Everything was in chaos at that day's World Meeting.

Well, to be quite honest, the meetings had always been chaotic, especially when there were a bunch of nations who didn't get along with each other. It would only have been considered a typical day if the nations brought disorder upon each other.

But it was not a typical day. There hadn't been a typical day for either of the World's nations for about a month now.

"All of you, be quiet!" Germany cried, slamming his palms on the table. "We are not here to discuss our conflicts with each other, or any other useless things! We are here to address those…those creatures that are invading our world!"

The room went silent all of a sudden. Some of the countries shuddered a little, averting their eyes in solemn contemplation. It wasn't that they were intentionally avoiding the subject. Many just had no idea what to do. Those…monsters had come out of nowhere and had started ravaging their homes, their people, and even some of the nations themselves. Liechtenstein, for example, rubbed her gauzed eye as she was held close by Switzerland—who had a crazed, remembering look in his eye, the sort one would see in soldiers. Romano and Italy were sticking close together also, the former looking more solemn than the latter.

Ever since the day of the incident, the one that had been the catalyst for this whole mess, it had become painfully obvious that this wouldn't be like the invasion of the Picts. Nothing could stop these creatures, not even a barrier of neutrality. If one was killed, hordes would follow after; rinse, wash, repeat.

Japan raised his hand tentatively. When Germany nodded at him, he asked, "Why aren't we telling our bosses of this meeting? Wouldn't this concern them also?"

Germany chanced a glance at America, who was leaning on the far wall of the room. He was uncharacteristically silent, his blank blue eyes studying the room and the nations closely. Unnerved, but understanding, Germany turned his gaze back to Japan.

"We can't afford to trust our governments," he explained softly. "There's a chance that some of them might be negotiating with them."

Like Germany, Japan also looked at America, and after a moment's contemplation, he nodded solemnly. After all, what had happened to America could happen to any of the nations. It was probably happening right at that moment, as they spoke.

The heavy atmosphere in the room was almost suffocating, as well as the silence. A lot of the nations were thinking about battle plans, on how to push the aliens out of their world, so to speak. Some probably didn't want to think about what was happening; if anything, they wanted to escape from it.

Some were looking for someone to blame.

"Hey, bastard—yeah, you in the corner!"

Because someone had to take responsibility, right?

America blinked, not expecting to be involved in the conversation (all he'd had to say has already been said or told to everyone). He looked over at a furious Romano, who had stood up and was now pointing at him accusingly.

"This all began at your place, right?" he said. "Well, do something about it, then!"

"R-romano," Italy stammered, pulling on his brother's sleeve, trying to pull him back into his seat.

China stood up as well, also glaring at America. "That's right, this wouldn't have happened if your scientists would just—"

Japan glared. "Now, hang on a second, no one could have known what would happen! And even if they did, America-san had nothing to do with it."

"Nothing to do with it? That's funny, because I heard he'd been there when it happened!" Switzerland raged. "And that he hadn't done anything to prevent it either!"

Nations began to join in the yelling and arguing, many laying the blame on America and a few crying out in his defense, and the ones who managed to stay silent either stared off into space or distracted themselves from the disarray. Germany tried to call for order again, but as the noise increased, he found himself giving up. He sat down in his seat and put his face in his hands, looking understandably stressed and tired. (Who could sleep when the world was on a downward slope to hell?) Italy took notice and, with a soft "ve", he went to Germany's side and started to rub his shoulders.

Oddly enough, America just wanted to roll his eyes at the fighting nations. It wasn't that he didn't blame himself—quite the opposite really—but he had already passed the wallowing in shame and self-pity phase. Now, all he wanted to do was fix the problem before it got worse.

He would do that…but a feeling in his gut was distracting him, telling him that something was wrong. It had been telling him that ever since he'd walked into the meeting, but he hadn't been able to realize it yet. And with the noise grating his ears, it was extremely difficult for him to concentrate on what it was.

Wait a minute…

America closed his eyes and listened to the angry voices. He could make out Japan arguing with China and Switzerland; Romano with Italy; Canada with Russia; Hungary with Prussia; France with…

His eyes snapped open.

"Someone's missing."

America looked around the room, searching for a sign of blonde hair and forest green eyes. When he found none, he felt bile rise in his throat. No, there was no way. No possible way…

"Hey!" he attempted to yell over the cacophony. When he didn't succeed the first time, he scowled and took a breath. "Hey, fucktards, I'm talking to you!"

They all went silent and stared at him with stunned expressions. America glared back at them, his blue eyes flashing with fury.

"Hasn't anyone noticed it yet?" he asked. "One of us isn't here."

"Of course they aren't," Romano scoffed furiously. "Spain's still in the hospital, you idiot!"

"No, I'm not talking about Spain."

"I-I'm here, America," Canada spoke up. "In case you hadn't noticed…"

America shook his head. "No, not you either, Canadia." ("I'm CANADA!") He scanned the room again, and when he once again didn't find who he was looking for, his breathing soon becoming shallow.

"Where's England?"

Japan blinked and felt his heart skip a beat. He dared to look around the room, panic rising in him. That was an excellent question, indeed. England wasn't there. In fact, now that Japan thought about it, he hadn't seen or been in contact with England in about a month, since before the…

His eyes widened.

America saw the confusion (and possibly hints of worry) as the nations looked around. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, to the point that they were almost trembling. He'd come to the same road of thinking as Japan. He just wished that he was wrong.

"C'mon, hasn't anyone seen him?" he asked with a plastic grin. "Or is it just too hard for the old man to come here without his walker?"

The laugh from America's mouth sent shivers down some nation's spines. Russia, of course, just smiled and clasped his pipe from inside his coat.

France shifted, biting his lip guiltily. After a few minutes of contemplating, he finally sighed, closing his eyes. "Amerique…"

America grinned, feeling for a moment a flash of hope. "Yeah, France?"

"Angleterre…h-he's gone."

Pause.

"…what do you mean 'he's gone'? Where did he go?"

France shuddered at America's tone. "I-I don't know."

"I see…"

America turned around and walked out of the room, causing many of the countries to protest and call him back. Whatever they thought or said, they'd long known in the long month after the incident that America had become a rather unpredictable force. But then again, all things considering, it was pretty understandable.

When he walked outside of the building, America saw Tony leaning on his Air Force jet. The little gray alien looked up from the device in his hand, possibly something that was still analyzing the samples that America had given him, and he nodded. America nodded back.

"I need to go and look for something," he told Tony, nodding back towards the building. "Could you hold my place for me? You'd probably be more help anyway."

Tony regarded him for a moment, and then nodded, which made America mentally wince. He missed it when Tony cursed up a storm, even for just the tiniest things. He guessed that, even though Earth wasn't Tony's home, the situation was taking his toll on him as well.

America waited until Tony walked inside the building before he climbed into his jet. He pulled on his helmet and started to warm the plane up.

It was time he paid a rather delayed visit to England.

When it came to landing his plane, America had to be silent and stealthy. Though the aliens had invaded him first, and their "entrance" had been destroyed, they had still managed to find their way into Europe. Just another problem to blame on that damned—

He landed his plane in the forest closest to England's house. As he climbed out, he took notice of the condition the place was in. There weren't that many people living in the countryside nowadays. Ever since the aliens had begun popping up in random places, many people had moved into the cities to be safe.

When a familiar clicking and garbling sound came from the forest, America froze. He slowly reached inside his jet and got out the crowbar that had been lying at his feet. He would have used the one of the guns tucked inside his bomber jacket, but the sound would have easily given his position away. The last thing he needed (let alone wanted) was attention from his old enemies.

America held the weapon tightly, the cold metal almost biting into his skin, and he started to walk out of the forest. When he was a few feet away from the exit, a roar sounded from his side, and he braced himself.

A flash of green, yellow, and red flesh.

The fatal slams of metal against said flesh.

A high pitched, indistinct cry of agony.

And then it was done.

America panted as the creature before him went lifeless, its greenish-yellow blood pooling around its head (if you could call it a head). He glanced around for a moment, straining his ears for familiar sounds. His eyes were wide and manic, but one could tell that he was prepared for a fight by the way he held the crow bar. Then he ran out of the forest as fast as he could.

When he saw England's house, he almost felt relief. There was still a chance that he wasn't inside—but that was fine. America decided that he would check in London next. Because England just had to be here somewhere…right?

America ran up the steps to the porch and kicked the door open.

"England?" he called, grinning and spreading his arms out. "I'm hooome!"

Silence was the only thing that greeted him. No, "stop breaking down my door, git," or "get the fuck out, I'm busy"; and there was certainly no adorably flustered Brit to greet him with an accusing glare, while putting his hands on his hips.

Just…nothing.

It made America sick.

"C'mon, old man, I know you're in here," he said as he walked in. "You can't fool me."

But England wasn't there. His house was in the same order it had always been, albeit with a layer of dust on some furniture. Hell, when he was in the kitchen, America noticed that the man's tea set was still out; as if England had just sat down to drink it. The only difference is that there was no longer any tea—just as there was no England.

His eyes widened. No…please, no.

America desperately ran around the house, opening doors and searching inside rooms. He even tossed furniture around, and he still didn't find England.

Finally he checked the basement, where England would often do his weird magic, and his search became even more frantic.

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? America thought repetitively, as if his thoughts would reach England. Eventually, it became a mantra he murmured under his breath.

"Damn it!" he yelled, finally. Standing in the center of the room, America glared. "Where are you, you old bastard? This isn't funny!"

"Well, I don't know, I found it rather hilarious at first," someone spoke out from the shadows. "Now I just find it annoying."

America whipped his head around to see a tall red-haired man with green eyes and thick eyebrows. He was wearing a blue and white soldier uniform and had a cigarette in his mouth. Despite the smirk on his face, his eyes were angry…and possibly a little sad. America's eyes widened with recognition.

"Scotland."

Scotland nodded. "France said you'd be here. Didn't really believe him at first, considering how you and my brother act around each other. Guess I was wrong," he shrugged.

America glared at him. "Where is England?"

For a moment, that sadness overcame Scotland's eyes—and then it was gone in a flash when he closed them and took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Wish I could tell ye, boyo," he shrugged again. "But I can't."

Damn it. If not even Scotland knows, then…

America's shoulders slumped as he looked down at the floor.

"He's really gone," he said softly.

"But not dead," Scotland quipped, making America pick his head up to look at him. "I would feel it if he had died, as would the rest of my brothers. We are all different parts of the United Kingdom, after all."

"…How long has he been missing, then?"

"…"

"Scotland?"

The man wouldn't look at him. "…Since before the incident."

America felt his heart skip, and his eyes widened.

What does that mean? Could he be hiding, or…or…

Maybe he was sucked into the aliens' dimension, as a result of the rift, he thought, his brows furrowing. But that doesn't make any sense. One person (or nation) would not be an equal exchange to the splurge of aliens that have been showing up. So it can't be that…

But he's not dead—so that must mean that he's still on Earth…somewhere.

Something made of glass shattered on the first floor, quickly followed by many clicking sounds as well as the noise of electricity pulsing. America and Scotland looked up at the ceiling with wide eyes, especially when they heard footsteps slide across the floor.

"Brought friends with ye?" Scotland asked.

"They're no friends of mine," America said, narrowing his eyes.

As they heard the aliens descend the stairs, America glanced at Scotland.

"Where's the nearest exit?"

"…The front door."

"Yeah, I kinda figured."

He put the crowbar in his jacket and took out his glock before looking at Scotland. "Do you have anything?"

As an answer, Scotland pulled out the shotgun hanging from his shoulder and aimed it at the doorway.

I wanna find you, England, but I'm not sure I will be able to, America thought solemnly, bracing himself. All I can hope is that wherever you are, it's better than here.

England awoke to the sound of annoyingly cheerful music, a glass lid sliding open, and his own breathlessness.

He gasped in a breath as his eyes snapped open. Instinctively, he pushed himself out of the container he'd been in and stood on the cold floor, bending forward, his hands on his knees. He glanced to the side and saw a toilet, and he quickly went over and leaned over to heave into it.

Groaning painfully, England wiped his mouth and flushed down the sick, closing his eyes and trying to breathe normally.

"Your business is appreciated."

…Only to lose his breathe once again.

"W-what the bloody hell?" he cried out, his voice hoarse. Wincing, he put a hand on his throat and tried to soothe the pain. But that didn't make his heart stop thumping in his chest.

Seriously, though what was that? England thought with a gulp. Did that toilet really just…talk?

He shook the thought away; it had to be nausea playing tricks on his mind.

After stepping away from the mysterious toilet, England took in a few deep breathes, quickly getting his breathing under control. With his head clear, he turned around and decided to observe the room he was in.

It was a small room with four glass walls. On one side was what looked like a metal bed, but with a glass lid on it and an oxygen tank on the side of it. A few inches from that was the odd toilet. And a few feet from that was a white nightstand with a clipboard, a brown coffee cup, and a big white radio that continued to play the music from before. It sounded as if the track was on a loop, actually.

England then took a look at himself, as best as he could since he had no mirror. He looked down at his arms and body, and saw that an orange jumpsuit had been put on him. He looked down at the name on the jumpsuit, narrowing his eyes.

…Aperture? Why does that sound familiar?

Before he could contemplate it any further, England was interrupted.

"Hello and, again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center."

What the fuck? England jumped, trying to find the source of the bone-chilling voice, which continued nonchalantly.

"We hope your brief detention in the relaxation vault has been a pleasant one. Your specimen has been processed and we are now ready to begin the test proper."

...What the hell is this? I don't even...

Okay, so this is partially inspired by a prompt on the kink meme, and partially inspired by the usxuk Summer Camp thing. Tomorrow's prompt is "Games" (I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you which games I'm using here. ;D), but I'm not sure this will be able to count, since the way it's written might throw people off.

I don't know if I'll continue this. I think it speaks enough for itself as is, at least where the prompt is concerned. But if I do continue this, I'll have to tell you that the Half-Life portion will be kept to a minimum, because I've never played Half-Life before. But I have played Portal and Portal 2, and I'm pretty much an expert on that part of the universe. Doing it justice, with Hetalia, is probably another story entirely.

But I have yet to see any other Portal/Hetalia crossovers, and I don't see why. I mean, I've seen it crossed over with Ed, Edd, n' Eddy. Crossing it with Hetalia shouldn't be that difficult, at least in theory. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own either Hetalia, or Valve's Portal and Half-Life series.