**Title -- "Hero" by Regina Spektor. warnings: offensive language and touchy subjects. Y'all should know I'm American and I support both Hispanic immigrants and Syrian refugees seeking shelter and much needed safety in our country.  Also: Miguel = Mexico**

1. Immigrants

"Hey, Alfred! Mi amigo!" A brown-skinned, sunburnt guy says. He has dark twinkling eyes, a long nose, shaggy hair. Alfred looks up and wrinkles his nose.

"Hey, Miguel." He says coolly, addressing the younger man. "How did you get in here?"

Miguel doesn't answer right away. He takes his time and wets his dry lips with his tongue, looking nervous. Alfred takes in the rest of his appearance: his clothes are dirty and too small, his hair too long, his face tired. And Alfred realizes that he shouldn't be here.

He stands up. "Go home, Miguel."

Miguel's face changes. "Hey, wait just a minute and hear me out--!"

"No. You're not wanted here. You can't pay, you can't stay." Alfred snaps. "Now go home before I make you, filthy wetback."

Miguel flinches and curls his hands into fists. But he doesn't have the strength to fight back.

2. Refugees

"One thousand." Alfred says at the Meeting, sitting back. Francis and Arthur, Ivan and even Matthew all stare at him.

"You're kidding me." Arthur snarls. "You're taking in one thousand Syrian refugees?! When there are over four million people fleeing, families dying everyday?!"

"Hey, that's my final answer." he crosses his arms defiantly. "Do you know how many people there are trying to get into our First-World countries as ISIS members?"

"A very low amount." Ivan says flatly. Alfred glares at his weird-enemy-to-ally-to-friend-to-sometimes-lover.

"Shut up, commie dude." Ivan just rolls his eyes. The American looks around at the others. "Francis. You get me, right? After what just happened to you...?"

Francis Bonnefoy looks awful. There are bags under his eyes; he's unshaven; and his hair is kinky and unbrushed. "Non," he says, and his voice is hoarse. He leans against Arthur for comfort and for once he lets him. "I am taking in thirty thousand. These people need my help--our help."

The rest of them glare at Alfred. Ivan kicks him under the table. Alfred sighs, but he can't risk it. It's not his problem, after all, if Muslims are killing each other across the sea.

But when he goes home and opens his newspaper, he sees them there--the little brown boy with the almond shaped eyes...washed up on the shore of Turkey. Drowned.

But it's for the best he stays out of it, right? The best for his people...