So one day I got bored and looked up Sealand, and found out something interesting. Tada~ Also, I just feel sorry for him because nobody recognizes him...at all...crushing his little hopes and dreams into the dust. XD

I mean no evil discrimination towards Germans, I just needed a sort of scary sounding language. I think German sounds scary, anyway. ;)

I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. Onwards!

Sealand sat outside the meeting room for the umpteenth time, quietly sulking. The other micro-nations didn't much care to attend when they obviously weren't wanted, but Sealand had hopes. He dreamed of the day he would stride in, bang the doors open and slouch in a chair like he owned the place, the way uncle America suggested he do.

Today the meeting was in a shadier part of town, since all the big government officials were meeting up and the nations had to be kept a secret so they were hidden all away, tucked up between one rickety building and the next. Sealand took a pull from his Blue-Raspberry Slurpee and kicked his feet idly as the other nations raised their voices again. This is so boring...Maybe I should've stayed with Wy and Seborga this time around. At least they're doing something interesting.

An hour passed, and then another. Sealand had long since finished his Slurpee and cushioned his head on his arm. His eyes closed. Just for a minute...

While he leaned on the table and slept, the assorted nations filed past, glancing down at the boy they didn't recognize as one of their own and ignoring him, dismissing him as the son of one of the cleaning people or a random kid. Even England, embroiled in an argument with France, hardly spared his ward a glance. America had leaped out the window "Like a true hero!" and the Nordics were in a deep discussion about some political bit of jabber. Russia was terrorizing the Baltics again, and Switzerland hadn't even bothered to show up, taking his sister with him.

Nobody recognized the almost-nation at all. Even Canada, the truly invisible one, disregarded Sealand as just a human boy. He turned out the lights behind him as he left, and the building was plunged into darkness.

Sealand woke up, his face sticky and a bit sore from lying on the table. Have the others pranked me again? Or did I fall off my bed?

As he jerked further back to awareness, he realized he wasn't in the comforting darkness of his fort at all, but rather a wide open hallway with no lights and creaky floors. It felt like the set to a horror movie.

"A-America? Jerkland?" He ventured nervously, groping around until he found his hat and then setting it snugly on his head. He took a step or so forwards and the ground gave an ear-splitting squeal. Sealand jumped a mile, his heart thrumming like a hummingbird. Anything in this building would've heard me...His mind instantly reverted to all the horror movies he'd watched and images of blood-stained monsters with huge, glowing eyes and large, sharp fangs tortured him. He dove under the table and huddled there silently in a quaking ball, too afraid to move, too pumped to sleep.

A interminable amount of time later, Sealand's half-doze was disturbed by a sound. It wasn't much of a sound, the faint rattling of the doorknob, but he went immediately on alert, trembling with fear. "Who-who's there?" He immediately regretted his words; they split the silence into sharp fragments. He folded one of his hands into his mouth and bit down to muffle his whimpers.

The doorknob jolted again, paused, and then a heavy blow juddered the door in its frame. Another. The door began splintering away. Weak orange light from the streetlamp filtered in, casting monstrous shadows and only illuminating enough to kill any night vision he might've had. In his mind's eye, he saw a large, shapeless beast, eyes glittering wickedly and fangs shredding the material of the door. His heart reached hummingbird speed and accelerated. Blood streamed down his wrist; his nervous teeth had broken the skin of his palm.

With a final bang, the door flew off its hinges. There was a silhouette, just for a moment, of something terrible and inhuman; a two headed, four-armed beast. He saw the glint of light off of teeth, and closed his eyes, tears pooling in them.

What is this? Why is it here? Is it going to steal something? There's nothing valuable here...well, there's all those miniature sculptures in the meeting room...

The shape closed the door behind it, and darkness shrouded the room once more. He could hear footsteps moving about, and a rough voice barking out commands in a language he didn't speak. The meeting had been in Germany, so that was probably why he didn't understand it. German monsters speak the German language, unless it wasn't German at all, but the language of demons...

He heard the door next to him open, and then several pairs of footsteps filed inside. Sealand's eyes had adjusted, just a little, and as of now the thought of the thing inside the room next to him was scarier than any beast his imagination could conjure up. He began to crawl steadfastly towards where he remembered the door was. Keep going - almost there -

And then there was an awful crunch from under him; the sound of his knee being placed on a styrofoam cup that used to be full of the fake blue confection.

The other door slammed open again, and flashlights played along the walls until settling on his face, effectively blinding him. Sealand gulped and started to cry.

"Well, what have we here?" A puckered and scarred face shoved up right up next to him, speaking in accented English. The boy choked and shook his head, a lump of fear in his throat preventing any speech. "A little rat, come to steal our spoils?" In an impressive feat of strength, he hauled the small boy up in the air by one leg. Sealand screamed and kicked, twisting wildly in the heavy-fingered grasp to no avail. His hat fell to the floor.

"Look what I found!" laughed the man to his cohorts. They chuckled as well, and Sealand's tears ran up into his impressive eyebrows. "We can't let this little bird stay, can't let the little rat squeal, now, can we?"

Without waiting for an answer, he smirked in the light. "Nein, we cannot."

Sealand managed to kick the tall man in the face with his free leg. The man loosened his grip in surprise, and the micronation fell on his head before righting himself and sprinting headlong for where he remembered the door was. "After him!" bellowed the leader of the thieves, and several men chased him into the shadows. The dancing flashlight beams illuminated his surroundings sporadically, and with a sinking heart he realized that the remains of the door were somehow wedged so firmly into the frame that he couldn't free it. From both sides, the thugs approached him, and at the last second he turned and sprinted down the darkened hallway, hoping against hope that there was a back exit.

But there wasn't. The hallway just abruptly ended in two locked doors and a small endtable with a wilted flower in a vase perched upon it.

Sealand ducked under the table, the tablecloth brushing his face. He knew they'd find him, there was nowhere else for him to hide, but his childish hopes blinded him to that fact. Maybe they won't find me. Maybe they'll just give up.

The sounds of running feet turned to silence. Sealand dared to move and peer out from under the tablecloth.

An eye met his, and he yelped, bonked his head on the table, and then crawled out quickly between the startled man's legs and ran. He glanced over his shoulder and then promptly crashed into a warm body.

The man who'd first grabbed him glared down at him. "You're a troublesome one, aren't you." His enormous fist snarled in his hair. "Well, come along, rat." Tears once again came to his eyes as the man dragged him down the hallway by the hair. "Stop!" Sealand cried. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I caused trouble! Please don't hurt me!"

The man said nothing, but he yanked his hair harder for a moment - he felt a blond lock come out by the roots - and then said, "If you run when I let you go, I will shoot you in the foot. So you won't run. Understand? "

Sealand trembled in reply. The man whipped out a cold blade and pressed it to his throat. "I said, understand?"

Sealand choked out, "I understand." When the pressure was released from his head, he nearly collapsed. "Thank you," he gabbled. "Thank you for not hurting me thank - "

He was shut up when the huge fist crashed into his windpipe. "Shut up, rat!" the man hissed. "You are too noisy."

Doubled over in pain on the floor, both hands covering his throat, Sealand didn't think he'd ever make a sound again.

He was only vaguely aware of the voices around him, and the ropes that bound him hand and foot. All his attention was focused on the pain in his neck, and every effort to breathe. But then a certain snippet of words caught his attention.

"Should we gut him?"

He held his breath and prayed, mumbling senseless words, forming the shape with his lips and letting go, because he didn't want to be shot in the foot. His ocean eyes were full of tears.

"No, it'd be too messy and make too much sound. But if you want-"

Something was tossed to the other figure above him, and before he knew it, a rope was looped around his neck and he was pulled to the most upright position he could manage. "Stand," came the order, and Sealand attempted to balance on his feet while his wrists were tied to his ankles. A steel-tipped boot in the rear sent him careening across the room, only to be jerked to a halt by the rope at his neck. Black spots swam before his eyes, and the darkness grew darker.

An instant later he was conscious, his neck throbbing with unbridled pain, and wet streaks of tears dripping to the dusty ground. Several choked sobs were blocked in his throat. The thugs around him were laughing.

"Did we get everything?" one with a deep voice queried, but Sealand's attention was taken by the loop around his neck drawn too tight, he couldn't breathe, he could not breathe-

"Your new pet is wheezing," pointed out the deep-voiced one towering above him. "Oh, so he is-" came the reply.

By now, Sealand's face was turning purple, and he clawed at the rope, barely noticing when skin came away as well as the rope loosening. Blood streaked down to stain his shirt. He sucked in a much-needed breath of air, feeling his lungs opening up again, and tears of relief as well as pain mingled.

Then there was a loud bang, and his foot suddenly exploded in blinding pain, and he feared to look down. Gasping, shuddering sobs racked his small frame. "Toldya not to make a sound, rat." He barely heard the words through the crescendo in his mind, white noise overpowering everything else.

"We've got the valuables, boss." The thin-voiced one said above him. The ugly one that had grabbed him smiled, orange streetlight glinting off of dirty teeth. He reminded Sealand of a great white shark, all bulky and muscular yet able to move surprisingly fast.

"Burn the lot."

Sealand's fear ricocheted higher, and he made tiny whimpers in his throat, the sobs having been wrung out and turned to hiccups. I promise I'll never try to be a nation again, I won't annoy England or call him Jerkland anymore, I swear, if you just get me out of here-

A bitter liquid with poisonous fumes was splashed onto his face. His hair was slicked down with gasoline, and the rest of the room as well. All it would take was one match to set the room ablaze. The deep-voiced man hoisted him in the air and wrapped the other end of the leash to one of the ceiling rafters, suspending the micronation by his neck. Sealand stood on his tiptoes to keep himself from being strangled to death.

"You can't!" By now, Sealand was beyond fear. All that he contained within himself was pure, primal desperation, and a burning desire to get out, get out of here-

"We can." There was a smirk. The remains of the door were slammed out of the frame. "Auf Wiedersehen, rat."

A matchhead struck, a tiny rasp before a pinpoint of bright yellow light. The careless toss over the shoulder. The firelight reflecting in Sealand's eyes as gnawed the skin at his wrist to bleed, use the gruesome lubricant to free his hands and then his feet-

The room exploding into flame.

His body exploding into flame.

The pain in his foot was quickly drowned out by the pain of melting skin. His hair burnt quickly, and his nose filled with an almost pleasant scent of roasting flesh. If only it wasn't his, he could imagine himself to Denmark's house, having a barbecue with his family.

But they're not my family. They didn't remember me. They didn't even try to rescue me.

His hands were freed, in part by the slipperiness of blood, in part because the burning muscle and bone took off some of the size of his wrists. The blackening bone of his fingertips scrabbled with the ropes at his ankles as they cooked into his flesh. Fire burned the skin off his back, chewed at his ribs, going straight through the skin and his shirt. One of his lungs wasn't filling all the way, he could feel it-

Smoke stung his eyes, kissed his bleeding lacerations, filled his throat with its tangy sting. He couldn't find fresh air.

A length of skin sloughed off his feet, and his ankles were free. Ignoring the scream of every nerve in his body, he yanked himself up the rope around his neck, frying muscles straining, and, as he was consumed, managed to haul himself up onto the burning rafter, where at least he could breathe as he burned. And then he closed his eyes.

Blue-green afterimages danced in the darkness.

Finland frowned. "Have you seen Sealand recently?"

Sweden shook his head. "No. D'dn't he go t' Latvia's h'se f'r th' night?"

Finland looked worried. "No, I called him, and he said he hadn't seen Sealand since last week."

Denmark poked his head in from the living room. "Hey, apparently the meeting building is on fire. D'you think that people are starting to figure us out? It's on the news." He took another pull of beer, then looked at the expressions of the other Nordics. "What? What'd I say?"

Finland's face was white with horror. "I remember where I saw Sealand..."

"H' w's at th' meetin', wasn't he..."

As one, the two of them turned and stared at the TV, where firefighters were dousing the building and a reporter's anxious face said, "There was the body of a boy found in the wreckage. Sources lead to the Strom gang, who are notorious for their acts of arson. We are still working on who the parents are-"

Norway, from the living room, sat up, having overheard the whole conversation. "You don't mean to say that-"

Finland was silently crying, and Sweden was racing to get the plane keys. Iceland surfaced with them. "I've got them."

Sweden's countenance bespoke murderous rage, but not at any physical thing; it was at himself, for forgetting the very presence of his adopted son, almost, and he could possibly be dead, or-

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Whoever did this will pay.

At 4 AM, five people were admitted to see the 'Mystery Kid' in the hospital, as the reporters dubbed him.

The paperwork to see him and accept responsibility for the child had been arduous. In fact, Norway was still going over it, though all of their signatures were on the list. Fake names, of course, as none of the Nations wanted to be mobbed.

They walked -almost running- down the bleach-scented halls of the hospital. Finland's face was puffy and red. Sweden broadcasted an aura of such anger that nobody dared to meet his eyes. Denmark was soberly staring at the ground, as was Iceland, and Norway's face was impassive. They scattered down the hall. Finland was the first in, and after briefly glimpsing the blackened form, appearing shrunken and withered against the vast expanse of white sheets, closed his eyes, only letting out the tears. When Sweden came in, the Finnish nation buried his face in the other's jacket. "Why? Why didn't we..."

Sweden patted the blond gently on the back, anger giving way to sorrow. "B'c'se n' m'tt'r h'w m'ch h' tried, h' c'uld n'ver g't our 'ttention. We still d'dn't 'cknowl'dge h'm, d'dn't r'cogn'ze h'm 's a real n'tion." He bowed his head. " Ev'n 'f 'Strom' h'dn't burnt d'wn th' place, w' st'll m'ght n't have found h'm til much, much lat'r."

This only made Finland cry harder.

Denmark was standing next to the bed, lightly holding a burnt hand. "Hey," he said gently. "It's me, Peter, your uncle Denny." He paused to make a choking noise in his throat. "Please come back, please..."

Iceland was talking to the nurse. "...and the report shows that he'd been tied up. You can see the rope burns on his wrists and his neck." She gestured. "From the evidence we'd gathered, he'd been tied up hand and foot with a noose keeping him on his toes before the building had been set aflame. As well as the burns, he has several bruises. But when they found him, he was higher up in the room, inhaling more smoke, but being less on fire."

Iceland felt sick inside. What have we done?

A doctor, still with a stethoscope hanging from his neck, spoke to Norway in serious tones. "Why was Peter in the building in the first place?"

"We were having a meeting with some of our colleagues."

The doctor interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Other foreign ambassadors?"

The Norwegian nodded. "We'd wanted him to stay over at a friend's house, but he insisted on coming. He waited outside and must've fallen asleep or something, for when we came out, we didn't see him. We'd assumed he'd gone back to the train station, where we'd told him he could go, and gotten a ticket or something to go back to his friend's house."

"We found bruises all over him. Tell me, is he regularly a troublemaker?"

"Well-"

"Let me give it to you straight; Do you beat your child?"

Norway was horrified at the very thought. "No! Nei! Hvorfor ville du selv tror at? Hvorfor skulle vi selv..." He lapsed into his native Norwegian for a moment before speaking English again. "No," he said hoarsely and meaningfully. "We never would, and never have."

"Mmm." The doctor made a sound of disbelief, and Norway wanted to smack the doubtful expression off his face. Oblivious to these thoughts, the doctor paused, tsked, and said "What is your relation to the patient?"

"I'm his uncle. So is Emil-" He pointed at Iceland. "And Matthais," a nod to Denmark, "but we all call him Denny." Using the human names felt strange on his tongue. Lukas... his own fake name tasted sour, full of lies. He went on.

"Berwald and Tino are his parents. Peter's adopted from England."

The doctor scribbled something on the clipboard before sighing and smoothing a careworn expression over his features. "You can stay overnight in the Recreation Area until he's better. I have a feeling you'd like to stay."

Norway inclined his head gratefully. "Takk."

They stayed at the hospital for six days. Sealand hadn't woken, had barely moved, IVs pumping him full of unknown substances and a tube flushing all the carbon monoxide out of his lungs.

On the seventh day, he woke. Barely noticeable at first, the black and red burns on his face moved, the cool rag resting on his forehead being moved by a fragile-looking hand. Clouded blue eyes, black with ash, scanned the room slowly through the haze of drugs.

The first thing he saw was the hunched over form of Denmark, sleeping, his red and black coat wrinkled, messy hair somehow even messier. He found the Dane cradling his hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Sealand smiled, loving his uncle so much right then that he could burst.

His eyes roamed the room, oblivious to the beeps of the machine next to him, trying to find out where he was. Some sort of hospital. The memories that flew into his head made him jump with fright, and then cringe at the burns all over himself. Sealand peered around fearfully, expecting at any moment to see a large, hairy thug sneer at him and set him on fire. But the room was silent but for the sounds of the beeping machine monitoring his heart rate, his uncle's snores, and the news on the TV, the volume turned way down.

'The Strom gang has been found!' flashed on the bottom of the screen as an attractive blond reporter started talking. "The Strom gang was found just a few minutes ago, hanging by rope tied to their ankles and wrists on Commerzbank Tower. All of them were in tears, some with bruises on their faces. They begged to be put in jail, to be safe from 'Der Dämon Mann'. We've found no records or images of the man responsible except for this image, snapped by accident when a tourist snapped a picture of the tower." A grainy image of a blond blob wearing a blue jacket appeared on the screen. "Authorities suspect..."

Sealand tuned out the rest of the report and turned to Denmark, squeezing his hand. Denmark jerked up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "Sea- Peter! You're awake!" Before he could move, the Dane enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug that brought tears to his eyes from both the jostled burns and how glad he was to be back in the world of the living again.

"Norge!" bellowed Denmark, finally releasing the micronation. Norway sprang up from underneath a pile of paperwork on a desk, where'd he drifted off. "Sea! You're back!" For once, he was smiling. "Let me get Fin and Ise, they'll be overjoyed." He was out the door before Sealand could ask, "Where's Sve?"

The nation in question slipped through the door, his jacket a bit askew with several smears staining it. The look of satisfaction on his face brooked no questions. "Papa!" cheered Sealand from the bed, and held up his arms for a bear hug, which he got. "I'm s' gl'd you're ok'y," whispered Sweden into his hair. Sealand returned the embrace, and then asked curiously, "Why are you so disheveled? Those bruises on your knuckles look like they hurt." Sweden just smiled, and then Finland and Iceland burst onto the scene, and all Sealand remembered of the next few minutes was laughter and hugs and Finland's tears of joy and love from all around.

I was wrong, he thought. Funny what smoke and panic can do to you...of course they're my family. Where else would I go?

A moment later, he answered himself. Why would I leave? This is the best place in the world.

Seven Months Later

"Well, we're off to go to another meeting," said Finland as the Nordics gathered up their belongings. "Are you sure you'll be okay this time around?"

Sealand nodded vigorously. "I'll be fine."

"Don't feed Hana too much while we're gone!" He reminded, and Sealand rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. "She'll be so fat you'll have to take her on rolls!" he said, quoting the oft-repeated joke. As usual, Finland and Denmark laughed. Even Iceland chuckled.

"And remember-" began Finland again, but Sealand cut him off. "Don't worry, I've learned my lesson this time around. I'll be fine at Latvia's. Lithuania takes good care of us."

Finland opened his mouth to say something else, but then smiled and kissed Sealand on the forehead. "I know. Enjoy yourself!"

Sealand hugged him around the waist fiercely, and Sweden joined in. "I'll see you in a few days!" he called as they went off down the road.

He stood on the porch and kept waving until they were out of sight.

Translations:

Nei! Hvorfor ville du selv tror at? Hvorfor skulle vi selv... -No! Why would you even think that? Why would we even... [Norwegian]

Takk- Thanks [Norwegian]

Der Dämon Mann - The Demon Man [German]

In June 2006, Sealand caught fire. It was believed to be an electrical fire, which is why I named the gang 'Strom'. That's German for electricity. All the damage was repaired by November of the same year. I made the number of months until full recovery the number of days it took him to wake up.

Writing this made me feel like a jerk, because Sealand hasn't done anything to anyone. But nope, imma just set him on fire anyway. And I am not skilled in writing Sweden-speech, so I hope you can understand him...

Review! :D