The rocking motion was what woke him first. It was soft and subtle, and not immediately recognizable. Familiar for certain, yet through the slowly lifting haze, America was struggling to connect the pieces. As it was his body felt incredibly heavy, his head aching and throbbing. Thoughts and memories were a jumbled blur of nonsense, his scattered recollections useless to him at the moment. As he opened his eyes, all he could do was mutely take in the scene around him, try to start making sense of the noises pressing around him. He would decipher what was before him, then work out the past.

Though he was on the ground, or the floor of something, he was also surrounded by people. His body was up against a wall, as if to be kept out of the way. The surface of the floor was cold and hard, artificial, clean enough though dirt had found its way in small coatings. The lighting was low, a few antique looking bulbs hanging and swaying from the ceiling overhead. There were no windows to the room he was in, which was narrow and rectangular. Everything seemed seamless and unfurnished, like a massive box. It made him think of a cargo train.

The people that surrounded him were clumped in frightened huddles, exhausted and confused and probably not any better off than he was. Some sat on the ground, groups of all ages. Some held to children, others held to the elderly. It had the strong look of refugees really… and yet… the uncertain fear was perhaps more suited for illegal immigrants being deported. 'So why am I on this… this… am I on something?' With a groan America tried to sit up, deciding he needed to know more about where exactly he was.

A voice piped up to his left, louder than the muted conversations of those around him. America turned his head, blue eyes fixed on the man who'd come to crouch down next to him. The Nation blinked for a moment, rubbing his head as he tried to actually figure out what'd been said. When he offered no response, the man questioned him again. America frowned. Now of course, being who he was, the language was familiar. There weren't many languages out there he wouldn't have heard before. However… it wasn't one he could speak or understand on his own.

"Uh… hey I uh… shoot… I don't suppose you speak English?" His voice was sheepish, apologetic, and he offered the man the best smile he could muster in the given situation. He was met with a face that pulled tight in lack of understanding, offered a shake of the head. The two just looked rather helplessly at each other. "Thanks anyway?"

The man gave another shrug, patting America on the shoulder before standing and walking away. He seemed to join a cluster of people who spoke his language, and though some looks were cast his way from various members of the group, none made to come towards him. America simply offered anyone who looked a smile, then propped his hand to the ground, preparing to get up. His head still felt a bit dizzy, and his body swayed a bit.

"Whoa, hang on there buddy, let me help you up." Hurried steps rushed over to him, and in seconds a strong hand was held out to America. Turning his blue eyes up, the Nation smiled up into another set, also hidden behind a pair of glasses. The man, probably late forties or so if America had to guess, returned the friendly grin and waited for his hand to be gripped. Once ready he helped to haul America up, giving a bit of a grunt as if he hadn't quite expected the 'youngster' to be so heavy. America stumbled a bit, and the man held on until he'd righted himself properly.

"Hey, thanks," he said, beaming at the man. He'd felt it the moment their hands had connected, but this man was one of his citizens. It helped to ease a few of his worries, and yet it caused an instant restless anger in his heart. Just what was going on, was someone kidnapping his citizens? The man before him didn't look like he'd been harmed. The man was taller than America, wider with a gut that'd grown from age. The man looked strong, just the sort you'd imagine to work on old trucks and sit around and watch football with the good old boys. His brown hair had lightened, was peppering with white, but he still looked alive and strong.

"No problem, son. I heard you speak up in English, thought you might appreciate another fellah to talk to." He gestured about the room, motioning towards all the people around them with a soft whistle. "It's a real multicultural circus in here, I don't think I've ever heard so many languages in one spot before."

America frowned, rubbing at his head and peering around him. This man… he seemed to be the only one of his citizens that he could feel in the room. He vaguely wondered if any of England or Canada's citizens were trapped in here. "So… probably a stupid question… but what happened? What's going on?" He didn't like fooling his citizens, but it was a necessity for a Nation. You couldn't confess to just any of them that you were the embodiment of their country.

The man shook his head though, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "Can't say I know… woke up in here pretty much like you did. From what I've seen, it's been the same with everyone else. One minute I was heading for my truck, leaving a convenience store, then it all went dark, I end up here." The man shook his head, a deep frown passing over his features before he seemed to shake it off. "Oh hell, my name's Bill. Shoulda said so sooner. What's your name son?"

America flashed a smile, reaching out to shake hands with Bill. "Alfred, nice to meet you… even if it's like this…"

Bill laughed at him, giving America's hand a good shake while his eyes swept over the Nation. "Al, huh? Bit of an old name for a kid like you."

America feigned hurt, puffing up his chest and trying to sculpt his features into a more mature expression. "I'm older than I look ya know." How true those words.

Bill seemed less than convinced, humming deeply in the back of his throat. "Mmmhmm… I see you walk into a bar, I wouldn't sell ya a drink, that's for sure."

America laughed, and though the two seemed happy to have the mood lightened somewhat, the reality of their situation still lingered like a foul stench. You could grow used to it in a sense, but it was always there, always unpleasant. America shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around. "You have any idea what we're in? Seems like we're moving…"

Bill scratched at his head, nodding. "Yeah… I'm not sure. I'd almost guess a train maybe? Hard to tell. Just glad I don't get motion sick. There seems to be a bathroom over in that corner over there but… hell, if we're all stuck in here too much longer things are going to get real ripe in here."

America shuddered at the thought, adjusting Texas on his nose and running his hand over the wall. Indeed he could feel the tremors and vibrations, but it was difficult to discern much else. A train… a truck… a boat… hell, he could have been on a rocket for all he knew! He closed his eyes and tried to sense it, tried to reach out and connect with his land to get his bearings. As the seconds passed by his heart started to race a bit, a sinking swirling sensation gripping his gut.

He couldn't feel it… he couldn't feel his land… his people! He reached out with his senses, and all he could find was Bill, all he could ground himself to was this one citizen standing next to him. His breathing picked up and he started to panic. Never had he felt completely disconnected from his country before. It was as if he'd had his hearing or sight suddenly snatched from him. He felt dizzy, unsteady; it was like a never ending sense of falling.

He suddenly realized he almost had fallen, in a literal sense, as Bill gripped onto his arms and shoulders tightly. "Hang on there Al, you ok? Calm down, breathe in deep for me…"

America tried to listen, tried to do as he was told. When the hole where his people and land should be became too painful to bear, he stopped reaching, stopped trying to connect to anything but Bill. The man's presence was like a second heartbeat to him, an even pulse to calm his nerves. The man had no idea how much he was helping America here, how much he was supporting him. America was determined, if ever he had the chance, to repay this man in some way. Hero's honor.

Gulping deeply, he smiled at the man and stood up straighter. He felt a bit shaky, a little pale, but otherwise could stand on his own. "Thanks," he said, genuinely grateful, and got a nod in return back. He scratched at the back of his head, looking about. A few people had seemed concerned by his panic episode, but kept to themselves in their tight clusters. 'Ok America… get a grip. You're the hero, right? Right. You need to figure this out… get these people out… and… and if there's a villain you need to stop them.'

Thoughts were starting to connect in his head, wondering if perhaps whoever had caught him were also responsible for catching Prussia and North Italy. It was highly possible, and America was determined to find out. Looking about at the walls, he frowned. "So… there are bathrooms you said, but what about a door? Whoever did this had to load us in somehow…"

"Over here," Bill said, guiding America through the crowd to the other side of the room. There appeared to be a sliding door, shut tight and bolted. America reached out, gave it a gentle tug and a jiggle. 'I could… I could tear this open.' He let his hand run over the metal of the door, wondering if he couldn't just punch through it. It was difficult to tell how thick it was.

"No way is it gonna budge, bunch of fellahs and I gave it a good go before you woke up, didn't budge an inch." He looked ruefully at America, shaking his head as they locked eyes. America bit his lip, biting back his comments. He wanted… needed… to set these people free… but he couldn't do something so suspicious. If a group of them had made an effort to open the door and failed, then there weren't really any excuses he could give for being able to rip the thing open on his own. He considered trying to rouse everyone up to try again, sneak his strength in behind all of theirs… but the look of the people spoke of those who'd given up.

It pained America to see despair in the eyes of others, his citizens or no. He was a Nation that thrived on hope and idealism, and to feel anyone giving up on that made him ache. What could he do? How could he rally everyone together? He was just about to shout out, start talking up a storm with a hero speech like he did at most meetings, but Bill's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He blinked at the other man, who offered him a smile.

"Come on, lets go have a seat… this thing has to stop some time." An internal debate raged in America, not wanting to pass up this chance to rally hope and optimism into those who needed it most. However, a bit belatedly he realized that perhaps most of the people here wouldn't even understand him. English was wide spread, but hell; he was scolded enough for always assuming people knew it.

"… yeah… you're right…" America started to follow, trying to force his mind down another path. If saving everyone right now wasn't an option, then maybe once they'd stopped… he could work out a plan of action then. Trying to distract himself from the worry that gnawed at his gut, America started to ramble on excitedly to Bill, talking about things from hamburgers to football (American of course) and the latest movie releases. If there was one thing he could take comfort in, and truly there wasn't much here, it was that he was the only Nation in this little compartment. Hopefully that meant others like England and Canada were still safe.

o x o x o x o x

The rumbling and shaking sensation stopped, and everyone in the room grew suddenly alert and anxious. This meant, so far as any of them could tell, that they'd stopped moving. America all but jumped to his feet, rigidly alert and already striding towards the door despite Bill's protests behind him. His adrenaline started to pump through his veins fiercely as he shouldered his way to the very front of the group, his protective instincts surging strong. If they were stopped then no doubt the doors would be opening… and finally America would (hopefully) come face to face with his captor (or captors, he couldn't tell).

He thought he could vaguely sense another Nation somewhere, but it was a dim sense, too faint for him to recognize. 'If another Nation is responsible for this…' The very thought made his blood boil, and he shoved Texas up the bridge of his nose in frustration. It wasn't easy to take down a Nation, oh not at all, so of course there was a high chance one of his own kind had been responsible for this, even if he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't feel any of them though… and he wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Even Russia wasn't pulling this sort of stunt… not anymore anyway…

The sound of locks and bolts being undone rang out sharply, and everyone in the room fell mute. A collective breath was held as everyone watched the door slide open, bodies tensing in expectation. America felt his hands ball into fists, ready to fly off the handle and charge the first person he saw.

This would be impossible, he realized with a baffled start, as the door slid open to reveal not a soul in sight. Apparently the locks had been undone remotely, released electronically. A murmuring of languages flooded behind him as people absorbed the situation.

"What the hell?" Bill was at his side, squinting into the long hallway… the long empty hallway before them. It was nondescript, plain. It was the sort of hall you'd imagine in a medical facility or, perhaps, a jail. Sickly lights illuminated it, yet the silence that echoed through it was broken only by those in the room. No one moved past the door, peering out yet afraid to take that first step into the unknown. America decided to be the first to check it out, and had taken a step when the crackle of static over a loudspeaker filled the air. People flinched and started to look about wildly.

In a myriad of languages, a simple message was broadcast. The statement would be said in one language, then a moment later repeated in another. It continued on and on, working to communicate with everyone present.

"Please exit and proceed down the hallway."

Narrowing his eyes, America looked sideways to Bill. The man looked grim but could only shrug. Slowly, the kidnapped passengers started to amble forward. America did the same, working to stay at the front of the pack, eyes scouting for any sort of twisted danger lurking ahead. As they all trickled down the hall, the only thing that came into focus was a large set of double doors, opened wide to a room casting out a very bright light and a muffled symphony of noises.

When the crowd reached the room, which seemed nothing more than a large warehouse sort of space, more murmurs of fear and confusion passed over them. All along one of the walls was a series of television sets. Though the individual portrayed in each varied, subtitles were displayed as the figure on screen preached and stated a message. America wandered, staring at the screens and looking for one in English. Voices overlapped each other, but with the subtitles the broadcast was all too clear. America stood and watched, his eyes widening for each moment he heard the message.

"The fucking hell is this shit?" At his side, Bill was outraged, and he certainly wasn't the only one. People of all nationalities started to shout, no doubt shocked and angry at the statements filling the screens and speakers. America could feel anger running through him as well, but for him… this message was deathly personal. As he listened a chill seemed to grip at his heart, squeezing it like a vice as it robbed him of warmth. "This is… this is… fucking radical terrorist bullshit!"

As much as it helped America to be standing next to such a patriotic citizen, he couldn't settle his pulse. 'You're the hero America! Get a grip!' But this… all of this… if this group was for real, those he cared about deeply could be in danger! He listened intently, for once defying what the other Nations thought of him as he focused all of his attention on understanding everything exactly right.

"… ever trapped in the cycle of war, strung along by governments with only their own interests at heart… to achieve true peace, all that we know must be torn asunder! The sacrifices will be great, but we must all suffer these wounds if we would heal the world, if we would make it truly whole! One world… one culture… one family of man, all under a single banner! In unity, in solidarity, in uniformity lies true world peace!"

Despite it all, despite his bravado, America couldn't help but shiver. The words on the screen made him ill, made his stomach churn. Despite the fact that many people and nations had accused his own citizens of something like this, of trying to spread his culture and shape the rest of the world to be just like him, America and his people were not out to do something like this! This… this… this was just insane! Who in their right mind would embrace something like this?

"Sick bastards…" He looked over at Bill, nodding his head and strangely unable to find any words to offer. The whole situation was becoming worse by the minute. These people… their sentiments were dangerous alone… if they really were connected to the disappearance of Prussia and North Italy, then their threat level was even higher. They knew too much if that was the case.

'Well… I don't know why they went after me next, but they made a big mistake!' Guessing that they probably feared what America would do if he caught proper wind of their plans, they'd come after him. Were trying to neutralize him. Well, they were in for a big surprise then! Sure, America was reluctant to compromise who and what he was in front of all these people, but if he had to… he certainly would! Perhaps this kidnapping wasn't such a dire event after all. Maybe he could turn it around to his advantage!

Bolstering his spirits, America jolted when there was a loud slamming sound. The doors the group had filtered in through slammed shut, sealing them all into this very massive room. People shouted and jostled about in angry protest, in unfocused fear and anxiousness. America flicked his eyes about, trying to look for any of their captors. Nothing else seemed to happen for a long while, as if they were all being given proper time to listen to the looping message on the screens.

That message ended abruptly however, as suddenly they all flashed away from the speakers to a still screen of text, telling no one to approach the doors that would soon be opening. America looked to Bill, both men nodding. They sure as hell weren't about to listen to that message. Locating the doors that started to open on the opposite end of the room, the two Americans started to make their way over, men and women of other races doing the same. No one wanted to continue playing this game, no one wanted to blindly obey these madmen.

The armed soldiers that were revealed by the opening doors, however, gave everyone pause. Even America had to stop, staring at the gun toting individuals, masked and covered in full riot gear and body armor. Not a single one of them was one of his citizens. He couldn't reach out to them, but at the same time it was good to see he wasn't being betrayed. However, he had a sinking suspicious that some of his people were in this group of terrorist as well.

Unfortunately, while he knew guns couldn't kill him like this, he'd again be in a bind if he was shot in front of all these humans. Concealing his true nature was becoming an infuriating hindrance. 'One I bet they've been counting on.' It was like an invisible muzzle, and all the other Nations knew how well America reacted to being restrained at all.

The men with the guns barked at the crowd, gesturing with their firearms to keep everyone back and away. The kidnapped victims shouted yet stayed back, stuck playing this game of obedience. One man tried to push the limits, and the gunmen wasted no time in firing warning shots at him. America tensed. Identity be damned, he wouldn't let anyone get shot!

Before it came down to that, however, another figure could be seen walking towards the room. No, not one, two. One was a man in a white lab coat, and the other was a tiny child, walking at his side and holding his hand. The child wore plain white clothes, like a set of pajamas or medical scrubs. The only 'decoration' on them was a black circle on the front of the shirt that looked as though it'd been painted with a calligraphy brush in one stroke. The child followed the man in the lab looking nervous and shy.

The child was brought in front of the gunmen, his escort crouching down to remove a strange set of earphones. Though it tried to hide it was shoved forward, pushed ahead as if it was supposed to join the kidnapped victims. Some people shouted and continued to speak but a strange quiet was falling over the crowd. People were confused by this turn of events, baffled by the sudden appearance of this tiny child who didn't look like he was any older than five years old. Auburn hair fell about his ears, and a pair of red eyes peered out at the crowd, looking at everyone assembled with fear and curiosity.

America's jaw dropped open, a strange fluttering sensation overtaking his heart. As his blue eyes peered at the child, it seemed like everything else seemed to dim and fade away. The people around him, even the guards, everything else started to feel rather secondary. A strange emotion… a strange instinct was starting to fill him, grasping at his heart. All the emotions of his longing started to assail his senses, the ache he'd lamented to England just before his capture returning full force. He didn't even realize he did it, but soon enough his senses were stretching, examining this child.

The Nation he'd sensed… it was this…?

As the realization seemed to grip him, he found curious red eyes staring into his own. As if searching and seeking, the little one gazed at America. Tiny feet began to carry him forward, and though other people from the kidnapped group approached him, questioned him, he seemed to ignore them all. His feet were taking him straight to America, and without even thinking the Nation took a knee, waiting for the little one to reach him.

The humans all took a step back, uncertain of the situation. Bill questioned Alfred, but fell silent as well when he gained no response. It wasn't that America wanted to ignore his citizen… he just couldn't help it. The pull he felt to this child, the longing and need to nurture and protect it… it was almost suffocating. He'd never felt anything so powerful. Even his never ending urge to be the world's hero seemed to pale in comparison at the moment.

The little child stopped, standing in front of him, gazing up at him with wide curious eyes. Vaguely America wondered if this was how he'd looked at England, if this was how England had felt when they'd met. His mouth felt horribly dry, but America tried to speak anyway. "Hey there little guy… what's… what's your name?" America knew all too well, much to his personal chagrin and embarrassment, that while a Nation wasn't always born knowing much of their history, they did know their name. It was the one thing a Nation knew without error.

The child blinked at him owlishly, neither moving nor responding. America frowned, wondering if perhaps the child didn't speak English. He didn't seem to be responding to any of the other languages in the room though… had he been raised without hearing anyone speak at all? Closing his eyes, America knew one language that this child would know if he was truly a Nation. 'Well… not so much a language… but…'

It wasn't as though being a Nation gave them the ability to speak every language on the planet. They weren't born knowing them all, nor were languages suddenly 'added' into their minds when they were newly developed and formed. However… they all could communicate with each other. It was a certain tone they could add to their voice, a certain pitch that was virtually beyond detection. But it was vital, it was important… it transcended languages and let the Nations speak to each other. It was no doubt how America had been able to understand both England and France when they set foot on his lands…

… and perhaps… perhaps… it would let this little one understand him.

Clearing his throat, America spoke again. His words were in English as before, but this time… this time he addressed the child as he would a Nation. "Hey little guy… can you understand me?"

The sudden light that filled the child's eyes made America's heart skip a beat, but his stomach lurch as well. Dread pooled in his gut, but the sudden joy on the little one was drowning it out. The child took another step forward, a smile on his face as he reached out a tiny hand to America. Staring at exactly what he'd been yearning for, America went against his better judgment and reached out as well, taking the tiny hand in his own.

A dizzying warmth spread between the two, and in moments America had picked up the child and wrapped him in his arms. As the little one held to him, America could feel it… he could feel the bond between him and this little one forming already. It was amazing to be on the other side of it, even if it filled him with nostalgia. His eyes stung bitterly as his earliest memories with England filled his mind, and again his heart was torn between this newfound joy and a crushing sense of foreboding.

Cradling the child, holding him close, America failed to see the scientist that'd escorted the child out taking careful notes, didn't see the quiet observations he'd made into a tiny Bluetooth device at his ear. The bond of brothers had been formed, and through it all, America could already feel a change within him.

Author's Note:

Finally getting towards more of the heart of this tale. It is labeled as 'family' for a reason and all.

You get to see some of my own interpretations of things in here, like how the Nations can all communicate with each other with no problem. I considered a special language, but thought this made them really stand out a bit more as not human. Not cannon I know, but so it goes.

Reviews are always grand; hope people are enjoying this fic so far.