I do not own Hetalia

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Sweden wasn't sure why he woke up in a crate but he did. He also wasn't exactly sure why he woke up to Caramelldensen playing rather loudly but he did. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. From some of the light filtering through the cracks he saw a latch, which he lifted. The entire front panel crashed to the ground to reveal a rather astonished teenage girl on the other side.

She was rather short with short, jaggedly cut blond hair and wide hazel eyes blinking from behind half moon spectacles. Tied around her wrist was a black ribbon. In black gloved hands was a rather thick manual with the name Berwald, visible past her fingers.

"Erm, you can get out of the box you know that right?" Adjusting his glasses Sweden took a quick step into a rather large living room. An opening lead off into what looked like the dining room while a set of stairs led to the second floor. The room was clean but the furniture was mismatched and insulted Sweden to the very core of his interior home furnishing self. She sounded American, he decided, examining the girl. She wore jeans and a plain blue t-shirt with white socks. The girl wasn't small and delicate like he might have expected. Her shoulders were rounder and hips wider than he would have expected. She didn't seem to have a very large stomach but had round cheeks and a sweet gentle expression that was slightly marred by a little frown.

"Are you alright, can I get you something to drink?"

He hummed in response and swept his gaze around, there was no TV but a large bookcase overflowing with hardbacks and paperbacks. Several stacks of books reached precariously for the ceiling and leaned against the worn armchairs. The whole place smelled like incense.

"Mr. Sweden." He flicked his gaze back to her, "Are you alright?"

I'm confused, he thought but nodded brusquely.

"Okay then, come into the kitchen and I'll give you something to eat."

Definitely American, he followed her as she skittered from the room. He was right with his first observation that there was a dining room, in battered china cabinet cups and dishes were stacked neatly, also mismatched. More books were stacked here also, from what he could tell at a glance they were on every subject imaginable. From Chinese characters to Romanian folklore The kitchen was clean and instead of novels stacked around there were dozens of cookbooks on all different types of cuisines. It was a clean kitchen, neat but a tad shabby. Much like the rest of the house and smelled faintly of lemons.

"How do you feel about having some tea? I've got a bunch of different kinds but let me serve you up some of my favorites." Again he nodded while she continued to speak, "my names Andrea Cooks but you can call me Andy, every one does. Right now you're in my hometown Graytown, Indiana. Right now it's about," she pulled an old fashioned pocket watch from her pocket, "about 6:34 so we'll just have an early dinner. " It was now Sweden noticed several pots bubbling away at a commercial stove with six different stovetops. "I hope you like pea soup, it's a Thursday must." He nodded, still confused as hell.

The last thing Sweden could remember was being jumped by an obscene amount of government men and some one that looked suspiciously like America. Andy avoided his eyes as she prepared the tea, settling the manual in her hand on the table. She didn't seem very afraid of him but definitely nervous.

"Wh're is Indiana?"

"What?" Andrea stopped with a wooden spoon halfway to her mouth.

" 'S it a n'w nat'n?" He rumbled noticing she still hadn't taken off her gloves.

"No," she put the spoon down an cocked her head, "It's a state. An American one more specifically. Welcome to the U.S." Nodding Sweden closed his eyes, still mightily confused. Finland would be missing him. Denmark would not have anyone to get in fist fights with. Finland would be missing him. Who would do all of his paperwork? Finland would be missing him. His thoughts trailed off as Andrea set a large bowl filled with steaming soup in front of him. "Enjoy, I hope you like it. "

"Takk." He mumbled before picking up the spoon. The first bite was wonderfully pleasant. It was good soup, not as good as Finland's but still pretty good. Needless to say he enjoyed it.

"I know its early but I've got to go to bed. I've got school in the morning and then work until midnight so I usually turn in early on Thursdays. If you don't mind I'll show you to your room." Finishing off the last few spoonfulls of his soup Sweden stood up, easily towering over her by a good foot or two.

In the living room he saw the massive crate he'd woken up in. Up the stairs there were several doors.

"That one in the back on the right is my room and the one opposite is the bathroom. The middle left is the master bedroom and the one next to mine is where you'll be sleeping," they navigated past boxes of books until they reached a door painted red with splashes of white. "Welcome to the Book Room.," she swung the door open and he blinked in surprise. The only thing he could see were stacks and stacks of boxes of books. They reached the ceiling and teetered dangerously.

How was he supposed to sleep on stacks of books?

"Come on," Andrea disappeared into the books and he saw a small path he hadn't noticed before. It was a narrow path, his broad shoulders kept brushing the dusty boxes until after one turn they stopped. Crammed into a corner was a twin sized bed. A patchwork quilt covered the entire thing with a soft blue pillow at the head. There was a small cleared space so the bed's occupant could move about in but it was only about four feet of space because books covered the door.

"I hope you don't mind. It might be a bit cramped but its comfortable and there's a chest you can store your stuff in," he noticed a large sea chest shoved at the foot of the bed with faded gold lettering spelling out 'Cooks'. Sweden nodded, suddenly getting the feeling something was very wrong with the entire situation.

"I don't have a TV but as you've probably seen there are a lot of books so feel free to help yourself," Andrea tittered around for a second before disappearing around the boxes.

"Wh't 's g'ing 'n?" He wondered aloud. It was a small space for such a big man but he'd dealt with worse. Shrugging he made his way downstairs to get the stuff from his crate he'd seen earlier. His confusion only furthered as he saw something on the rickety sofa table the made his heart constrict. There were two photos, beautifully framed. In the small photo there was a young man. His eyes were cheery and blue, he wore a carefree smile and was smiling at the camera as if the photographer had just aid something hilarious. His hair was blond and shaggy with a distinctly ruffled look about it. The one on the right was of a beautiful woman. She was young, in her late 30's, her smile was serene and gentle. She was round and looked the woman who would make a batch of cookies to help you feel better. Her hair was blond and wavy, looking rather unkempt, her green eyes sparkled happily. The table was the only thing the entire house that didn't have books covering every available surface.

Sweden's blue/green eyes settled on a black ribbon tied into a bow that rested between them, in a small incense tray were the glowing ambers of a burnt incense stick. On the opposite wall was a portrait that made his stomach tighten. A man with a stern face and hazel eyes, behind him was a perfectly poised American flag and he wore the well-pressed uniform of a U.S. Marine. He had several decorations on his chest and a name tag with 'Cooks' engraved carefully into it.

But Sweden hadn't seen him yet, there was no way he was at home at all. There was no sign he had been here in a long time. For all intents and purposes Andrea Cooks was all alone.