This is a Castle crossover. Basically.

I'm going to try and change the murders so it's not exactly the same result as in the TV series. It's pretty difficult.

This first chapter is rather short because I want to introduce the two main characters separately in their different environs.

Some things you need to know before reading!

1) Everyone in this story is born and raised in America. I just thought it would be better like that. The only ones not like that is Arthur and Gilbert - and Gilbert is German only because I want to separate him from Ludwig - they are not related.

2) Any gender swapped or 2P! characters that appear are also not related to their normal selves.

3) The Hetalia characters will be the main or recurring characters. All of the murdered and murderers and other random witnesses and stuff will be OCs. Well, OCs based slightly on Castle minor characters. But not the exact same.

4) I'm going to try to do each season in a separate story. It'll take a while. Updates will be slow because you may have noticed that I have tons of stories and projects and stuff to do. It's ridiculous. But I'm excited to do this. So I'm doing it. And I'll be writing, like, an episode at a time.

SOME WARNINGS: There will be blood, probably gore, violence, death, etc. I'm sorry.

Detective Arthur Kirkland walked into the apartment already crawling with the Crime Scene Unit. A few police officers, dressed in the customary navy jacket and cap, were milling around with nothing to do whilst the forensic team inspected every corner of the room. Arthur's eyes swept across them and finally found the two men who stood out like sore thumbs since they were wearing black suits.

"Beilschmidt, Carriedo," he said by way of greeting as he approached them. Both of them turned and nodded to him.

"Hey," said Detective Gilbert Beilschmidt. His almost-white hair and almost-red eyes had once unnerved Arthur. However, after several years solving murders with him, Arthur had become good friends with him. He was as diligent as Arthur but a little more laid-back which was probably good for the workplace.

Meanwhile, Detective Antonio Fernández Carriedo seemed the most laid-back of the three of them, constantly cheerful. Sometimes it rubbed Arthur the wrong way but he was hard-working and often got the job done. His tanned skin and green eyes drew attention from the other people in the precinct but none of them seemed to hold his attention beyond a hello. Arthur dreamed of the day their conversations wouldn't be interrupted by new police officers wanting to speak with him.

Arthur decided to get down to business. "What have we got?"

"It's one of those weird ones," said Gilbert, grinning. His German accent was barely noticeable. "You always get assigned the freaky ones."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur swept his eyes over the apartment they were in, already going into that special state of mind which helped him pick out details. The place looked rather expensive, sleek wooden floors and white walls. So the person worked and earned a lot and wasn't much on design. A few picture frames sat on a shelf and Arthur could see a variety of people captured there, one woman visible in quite a few. From this distance, all he could make out was her brown hair and white smile but he knew that would be the victim.

Another life cut short. He suppressed a sigh and turned, looking around for the body and the medical examiner.

As he made his way to a table, covered with a black tablecloth, Antonio spoke up, reading from his notebook. "The vic's name is Polly Karthington, twenty-seven. She's a psychologist, deals with people with all sorts of mental problems. Her cleaner came in this morning and found her like... that." He gestured at the body on the table with the book as he flipped it closed.

Moving forward, Arthur took in the state of the body. Long, brown hair fanned out below her; too perfect to have been done by chance. Her eyes were closed and, though her mouth was closed in a neutral line, someone had drawn a large semi-circle with deep red lipstick in a mockery of a smile. She was wearing a black dress and was bare-foot. Someone had folded her hands over three red roses.

"Franny, what happened?" Arthur asked of his best friend, the M.E.

Francis Bonnefoy looked up with grimace, his calm, blue eyes staring right into Arthur's. His hair was tied back, as usual, but was still silky blond. The dark blue CSU jacket he was wearing proclaimed his role in the investigation. He raised a hand in greeting. "Two GSWs to the chest," he explained, pointing them out. "She was shot over there" - he pointed to a pool of blood near the entrance to the attached kitchen - "before being placed like this. It's pretty creepy, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask."

"All right," said Francis, raising his hands (including the clipboard he was holding) in surrender. "But, even if you don't, it's still pretty freaky, you've got to admit."

"Hm," said Arthur, absently. There was something familiar about this scene... "And the lock wasn't broken?"

"Nein," said Gilbert, laying on his original accent.

At that, Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. "Honestly? Again with the German?"

"I like to protect my roots."

Shaking his head, Arthur cleared his mind and glanced around. Nothing seemed to be out of place, nothing knocked over. Unless the killer had replaced everything precisely where he had found it – unlikely – she hadn't fought back. "She knew him, then," he said aloud.

"And he even brought her flowers," said Francis, nodding at them. "Romance, hm? Still alive."

"Romance killed her," added Arthur, dryly. He ran his eyes over her body once more before running his hand through his hair with a sigh. "I've seen this before."

"You have?" asked Gilbert, stepping closer. "He's done this before?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. It's from a book. You know, the Diana Storm books."

"Huh?" asked Antonio, listening in.

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur turned to them. "Surely you've heard of them? Alfred F. Jones? Best-selling author? Any of that ringing a bell?"

"Nope," said Gilbert, shrugging a shoulder. "What sort of books are they?"

"Crime fiction."

"That would be why. I don't go home from solving murders to read about more murders." Gilbert snorted, clearly amused.

"And that would be because you're an idiot," said Arthur in a monotone.

"Hey!"

"Moving on," Arthur said, hastily, "we had best look into Polly's clients. See if she had any romantic partners. Canvas the area. And I have some research to do."

"With those books?" Gilbert's amusement was growing.

Nodding, Arthur began to make his way from the apartment, leaving the others to their assigned jobs. The image of the body stuck in his head, so similar to a death in Storm's Last Stand. He knew he would have to go after him eventually but, first, he would do his research.