The Flip Side
A 2P Hetalia Story
1: Separation Anxiety

We were always on our own…the people, or excuse me, Nations that were supposed to raise us, really didn't do much. I angrily walked down the potholed infested streets and inhaled the scent of garbage, smog, and smoke. My red converse splashed in a puddle as the light drizzle threatening to ruin my otherwise semi-decent day. I felt the grip on my bat tighten as my mind wandered to a time when we really were alone…but we had each other. Always…until now. Now that we were separated by our boarders and governments, we didn't live together. He was on his own…I was on mine…sure we had our other selves to entertain us, but it wasn't the same.
I heard a deal going down around the corner and I flipped my bat around in my hand popping my gum to get their attention.
"Yo boys…how's it goin'?" I looked over my sunglasses with a slight grin, anticipating the brawl to come.
"Hey…what do you want?" A tall, skinny pale man looked at me along with a tanner man who had his hand in his hand in his jacket.
"Not much, but ta…I can't letcha do that man," swings my bat over my shoulder. "You can't do that bro."
"Oh yea? Watcha gonna do?" The tan man's hand produced a knife.
"Mess you up a little…you okay with that?" Spits my gum out and cocks back.
"Bring it, over a little smack…you're a dead man," he lunged at me.
"Batters up!" Swings my bat meeting him square in the face. I watched him stumble over and fall over. The skinny man holding the goods looked up at me with fear in his light blue eyes.
"Hand it ova brah…" I stood over him, glaring down in the rain, my red eyes flashing.
"No man…I need this…" He was starting to shake, backing away from me.
"Give it to me," I grabbed his shoulder and his red hood on his jacket fell back. My heart stopped as I gripped his arm tighter. His long blonde hair was tied back in a messy pony tail and his facial structure was defined and thin…a ghost…his eyes the wrong color but lost…
"Please man…I'm sick…I need this…" his words echoed in my head like a nightmare on repeat. I saw myself holding onto someone so similar begging them to hang on, to stop the craziness of drug addiction, and breaking and giving them a fix. I heard the crying, felt the man shake beneath my fingers, and my heart detached.
"Get outta here," I pushed him away and hid my tearful eyes behind my glasses. I walked away from him, not taking the crap like I should. I couldn't, not when he looked just like him. I walked around the block and swung my bat angrily at an abandoned warehouse and broke windows, knocked over trashcans, taking all my anger out on the objects with my bat. I screamed to no one, but a few stray cats that fled when they heard my voice. I leaned against a cold wall and looked up at the grey sky. We had been raised to fend for ourselves.
I ran a hand through my dark reddish-brown hair and took off my sunglasses. At first glance, I looked just like him…wonderboy, the good one, the one who had been raised with love and devotion, the Captain America look-a-like, the self-proclaimed Hero…but I was the complete opposite of him. I was America; I was Alfred F. Jones…but I wasn't him…I was the other side of the tracks Alfred…the one who was raised practically alone, and raising my little brother along with me.
I pressed my face in my hands and shook my head; the anger, the jealousy, why did I have to grow up in the rough streets, the cold ally's, while he had a warm house and someone who genuinely cared for him. Why were my brother and I forced apart…to choose sides…to stand alone?
"M-Matthew…"I choked out. My brother…my best friend…the one I could always count on…Canada. But he wasn't the Mattie you know…he is my Matt…the one who can take me on, knock me out in one blow, but always stand by my side, speak his mind, and isn't afraid of me, or anyone.
I was what they call the dark side of America…and he was the dark side of Canada. But…we're still part of the Nations, we're halves of a whole. Good and bad…so why do I have to be bad? Did Matt and I ever get a say?
I slipped to the ground, sighing. I was a protégée of New York City while my other self bubbled around Washington and flew to Britain on vacation days. I stayed in Brooklyn mainly, but when I got a day off of roaming the drug infested streets, I drove north…until everything was green, until I got to him. To Canada, my brother, Matthew. I'd always go to him, just like I knew he'd come to me. It had always been like that, we liked it that way.
America and Canada…the North American bad boys…