A/N: Yes, there is a chapter two. :) Come on, I wouldn't leave you with a cliffhanger like that, would I?

Chapter Two

"Aww, come on! Do we really have to march past Germany in the rain?"

It was dusk on the German warfront, and an eerie silence same with a thick somber rainstorm that blocked what little light the full moon had to shed. An intense wind sent the rain pounding down on a large group of battle-scarred men, who trudged tiredly through the countryside in search of a place to take shelter.

Two particularly odd men stood at the front of the battalion. One had dusty blonde hair with a single strand poking up against the pull of gravity, while the other was a blonde with ridiculously large eyebrows and a chillingly serious green gaze. They were the leaders of the group, and tried to set an example for the others by ignoring the water in their hair and the lack of feeling in their toes. …Well, one of them was; the dusty-haired one had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was complaining off and on about the less-than-perfect conditions. "Seriously," the complainer continued, wiping water droplets off of his glasses, "this sucks!"

His companion kept his eyes forward and didn't dare to look at him, silently reminding himself of what he should have been doing. "Shut up, America. If we're going to get to Greece in time to help him, then we're going to have to cover plenty of ground. Besides, we can't risk Germany seeing us in the daylight, or else he'll obviously start attacking us."

America scoffed and stared up at the darkening clouds. "Psh, he's not even here, England! Germany is in Albania or something. Besides, I'm tired. I could really use a burger right now… Hey look, a house!" Finding a sudden burst of speed, he sped forward, narrowly avoiding running England over.

"Hey, what are you…" England looked up from the map that he was carrying and saw it. Just like America had said, it was a house, but it was so much more than that. It was a mansion, placed on the edge of a fenced-in tract of countryside that stretched out several acres in nearly every direction. It seemed to be hundreds of years old with intricate carvings crawling up the stonework and a once-beautiful garden of flowering plants rimming the outer walls. But it obviously hadn't been touched for years.

America stood at one of the half-shattered windows on the side like a child at a toy store, poking back the moth-eaten curtains that blocked his view of the room inside. "England, dude! Think this is some kind of Axis warehouse or something!"

England, with a pointed glare at America for being so loud, took up a place beside his ally and peered through the window. "What would make you say that?"

America pointed into the darkness. Against one of the room's walls was a stack of open crates, spilling out fabric bundles and firearms onto the ground. A crude white flag made from a stick and a handkerchief sat within the shadow of the crates. "Lucky guess?"

Leaning forward against the spiked glass remains of the window pane, England could barely make out a few crates lining the opposite wall, collecting dust, two of them bearing several white Japanese characters painted in chipping paint on the top. "Why would the Axis leave so many valuable supplies here, of all places…?"

"Dude, we should totally get in there and see what stuff they've got!" America was giddier than a schoolgirl on steroids, and stood straight up to emphasize his superiority in the situation. "Alright, since I'm the hero and all, I'll raid the top levels! You can take the basement and stuff, since you're both dark and creepy."

"Hey, wait a –"

"Good, then it's settled!" America smiled stupidly, dashing off to make his way around to the front of the house. After a few seconds he chuckled nervously. "…Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a crowbar by any chance, would you?"

Wordlessly, England followed him to the front door and reached into the pack resting on his shoulders, pulling out a small metal case containing a few tiny iron rods. He kneeled down next to the doorknob, and within moments the door swung open, its rusty hinges creaking from disuse. He smirked and stepped back to admire his handiwork. "I'm SAS," he reminded him smugly. "When it comes to –"

"Yeah, yeah." America pushed past England, almost accidentally crushing him against the door, and ran for the rickety staircase that stood before him and spiraled upward into the dark depths of the house. "Onward," he cried dramatically, mostly to himself, "to adventure!"

Turning away from the door and skirting the house's wall as he looked for the cellar, England shook his head in self-pity. Why do I always have to get stuck with America? The bloody git doesn't even know what he's doing. Prying open the house's cellar doors was easy once he kicked through the corroded lock, and he took a lantern from his pack and lit it before proceeding down the steps into the darkness.

There was another door at the end of the steps.

"Bloody hell…" England groaned and placed the lamp down on the ground, examining the door more closely. This one looked more secure – and surprisingly newer – than the house's front door. When tapped, it emitted the sharp cling of a metal. He shook his head sarcastically. Good job only reinforcing one door, Germany. In barely a minute he was past it, thanks to his trusty lock pick, and he strolled into the darkened corridor before him.

The cellar was a far cry from impressive. It looked like the inside of an abandoned office building, with several rotting doors lining the walls and a torn, stained carpet pressing against England's feet. The smell of damp earth wove itself into the musty air, accompanying the already overpowering scents of dust and mold. Through several of the doors, he could see a few of the supplies left behind by his enemies: old tarps, empty ammunition cases, crates stripped of their wood. Nothing useful at all. I wonder if America has found anything yet… He heard the sounds of troops above him setting up camp for the night, and for a moment he was temped to return to the surface. Since there probably isn't anything of any importance down here, I might as well… Just as he was turning around to retrace his steps, he paused, staring straight at one of the closed doors near the corridor's end. It was just like any of the other doors, except it wasn't yet damaged or hanging off of its hinges. Somehow it attracted his attention like a magnet. But why…?

"Hi there, England!"

England saw a green floating thing out of the corner of his eye in the direction that the voice came from. "Oh, Flying Mint Bunny. How long have you been there?"

"I just got here." Flying Mint Bunny pressed against his face so that his gaze matched England's. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," England replied with a shake of the head. "Something just seems… it seems…" He took his time in finding a word to describe the strange sensation that the door gave him, but it still wouldn't come.

"…Amiss?" Flying Mint Bunny supplied, floating back to his friend's shoulder to get out of his way.

England, finally breaking his eyes away from the plain wooden exterior of the door, nodded once. "Yes, I suppose so."

"We should investigate!" Flying Mint Bunny flew circles around England's head before landing on top of it. "Maybe there's something cool in there!"

"You're starting to sound more like America," England remarked, then set his eyes on the door's tarnished bronze knob. With a reluctant curiosity he wrapped his hand around it, turned it gently, and pushed his way into the room beyond.