Warnings: Violence, swearing, and some OOC behavior. It takes place sometime later in HetaOni (around 16), so there are some spoilers. You have been warned!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Ao Oni, nor do I have anything to do with the creation of HetaOni. If I did, they'd get the heck out of that mansion NOW!


One room. Only a single room out of so many was safe to reside in. Others were fair game to the monster that prowled every square inch of the mansion. Still, even though this was an ever-present fact that couldn't be denied, most of the nations trapped within it were still trying valiantly to fight against the odds set against them and their escape. They weren't in the room, and had left it in hopes that they might be able to make progress in their mission.

Of course, some remained. Usually, this tactic was used to protect the only safe place they had left, but it was different in this situation. There were two nations, England and America, who had been left behind to recuperate from their most recent quarrel with the alien beast. The rest had set out for freedom.

America had been against his being left behind as soon as he realized that was what their plan entailed for him. The "Land of the Free," and "Home of the Brave" squirmed in his skin at the thought of participating in such an un-heroic idea. He thought it was cowardly that he should just stay behind, while others were risking their lives for something he worked so hard for himself. It was just against his nature; so much so, that the only way that the other countries could've executed their plan was to do it while the American slept, and he had no other choice but to remain.

Which was exactly what they did.

On the other hand, England had been awake the entire time, and was forced to stay. The once powerful nation had recently been reduced to useless in a matter of moments from his most recent encounter with the beast. His lack of sight, and "magic" made him more of a burden than a help if brought into battle once more. Though it took a lot of effort, he eventually gave in, and remained with a sleeping America.

After a few hours, America finally awoke from his slumber, and groggily hoisted himself upright. He yawned, and then surveyed the room. Nobody was here, and he finally realized what was going on, and smiled wryly to himself.

"Friggen' bastards." He said, as he reached for Texas and placed it on the bridge of his nose. At first, his thought the big lump on the cot next to his was a mass of blankets and pillows; that was, until he saw the enormous eyebrows and appendages of the human personification of England peeking out from underneath said objects. America also noticed that he wasn't asleep, as he'd thought, but resting peacefully, staring at the ceiling. More of the memories from the night before came back to him.

England's eyes were just focused in that direction, and could see nothing.

Nobody really knew how much it hurt America to see England this way. And thought he hated admitting it, he knew it was all his fault that the English nation had ended up without eyesight. He couldn't do anything for him now, because there wasn't anything he knew would work, and keep all nations alive. They could go and look for more "magic" thingies, and restore England's power until he could see again. But had the Englands of previous time loops left that much magic around the mansion? They had already collected so many, so maybe there weren't any more anyway, and even looking for them would be a waste of precious energy-

"Hello America." England suddenly said, causing the American to jump.

"Jeez England, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

England seemed to ignore what he'd said, and continued speaking, "Would it be too much to ask you to quit staring at me?

"Uh, no, I guess." America pouted a bit, and looked at his feet, sheathed by a blanket. "But how did you know if I was looking at you or not? I thought you couldn't see."

"I may not be able to see," said England in an unreadable tone, "but I'm no idiot. Your awful snoring suddenly stopped, and I heard you yawning. And since I didn't hear you feet on the ground, I knew you were still lying down. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out that you'd focused your attention on the only living thing in the room besides yourself."

America didn't really have an answer for that, and he pulled his sore legs to himself, so his chin rested upon his knees. "How does it feel?"

England blinked, not needing any clarification of the vague phrase, and said, "It doesn't feel like anything. But all I see is blackness. Not even the light, or shadows."

Silence set in, as America sat, and England lay on his cot. A palpable tension also accompanied them, and every time America shifted, he felt as though he was doing something that offended England. This continued on for an immeasurable amount of time, until England shifted into a sitting up position on the bed.

"Why do you choose now, not to be your normal, idiotic self?" the Briton suddenly asked, and America turned to face him.

"What the heck, just 'cause you're blind doesn't mean you can go around hating on me!"

England rolled his sightless eyes, which made America grin, "Oh please. I'm just saying that because it's true. You do realize that most, if not all countries, tend to depend on you obnoxious attitude and hero complex to have some sense of normality in this place? Now that Italy is no longer the way he used to be, this side of you worries us...Especially me."

This surprised him, because everyone seemed to dislike America's personality very much.

"Are you saying you want me to be annoying? Not that I am, or anything." He quickly recovered.

"...you know what? Never mind. You're a git."

America groaned at the overused term. "Seriously? Why are you always such an ass to me all the time, England?"

England inhaled deeply to begin shouting, but footsteps began to loudly patter up the stairs, and both nations grew quiet immediately. It was a habit they'd grown accustomed to while being trapped in that hell-hole of a mansion. The footsteps grew louder, more frantic with each step. They seemed to be coming closer.

"Shit," America cursed, and jumped out of the bed immediately, slung on his bomber jacket and extracting his pistol as he did so, all in one fluid movement. "England, stay right there, okay? I've got this covered."

"You idiot, I'm not just going to let you protect me!" England hissed. He tried to get up, but stumbled onto America's cot instead.

"Like hell you aren't old man. You stayed behind for a reason, didn't you?"

He tried to come up with a response, and failed. Instead, he turned to the sounds of a cocking gun, and said, "I thought It didn't know about this room."

America sighed, realizing that if this was the monster, and it had found their secret safe room, then they were pretty much screwed.

"But this is his turf dude, it's hard to believe he's never found us before..."

The sandy blonde had no reply for that, and slowly rose off of the bed to face the direction he believed the door to be in. America saw this, and immediately reacted.

"No, England! Stay down! You can't do anything!"

"Yes I can!" He shouted back.

England's calloused hands fumbled across his cot to find a makeshift walking stick that some nation he couldn't remember had gotten for him. When his hand finally gripped the cool metal handle, he ran recklessly to where he thought the kitchen was. Luckily, he made it there in one piece.

"What the hell are you doing?" America barked with an expression full of anger, determination, and desperation. England was ignorant to this, and if he had known, he probably would have been seriously shocked by the out-of-character look on his countenance.

England quickly ditched the walking stick like it was beginning to burn his skin, and he frantically ran his hands across the countertops. He brushed off many utensils, and swore loudly when he wasn't finding the one he needed. Hadn't there been someone cooking here earlier? Someone who chopped vegetables, someone who never cleaned up after themselves-

"Aha!" he clamped his hand on the blunt end of a butcher's knife, while the loud stomping of the feet grew ever closer, giving the nation tremors of both adrenaline and pure fear.

America had already stacked many chairs, cots and tables against the door, in attempts to keep whatever was on the other side of that door out there. He was momentarily distracted by the gleam of the blade against the light. Before he could stop himself, he turned, and sprinted toward the other nation in a way that could only be described as animalistic.

"England, you don't know what you're doing! You're blind, how would you know what you're going after?"

When he reached him, the lager nation grabbed both of England's elbows. That had been a bad choice.

"Let go of me you bloody moron!" As he began to struggle violently in the American's grasp, the knife had somehow come across the back of his wrist, causing America to yelp in pain and stumble to the ground. England had felt the blade come in contact with something, and warm liquid splattered onto his hands.

England didn't need sight to know what had happened, and the knife clattered to the floor.

"America? Oh my g-" England fell to his knees, and reached out to the other nation.

"M-my hand..." America moaned, voice laced with agony, "The back of my hand..." he examined the gash in a surreal manner. He could feel the excruciating pain of that stab, but it seemed disconnected to the wounds itself.

England quickly knelt to down and extended his grasp, but America flinched at the Brit's touch. "Come on America, I want to-"

Then, as if things couldn't have gotten worse, the door burst open without any signs of struggle. America then stood and wiped the tears of agony from his eyes with his left hand, while positioning his gun with the bloodied right. But when the intruder burst in, it was not at all who they had thought.

"L'Amèrique, Angleterre! You will not believe what has happened!" cried a distressed looking French nation. He came in a few more steps and finally stopped crying for a moment to take in his surroundings. "Mon dieu, what is going on in here?"

England was still shaking in shock, while America tried his best to wipe off the blood that had begun to slide down his gun's handle, and onto the floor.

"France? Is that you?" England asked.

"Oui, who else could you be expecting?"

America groaned, and grabbed a dish towel off the counter to stop the bleeding of his wound, and France gasped. "America, what happened here?"

"Nothing." America said quietly, focusing on his hand.

"What do you take me for, a fool?" said France irritably, "Obviously something happened here while-"

"Seriously, what did you come here for, France?" England interrupted

At the mention of his reason for being here, France's expression morphed into one of horror and fear. "It's Canada. The monster has taken him."

America's already paled expression turned as white as a sheet. "What?"

"It's awful, isn't it?" France cried, "I can't stand thinking about what's happening to poor Ca-"

"How did you let this happen? Why didn't you stop It?" England piped loudly in France's direction.

"Canada and I were making progress finding a place that Italy had mentioned earlier," the Frenchman slipped into his usual melodramatic tone, "And then we were attacked as we approached our destination! Big brother quickly prepared for attack, but the beast was too fast. While I was prepping, it seized Canada, and disappeared!"

The towel in America's hand dropped, now tinged red instead of its original snowy color. England gritted his teeth, and shouted, "You bloody frog! I bet you were just preparing to run away! How could you have let that happen!"

The Frenchman's blue eyes flared with anger, and he roared at the nation that had spoken last. "I take offense, considering I care a lot for Canada, and I've been trying my best! And at least I'm out there fighting, while you two have a little get together-"

"I was forced to stay! You know that I would've gone if you all would've let me, you blasted idiot!"

He made his wayaround the mishappen pile of furniture to get in his rival's face to shout, "As if you don't enjoy being locked in a room with your lo-"

"We've got to find him." America whispered. It wouldn't have been heard, if not for the seriousness that was present in the happy-go-lucky American. They hushed, just to listen to him.

"Well of course we do..." England said after hoisting himself off the ground with the walking stick on the floor, "How about this France: America and I will go down to-"

"Uh, no." America suddenly interrupted. "You aren't going anywhere, England."

France nodded, "As much as I would enjoy you being attacked, he is right; your life would be at risk."

"You think I'm just going to wait for someone to return with news? You're more of an idiot than I thought! I'm going to help find him, and you aren't going on your own, America!" England said, ignoring France's words.

There was a beat of silence, before America said something unintelligible to France, who nodded. England grew panicked quickly. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that the two idiots were plotting something.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" England demanded, tired of waiting. He didn't need an answer though, for he soon found himself in the arms of France, and he could hear someone running through into the hall. Terror gripped at his throat like a vice when he realized what was going on. "No-America!"

It didn't take much effort for England to fling himself to the ground and escape France's surprisingly strong hold on him. He scrambled to where he believed the door to be, stride going strong, until he tripped over a chair on its side. He

"America!" He shouted, tears beginning to prickle his useless eyes.

France was more than just disturbed at the sight of such a prideful nation being reduced to such pitiful condition. "Please don't do it, America!" England called once again, voice laced thick with unshed sobs, "You can't, y-you can't!"

Down the hall, America's sprint slowed, until he stopped to look back over his shoulder. He wanted so much to go back, to help England recover, to dry those tears. On the other hand, he wanted England to come with him, so he didn't have to be alone. But he knew, deep down, that none of this could happen without penalty. And each moment spent wishing that his wishing would help was one more second inching closer to the death of his brother...if he wasn't dead already.

So, the American ran once more, into the heart mansion to save his brother.


AN:

I'd been itching to do a HetaOni fic for a while now, I listened to some HetaOni OSTs, which got me totally inspired for some reason. (And you wonder where the chapter title came from? It's one of the OSTs of course!) And now you have this~!

Oh, and pardon my gratuitous French. Google translate is my buddy! Feel free to correct me, since I'm far from fluent!

Pairing-wise...I don't really know. It's iffy on whether or not there will be any pairings at all.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this, and let me know by reviewing, please! Honestly, it'll make me work faster :)