AN: Woo! My first multi-chapter fic written by just me! :D Tell me what you guys think!

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia kthxbai.

The day was unusually sunny, the warmth of golden rays beating down on Alfred's back as he made his way through Arthur's front yard, up to the door. The day was relatively warm, a slight breeze cooling the rather hot afternoon. The world meeting was to take place in London in two days' time, and America had decided he'd get there early. Of course, he wasn't going to stay at a hotel. He'd stay with Arthur, and the Englishman, being the 'gentleman' that he was, would let the American stay.

America made his way up the porch steps, stopping in front of the wooden door, and pounding on it loudly. He waited a few minutes, waiting for England to yell, and then open the door.

…No one answered. Oh well. Alfred wouldn't give up that easily. He pounded the door again with his fist, adding his voice to the noise. "Hey! Iggy! It's me! Al! Open the door!" He waited another minute, but, being impatient, he gave up. Crossing his arms and huffing, he looked around for the flower pot with Arthur's spare keys under it. If England wasn't home, he'd just let himself in and wait until he got back. America couldn't help but chuckle a little. England really did need to find a better spot for his house keys; almost everyone who visited him knew where they were hidden.

Looking for the pot, Alfred blinked in surprise. The flower pot wasn't there. Neither were the keys. "Huh? Did Iggy move the pot? Where'd it go? In fact…"

Alfred bent over to look at the spot where the small pot had stood near the edge of the porch, looking over the side to see if it had fallen. To his surprise, lying in the flower bed beside the porch was the flower pot, smashed. The key was gone—no matter how hard the American looked, he just couldn't find it. He straightened up, sighing in frustration.

"Jeez. What did Iggy do to break the flower pot?" he wondered absentmindedly. It was only then that he noticed an arrow sticking out of the dirt, right where the flower pot had fallen and broken. Confused, he picked up the arrow. "W-wha—?" America ran his fingers along the smooth wood, brushing the feathers at the end lightly, slightly touching the point. He winced to find that the arrow was sharp.

Millions of thoughts suddenly raced through his overactive imagination.

What if Iggy had been attacked? What if he had been kidnapped? What if he was tied up somewhere? What if he was being tortured? What if—

Alfred turned back to the door, unable to stop the horrible scenarios he would possibly see in the Brit's house. He tried to open the door. It opened, having been unlocked. America panicked slightly. Had someone gotten here before him and done something to England? Only that could explain why the grumpy Englishman hadn't answered the door!

Alfred closed the door behind him, making sure to keep it unlocked in case he needed to dash out of there quickly—not that he was scared. He was the Hero, after all! Venturing down the hall, he called out "Iggy? Y-you here?" No answer. He checked the kitchen. Waiting for him there was a cup of tea on the table, untouched—cold now. It had been made some time ago. Alfred looked everywhere in the house, finding no trace of the British nation.

Standing in the living room, America quietly looked through the books on the book shelf, deciding to wait a little, figuring that England had probably just had to leave on short notice, seeing as that tended to happen a lot. It was no wonder that Arthur always seemed tired. Looking through the various novels, something on the floor caught his eye. A book—it had been knocked out of place somehow. Alfred chuckled. It seemed that England was a bit out of it, seeing as there were multiple things out of place.

The thump of wood caught the American's attention, and he turned swiftly, alarmed. The living room was empty, same as before. He chuckled. "Get it together, man. You're losing it," he scolded himself, trying to tell himself that he had just imagined the sound. Unfortunately, the sound came again, drumming along for a few seconds before falling silent once more.

Alfred shuffled towards the center of the room, his head turning from side to side, trying to locate the source of the noise. "A-alright! W-who's there? T-this isn't funny! Come out!" The only answer he received was a soft, child-like giggle. "Peter? Are you hiding in Arthur's house? This isn't funny! Come out now!" he yelled, frustrated. If it was Sealand, the little brat was going to get it.

Above Alfred, on one of the wooden beams, a shape moved in the shadowed part, emerald green eyes flashing playfully. The American's back was turned to the beam, and the already playful smirk on the person's face widened slightly. The boy gathered his legs under him and launched himself at America, landing on the American's shoulders, eyes bright.

"France!" the boy yowled, crashing into America as the tall nation turned around. "How dare you intrude on my home!" the green eyed child snarled somewhat playfully, tone revealing that he was slightly amused and satisfied at the reaction he had received.

Alfred stumbled backward, tripping onto the floor, growling. "Why you—What the hell? Get the hell off-" He cut himself off, still not seeing the face of his attacker. "What? I'm not France! Ew! Like hell I'd be that pervert! What the hell are you doing in Iggy's ho-" He stopped midsentence, looking at his attacker, coming face to face with a child of about thirteen years with bright, emerald green eyes, messy, short, blond hair, and thick eyebrows. He gaped at the teen, not sure he believed what he was seeing.

"I-Iggy?"

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