; and although the flight from Toronto to New York was but a few hours, Canada had plenty of work waiting back at home and precious little time to get it all done. When the dull hum of the jet's turbines slowly lulled Canada to sleep, he stole one last glance out the window, admiring how the plane sliced through the thin air as it straddled to top of the troposphere.

Canada quickly walked through the busy airport lobby toting his only luggage, a simple carry-on, behind him. He glanced each and every way looking for a familiar mat of light blond hair and a matching set of bright blue eyes. He failed to find his brother in the expansive airport complex and resolved to call him. He had just pulled out his phone when a loud and obnoxious voice cut through the noise of the crowd.

"Hey Canadia, over here!"

Canada turned to see his brother rushing over to him with a big smile plastered on his face. Canada couldn't help but grin in amusement at America's happy-go-lucky attitude.

"Dude, I'm so psyched you're here! How's it hangin' north of the border?"

"Hey America", replied Canada timidly. "It's the same as usual I guess. Drilling operations in Alberta are going smoothly, and we're still trying to put out some of those wild fires. Unfortunately, Quebec is stirring up some trouble about secession again, but what can you do, eh?"

"Oh man, you can say that again. It seems as though no matter where you turn a new problem pops out of nowhere."

"Oh come on, how could we live without them?" Canada replied with an air of good humored sarcasm.

"Just fine if you ask me", America grumbled. Canada just shook his head, smirking at his brother's complaints.

"So, where's the polar bear?" America asked as they walked toward the lobby exit.

"Oh, Kumajirou's staying at Greenland's house for the week. He claims it's too hot to be down here right now."

"Well that's too bad. Tell him I said hello." America remarked absentmindedly as he hailed down a cab. The two brothers piled in and America gave the cabby the destination. He also demanded that he pay for lunch. "Don't worry, it's on me." he reassured the weak-willed, but protesting Canadian. Canada finally relented allowing his brother to do what he wanted.

"I appreciate it America." he said in his soft spoken manner.

Canada and America sat chatting in a pizza parlor, mutually enjoying each other's company while eating an enormous supreme pizza.

Canada could not believe his eyes when the waitress had put the pie on the table; it was enormous! The thing could barely stay on the table, and it was topped to the brim with various meats, cheeses, and veggies. "How do they even fit this in the oven?" Canada had asked, exasperated. America had just laughed at his expression and replied with, "I don't know how these guys do it, dude. They're freaking geniuses!" But the pizza was delicious and Canada was happy that America had taken him here.

"So, anything interesting happen in sports this weekend? The NFL season premiered yesterday, right?" Canada inquired.

America's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and suddenly he was all giddy. "Yeah dude, totally! You should have seen that kickass game in the Meadowlands. The Boys won, it was amazing!" Alfred blabbered on and on about the game he attended while Canada just nodded his head. If there was one way to get his brother to open up, it was to talk about sports; and he became extra talkative when the Dallas Cowboys, "America's Team", came out with a win.

When America finished recounting his tale of Dallas' victory over New York, he gave a contented sigh and stared off into space with a dreamy look in his eye. Canada decided that it was time to bring him back to reality. "So, you ready to head out?"

"Oh yeah, right." America said coming out of his reverie. America covered the tab, gave the lovely waitress a generous tip, and then led Canada to the taxi heading back to America's place.

Canada had forgotten the lengths America would go to in order to impress his guests. He had rented a fancy, two-bedroom suite in an exclusive high rise hotel for the both of them; it was too much. "A penthouse suite, really America?" Canada was too shocked with how expensive it all looked.

"Yeah bro, only the best for you." America called back as he jumped onto the soft, springy bed.

Canada opened the glass-paned sliding door and walked out onto the patio. He instantly realized how high up he was, the entire New York cityscape sat stretched out across the horizon. If he leaned over the railing and peered to the north, he could see the awesome presence of the Manhattan skyscrapers. Iconic giants such as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Tower dominated their section of the skyline. Out to his left, he stared at the concrete jungle of the financial district and farther off, past the southern tip of Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty stood tall and proud. She held her torch high, ready to light the way for any weary souls in search of a better life. He knew that at his back, the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn covered the west of Long Island with their sprawling urban neighborhoods. New York City was truly a sight to behold and Canada could not wait for night to come. When the sun sets and natural light takes its leave, the city responds with a dazzling display of electrical brilliance. The spectacle never ceased to take Canada's breath away and he suddenly felt touched that America would do this for him. But it wasn't for him; reality came crashing back and Canada knew deep down what this whole get together was really about. The kindness, the attention; it may have all been a charade, but it never hurt to lie to himself just to keep the empty feeling at bay.

Canada made his way back to the suite, tired of pondering depressing thoughts. Inside, he found America pulling out a hold 'em set and took a seat at the table to join. The two spent the rest of the evening taking the other's chips and talking of old times.

Canada tossed and turned in his bed, failing to find a solution to his sleeplessness. He wanted to drift off, to catch up on much needed rest, but endless thoughts plagued his fatigued mind. During the evening's card game, America had shown him pictures of when they were younger. America had said, "Dude, remember when we'd be assigned to patrol the border, but end up goofing around? I remember one time we switched uniforms and reported to each other's officers; we look so alike they couldn't tell the difference. By the way, I'm sorry I poured maple syrup into your Captain's boots, I can't imagine the punishment they gave you." Canada, holding his gut laughing, had replied, "Yeah, that's because you've never been on poop patrol trailing wild moose for a week." America had looked flabbergasted "That's what they made you do?" Canada had nodded his head lost in nostalgic memories, "Yeah, those were good times, eh."

And good times they were, Canada had the image of the picture burned in his mind; on a black and white photo from the 1940s, two young men stood across from each other separated only by a sign marking the international border. They were sharply dressed in their respective law enforcement attire, one a Canadian Mountie and the other an American state trooper. Of course, this had been the two brothers dutifully guarding their sides of the border. The image would not erase itself from Canada's mind and he found it frustrating to no end.

Canada knew that these memories were happy ones, but they did not make him feel any better about the reason he was here. America did not have Canada around out of the desire to see him or to just "catch up", and this hurt Canada more than he was willing to admit. Their relationship was beyond the innocence of the past because America had lost his innocence years ago, leaving Canada feeling isolated and ignored. Canada, being the good, loyal brother came south of the border to serve his purpose and then would immediately return home. They had been repeating this process for a decade now; Canada coming to meet his brother in New York on the same day every year. Canada knew what tomorrow would bring and he just wanted to get it over with so that he could leave this emotional rollercoaster behind. Completely forgetting the pleasantness he enjoyed earlier in the day, Canada let the feeling of loneliness engulf him as he blankly stared at the ceiling for the remainder of the night.

Canada awoke to the sudden slamming of the front door. He groggily wiped his eyes as he peered at the alarm clock. One o'clock in the afternoon. Canada groaned as he rose from the comfortable softness of the bed realizing that despite the fact he overslept, he still did not feel well rested. This is what happens when a person doesn't get a good night's sleep, he thought to himself. He wandered into the kitchen and spotted America setting up a table on the patio. Canada felt his stomach turn when he noted the large cases of newly bought liquor stacked in the corner.

His attention was stolen by the sound of the sliding door opening and he turned his gaze to America. The poor guy looked awful. He still wore his clothes from the previous night and his hair was a mess, looking as if it were an unkempt garden full of weeds. He had bags under his eyes and he physically looked much older than his actual age. He had an exhausted air about him, but Canada could tell that he had just enough energy to display his emotions. Canada noticed red tear lines running down America's face and came to a conclusion. "Did you visit the memorial?" Canada asked in a quiet voice. America just looked at him, silent; but he did not need to confirm Canada's inquiry. The empty look in his eyes gave it away; he had been mourning the dead.

Canada sat at the table on the patio watching his brother drown himself in a drunken stupor. This was the ritual he performed every year in remembrance of the September 11th attacks. Canada silently stared as his brother took a shot for every citizen that lost their lives that day and awkwardly endured the curses America muttered out to no one in particular.

Canada remembered imploring America to break the unhealthy tradition. Even when they'd started this on the first anniversary of the tragedy, Canada had tried persuading America to try something else. However, nothing washed pain away like strong whiskey and America had persisted in the practice. Canada had just given up, reduced to supporting his brother as he pursued a solution that would never truly heal the hurt. Every other year or so, Canada would bring up an alternative, and America would shoot him down every time. Canada looked on in pain at the knowledge that he could do nothing for his brother, that America would not accept his help. All Canada could do was sit there and be an emotional anchor for his grieving brother, a mere presence that somehow eased the process.

America was sitting at his side of the table; and with a tear stained face, he gazed past the railing, concentrating on a certain piece of property in the distance. Canada realized that America rented this hotel room so that he would have a clear view of Ground Zero. Canada turned his attention to the former site of the Twin Towers. It had recently been converted into a memorial and it was a serene sight. There were two large, black marbled plaques that wound their way around enclosed pits; in each pit, water cascaded down every side of the interior and drained at the bottom. There was a memorial at every site where a tower had once stood, one for the North Tower and one for the South Tower.

Canada remembered the twin giants and had seen them, as had the world, as a symbol of America's economic strength. He could not believe his eyes when he saw the South Tower fall. He had been watching the news when the seemingly indestructible behemoth imploded and spread its debris to cover Manhattan. Canada remembered being absolutely terrified, thinking the worst when he tried to contact his brother. It took the entire day to get a response and a confirmation that everything was okay. That Tuesday morning was just as hard for Canada as it had been for America and that is why he was here, honoring that sobering memory along with his brother.

Canada was suddenly snapped out of his reflection by the sound of America's voice. It was weak and dry, most likely depleted from his visit to the memorial. "You know, I could have sworn that morning started off normally. My memory's kind of fuzzy and it's hard to work out the details after something like that, but I remember sitting down to breakfast in the Air Force's section of the Pentagon." Canada had heard this story many times, but he let his brother continue. "I remember drinking my coffee and reading the paper when I got a chilling call from New York. He kept screaming at me, telling me that he was under attack. I asked him to calm down and to tell me what exactly was going on, and he told me to watch the news. Well soon enough, someone interrupted my call to tell me to look at the TV. I was so confused when I saw smoke billowing out of the towers, but that was nothing compared to what I saw next. You saw it too, I'm guessing? You had to; no one ever forgets something like that. I think I puked a little in my throat when the newscasters pointed out people jumping from the top floors."

Canada saw America's distant look and was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He continued, "Those images will haunt me for the rest of my life. And to think, that wasn't the end of it. If the World Trade Center shocked us that much, just think about our response to the jet crashing into the Pentagon. We were in complete hysterics by that point. Nobody knew what was going on, we were only aware that the west side had been hit. I couldn't wrap my mind around it; the Pentagon – the heart of my military – was under attack." America was barely containing a new bout of tears. "I still get weak kneed when I think about that building trembling from the impact. That makes it even more real. You want to forget bad memories, but vivid details just pull you right back into the heat of the moment. That attack shook me to my core and that's why I never forget."

America turned to face his brother and Canada was suddenly terrified. The look in America's eyes showed a dark emotion that was beyond loathing; it was hate, pure blind hate. Hate was a curse no normal being would want to be burdened with, and as far as Canada knew, it was the only motivation that can drive men to do truly evil things. Canada wondered if the hijackers had the same look in their eyes when they descended to strike their targets. The thought sent a shiver down his back and he immediately turned his attention elsewhere.

America continued on, "There were only a few times in my life where I've gotten like this. The first was when the Confederacy laid siege to Fort Sumter, then when Japan bombed Pearl, and now I brood over the men who attacked me on 9/11." America's next words were uttered slow and silent, animosity dripping from his mouth, "I destroyed, Every. Single. One of them."

At this point Canada was stiff as a board, trying to overcome the shock of seeing his brother this way. This had not happened the previous times they had met. America never showed his dangerous side to Canada. He had a look that would surely make his enemies' will melt like butter and have them begging for mercy while cowering at his feet. Canada just wanted this to be over so that he could take the next flight out of New York.

America smiled darkly, "This hasn't ended with Osama's death. They think that I'll forget, but I never forget. I'll keep on until I've driven them into the dirt and squashed them to dust. I'll chase them until there's nowhere left to run, hunt them down until they all answer to their Maker, and I won't let anyone stop me. It will be absolute... final."

Canada shook like a leaf, but held his silence. America took another shot, looked back to the horizon, and never said another word.

Canada was exhausted when America finally finished the last of his liquor; he was ready to go to bed. He was about to get up when he heard a sniffling noise. He looked over at America and saw that his brother was weeping, completely wasted. America, or perhaps the alcohol, started talking, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Canada was confused and quietly responded, "America, what is it?"

America looked at him with glazed eyes, "I'm sorry man." The usually strong and proud nation was a complete wreck. It was no surprise; Canada never thought anyone could consume the amount of alcohol America just had, but he certainly suffered for it. His body was slumped and his movements were sluggish. Canada could barely make out the words he was saying. The pathetic form that was his brother choked out another sob.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Canada consoled him.

"I'm such a terrible brother. Every year you come down here and give me your sympathy, and every year I show my gratitude by getting shitfaced. I don't know of anyone who'd be willing to put up with that. I'm sorry you have to see me like this and I'm sorry for not being there when you need me. I mean for Christ's sake, I can't even remember your name half the time, what kind of friend is that? You must hate me." America was on the edge of tears yet again, the liquor in his blood not helping matters.

Canada felt a lump form in his throat and he found himself at a loss for words. He finally choked out the only thing he could come up with, "I would never hate you."

A small, weak smile graced America's face. "You're the only real friend I've got left, you know? I can't believe I would let myself screw it up. You deserve better than what I've given you, and yet, you've stuck with me. I don't know what to say dude, but thank you."

Canada was shocked yet again, but this time it brought about a good feeling. America actually appreciated everything that Canada did for him. Canada silently digested this information, looking for any insincerity in America's features; there were none. Alcohol may have taken away a person's inhibitions, but it also made them extraordinarily honest. Canada accepted America's apology whole-heartedly, never in his life had he been so happy. All Canada ever wanted was for others to recognize his worth and it gave him great satisfaction to hear his brother affirm it.

"I think its aboot time you hit the sack, eh?" Canada suggested. America nodded, looking drained of any remaining energy. Canada watched as his brother's drooping eyelids slid closed, confirming that he had fallen asleep. Canada scooped up the heavy mass and walked the sleeping bundle to the bed. Canada tucked America in and turned out the light. He doubted America would remember anything that transpired tonight, but maybe that was for the better. Canada was content with the fact of knowing that America really cared about him. Canada turned from America's room and headed for his own, ready to finally have a full night's sleep. He decided before falling asleep that he would stay in New York for a couple more days. He would not turn tail and run away this time. Work could wait because he was determined to have a nice, relaxing week with his brother. These soothing thoughts relaxed him and he let the comforting embrace of sleep take him away to darkness.

A/N: To all of you who have read this fic, please understand the importance of the events that are referenced in this story. Some of you may not be old enough to remember what happened 11 years ago, but it changed our lives dramatically. I remember, as well as an 8 year old can, that I was absolutely clueless about what had happened that morning. If my teachers showed any sign of knowledge about the attacks, I was too naive to notice. However, my innocence couldn't shield me from my mother crying in front of the television, with images of the falling buildings covering the screen. I may not have known the significance of what I was watching at the time, but I knew something terrible had just happened. Looking back on it, I'm glad that I didn't have to deal with the ensuing hysteria and constant fear of another attack. That still doesn't stop me from acknowledging that there are bad people in the world that want to see us dead for reasons we can't comprehend.

So tonight, before you go to bed, think back and remember those who were lost. Say a silent prayer for the loved ones they left behind, and for the men and women who still fight overseas to make sure something like this never happens again. And tomorrow thank God, or any other higher power you regard, that you are able to see the sun rise again. Nearly 3,000 people never got that chance, 11 years ago today.