Gone, Not Forgotten

From The-Goddamn-Iron-Girl

Twenty years ago...

The other two nations in the group known as the Magic Trio were worried.

Norway was not picking up the phone, and he hadn't for what, three days now?

So that's why England and Romania were driving up the Scandinavian coast to the beach house Norway shared with the other Nordics. Pulling up in front of the house, England turned the engine of the silver Aston-Martin DB9 Volante and stepped out of the car. The house was silent from the usual clatter of the Nordic Five. This was when England began to worry. Romania got out of the other side.

"Norvegia?" the strawberry-blond nation asked uncertainly. England shook his head.

"I don't know."

They walked slowly over to the front door, first ringing, then looking in the windows. Romania pointed out that Denmark's Zenvo ST1 and Sweden's (the Nordics used it to cart everyone around, because the other three weren't big on cars) Volvo XC90 were still parked in front. Now even more worried, The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland tried the doorknob.

It was open.

England stepped in, with Romania following. A creak from upstairs drew their attention.

"Norway?" Romania called out.

Both nations were used to the unusual, but this was starting to scare them.

A certain blond American and albino German-sorry, Prussian-came down the stairs.

"England? Dude, what are you doing here?"

"I think I've come to see Norway, what are you doing here?" England asked crossly, fold his arms.

"Well, we were supposed to pick up Dänemark, we were going to go out," Prussia said. "But they're all...un-awesomely gone!"

A cold fear gripped all four assembled nations.

"Well, their cars are here," Romania said. "They can't have gone far!"

"This feels like the Marí Celeste," England said, recalling an incident from a long time ago.

Romania and Prussia nodded, recalling the incident. A chill filled the house, and in a sudden burst of instinct all four nations ended up in front of the house. The empty house. No Sweden. No Finland. No Iceland. But most importantly (importantly to the present nations, at least) no Denmark and no Norway. And they all knew it that deep down, the Nordic powers had disappeared without fading.

"Denmark!"

"He's gone, America," England said quietly. "I don't know how or why, but they're gone."

"What?" the western nation said, his voice wavering. "Nah, nah, it's Denmark! He's probably trolling us...right?"

Everyone was silent.

"Right?"

England could hear the hope draining out of his former charge's voice. He looked down.

"I guess we're not a trio anymore."

"Da," Romania agreed, tracing circles in the dirt with his shoe.

"This is so un-awesome," Prussia said, trying desparately to rub what was "totally not tears" out of his scarlet eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" America asked.

"We go back to the others, and explain," England said, climbing back in the Aston. "And if we're lucky, the others come back ready for an investigation and we find that they simply went for a walk up the beach; and later we'll laugh over it while having Magic Trio meetings. Or, in the case of you gits, in a bar somewhere."

England let Romania climb into the Aston, and pulled away.

A/N: We'll be alternating~ And "Volante" means convertible. I apologize for my car nuttiness.