Disclaimer: I do not own anything involving Hetalia. I just think this area here at the top looks silly without something between it and the title.

White Winter

Chapter 1: The Morning After

"Canada? Oh, Canada!"

Canada woke to Finland's voice echoing from the downstairs entry hall. Sunlight streamed through the windows, pale and cold, tinted with sparkle of newly-fallen snow. The candles that surrounded him were burnt to stubs and snuffed out long ago. He was still wrapped in – and lying on – the silky white fur dawned only in anticipation of the General's arrival.

But something was wrong. For one thing, he could still feel his legs.

"There you are," Finland sighed, appearing at the door with a Santa-sack full of clothes, bath tools and medical supplies. "Well, it doesn't seem like he worked you over too badly, eh? Norway, Su-san, he's up here!"

Canada sat up and felt for his glasses. They were lying next to him on the fur-lined bed, neatly folded and not even cracked. By the time he'd put them on, Norway had appeared carrying a wicker basket of herbs and candles. His specialty was the spiritual aspect of the recovery, weaving the ravaged nations' magical aura back into its proper alignment. This time, he stopped in the door and frowned at Canada in a way that might have been confusion.

"You look untouched," he said.

Canada shifted in his too-big fur and gave his body a quick examination. "I…I think I am."

"That's impossible," said Finland with a frown, setting down his bag and crawling across the bed to Canada's side. "He never gets off with some kind of pain and torment. You're not bleeding or frost-bitten or anything?"

"Nothing," Canada confirmed, rolling shoulders that were neither scratched nor strained by inhuman force. It was bewildering. He'd fallen asleep. Appeasing General Winter never ended with peaceful sleep. If they were lucky, the nation might get away with passing out before the pain set in, but an actual sleep? "I…I don't think the General came last night. That is, I don't think he came here. At all."

He let the words sink in. Finland's little hands, so steady on the trigger of a sniper's rifle, trembled against his knees. Canada clutched at the edge of his coat, painfully aware of how exposed he was beneath the layers of fur. Something cold and slimy slipped into his stomach: raw fear.

"If He didn't come here," he muttered, speaking what was on all of their minds, "then where did He go?"

It was only when Sweden appeared at the door that the spell of horror was broken. Norway set down his basket and dug for his cell phone. "I'm calling Denmark. And Iceland."

"Greenland, too," Finland sputtered, hopping to his feet. "Su-san, we have a problem. The General never appeared last night. Give me your phone, I have to call Estonia…"

Canada's blood ran cold. Sealand stayed with the Baltics on these nights, protected from the truth by a sleepover with Latvia. "You don't honestly think He'd go after a child?"

"No, no, of course not," said Finland dismissively, though there was a tinge of fear in his tone. "But Estonia's right on the borderlands and with Russia so close…"

"Someone needs to call Russia," Canada insisted, climbing restlessly from the bed. "I can –"

"You don't have to worry about anything until you're dressed," Finland insisted, shuffling out the door in Norway's wake. "Su-san, take care of him."

Sweden grunted and nudged the door closed behind his 'wifey.' He turned back to Canada and raised a single eyebrow – the only indicator of his concern. "Yeh 'kay?"

"I'm fine."

Sweden grunted again and stretched out his arms to present a neatly folded bundle of newly-sewn clothes in colors of Canada's flag – a common gift, after the General's visits. Canada's smile widened as he took the present. "Thanks, Berwald. You're the best."

Sweden averted his eyes and cleared his throat, pleased. Canada ducked into the tiny bathroom in the rear corner and changed quickly, tossing away the fur coat as though it were a monster. He reappeared to find Sweden busy cleaning the room. "You don't have to do that."

Sweden grunted. Canada sighed. "All right, I understand."

He stuck his head out the door. Norway and Finland had moved downstairs. Their voices echoed to the landing, in Icelandic and Estonian respectively. The tense atmosphere that had settled over the house was unbearable, and the building fear threatened to strangle them all.

Canada ducked back into the room, fetched his cell phone from inside the bed stand and glanced to Sweden again. "I'm gonna make some calls."

Again, the burly Nordic only grunted.

Canada returned to the bathroom and debated over who to call first. His gut wanted to call his family, as the Nordics were doing, but none of them, not even America, knew what he was supposed to have done last night, and they were too far south to have garnered a visit from Him. No, now it was more important that they know where He had gone instead of coming to Canada, and everyone knew that Russia was His unfortunate favorite.

Canada didn't have Russia's number in his phone, but he knew it. His fingers shook on the keypad, and the machine rattled against his ear through the rings. Finally, the line picked up with a click. "Allo?"

"Russia, it's Canada. Did…Did the General come by last night?"

A biting cold almost as vicious as the General's itself seemed to radiate from the phone. "Nyet. He was supposed to come to you, comrade."

Canada gulped. "I know. But he didn't."

"Did you, perhaps, 'forget' to leave the door open for him?"

"This cabin doesn't even have locks." Canada ran a restless hand through his hair and sank onto the closed toilet. "He just didn't come."

"That is not possible."

"I know. But it happened. Do you know why?"

Silence on the other end. Then: "I will be in touch."

A click, and the line went dead. Canada hung up and allowed himself to shiver. Russia may be a loyal ally, especially who respect his General's wrath, but say he was unnerving would be a serious understatement.

With the business taken care of, he turned his thoughts closer to home and called up his brother's number. America's voice, excited about something ridiculous and blissfully unaware of the confusion in the north, would be like a balm on Canada's flustered mind. Just seeing the familiar number pop up on his screen was a relief, and his heart beat slowed steadily with each passing ring.

He was answered by a machine.

"Hey there! You've reached the awesome Alfred F. Jones! Sorry, but I'm out doing something heroic, so leave me a message and I'll try to remember to call you back."

Canada blinked and missed the signal beep altogether. It was true that America had a dozen homes throughout his States, but all of his landlines shared the same number through some bizarre relay system that had probably cost his government a small fortune, so he should have picked up somewhere.

He tried America's cell next. It went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, you've reached the awesome Alfred F. Jones! I'm doing awesome things right now, so leave me a message and I'll –"

The cold blob of fear that had congealed in Canada's gut began to rear its ugly head as a monster of concern. Even though it was far too early on a Friday for America of all people to even consider going to work, he called the military recruitment office where he was currently assigned. A serious young woman picked up on the second ring. "US Army Recruitment Center."

"I'm looking for Alfred Jones," sputtered Canada, forgetting his manners.

The female solider did not even falter. "Major Jones left on vacation yesterday for personal reasons. He has not given an estimated time of return."

"Did he say where he was going?" Canada pressed. "I'm his brother. It's important."

"One moment, sir." Papers rustled and muffled voices whispered beyond the reach of Canada's hearing. The monster inside him roamed, searching for prey and upsetting the delicate balance of his already-tortured digestive tract. Finally, she returned. "According to the paperwork, he's investigating rumors of a disturbance on personal property in Alaska."

The beast of fear pounced upon Canada's heart. Had he been human, it might have stopped him dead. "A…disturbance, you say? What kind of disturbance?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir. I think he mentioned something about Russians, as crazy as that sounds."

"Russians?"

"Well, his exact words could be taken as a racial slur."

Canada swallowed. It felt like acid burning his throat, rushing down to meet the beast that was gnawing on his heart. "I see. Th-Thank you."

He hung up and told himself not to panic. There was no reason to jump to conclusions. So America might have been in Alaska last night. That didn't mean anything.

He tried the cell phone again.

It went to voicemail without a single ring.

America never turned off his phone.

Canada pulled himself to his feet and lurched for the door. His knees felt like rubbed and his feet like lead. He stumbled into the bedroom to find that Finland had returned and was talking to Sweden in quiet, worried tones. When the small Nordic met Canada's eye, he nearly jumped a foot. "What happened to you now? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Worse," Canada muttered, sinking onto the bed. "I think I know what happened last night."

Finland and Sweden exchanged worried looks, but said nothing, prompting him with silence. Canada raked his hands through his hair and prayed for this entire thing to be just one huge, ridiculous, frost-addled dream. "The reason that the General didn't come for me…is because he found America first."

TBC…