Author's Note: Well, I was going to finish this chapter yesterday evening, but my friends and I decided to have a spontaneous Hetalia: The Beautiful World watch-a-thon. This, of course, consisted of only two episodes, but somehow it led to us watching the entirety of season four, and then one friend brought her Ouran High School Host Club DVD...

So, yes, that day ended with this chapter at 1,047 words, but I worked on it all day today. Now, being the gracious host I am, I certainly wouldn't require you to put that much effort into a review—but taking a few minutes would be quite kind.

America

I listen to the Carly Rae Jepsen song for a minute before I realize it's my phone. I should probably stop changing my ringtone so often.

" 'Sup?" I say, putting it to my ear.

"Hey, it's France."

"Hey." I cram some burger into my mouth. "So, 'sup?"

"Well, first, I'm not sure if the news has gotten around yet, but Canada's back home."

Bits of food go flying out of my mouth as I try not to choke any more than I just did. It takes a few good glugs of coke before I can respond.

"Seriously? Sweet!" Not that I wasn't going to save him if he stayed on the island, but this is probably easier on him. Getting to eat and all.

And it's really great to get to eat. Though apparently Japan and some of the others haven't been taking advantage of it because they're still skinny as heck. Russia said the difference is just because I'm the expert at gaining weight, but he's a jerk. A jerk with another bruise now.

China was being a jerk, too. Of course, if Germany hadn't interrupted me, I would have made it obvious that my economy's still way better than his. Why was Germany even on his side, with China killing Italy and all?

Well, I don't think I'm going to invite either of them to the LOST party. Except that was sort of just for China in the first place...

"It really is," France says. "Now, I was wondering if you'd talk to him. Specifically if you'd promise you aren't going to kill him."

"Why would I kill him?" I take a second to think. "Did he clean his guest room with that nasty lemon-smelling stuff again? "

"Wha—no!" He lets out a long sigh. "He's scared about you punishing him for... hurting England, on the island. Given you were chasing after him, he probably has a reason to worry about that."

"Oh... That." I finish off my snack. "Naw, I'm not gonna kill him for that."

"All right, then—tell him." There's some clicking and a weird rustling sound as he hands the phone over.

"Hello?" starts Canada, voice weak even for him.

"Hey, bro," I say, leaning back in the hotel chair. "So yeah, I'm not going to kill you."

"Okay..." I wait a minute for him to say something else, but he doesn't.

"So... is that all you wanted to call about?"

There's nothing on the other end for a second, then more rustling.

"If you don't mind—" France again—"could you talk to him about England? He's convinced he killed our fairy boy for good, and because you've ki—certainly seen him since..."

I take another swig of coke. "Uh, yeah, okay..."

He hands the phone back over.

"Canada, you there yet?" I start.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. Well... Yeah, he's alive. Or, was for the majority of the time the last time I saw him." I take a second to make sure that sentence made sense. "Which was after you left, so no worries."

He mulls it over for a minute. "So... Was he... okay?"

"Well, he was starving and all, but otherwise, yeah."

"Okay... But he really is dead again?"

"Apparently." I shift the phone to my other ear and cross my legs. "I kind of accidentally killed him and got back here, and he either hasn't been moving around much or just hasn't torn his clothes on anything."

All that comes from the other side for a minute is shaky breathing.

"You okay over there?" I start.

"I-I never got to apologize to him," he says, choking up.

"Hey! Don't talk like that!" I lean forward. "I'm not going to let him or anybody else die out there. Or—stay dead. Whatever. Trust me a little, okay? The hero's going to save the day again—promise."

He swallows, getting out a weak "okay."

Exhaling, I lean back again. "And you don't have to worry about apologizing, anyway, man."

"Wh-what?"

"I mean, it wasn't even really you. I don't know what it felt like because I haven't been controlled by aliens before—or..." I frown—"...I don't remember being controlled by aliens before—but this is seriously one of those times you're trying to apologize for things you really don't have to."

There's no response at first, but he slowly starts, "You think I was controlled by aliens."

"Well, yeah!" I chug the last of my drink. "I don't know who else you've talked to or what they said, but I've got your back, okay? I know there's no way you would have done something like that."

He's silent for a second, and then I hear... crying?

"Uh... Canada?"

"What did you say to him?" France yells, trying to shush Canada as he does so.

"I was just telling him I knew the aliens made him do it, since there's no way he—" I cut myself off at the dial tone.

"Don't you hang up on me!" I say to the phone. But I guess France probably isn't hearing that right now. Maybe I should call him back and tell him off for it. I'm over here just trying to help my brother, and he's running around hanging up on me...

I poke through my contacts and get to France's number right as my ringtone starts up again, phone buzzing in my hand.

I answer, "Hey, Japan. What's up?"

"Ah, hello, America. Have you been well?"

"Uh, yeah."

He pauses for a second. "So—have you watched the news recently?"

I put my feet up on the coffee table. "No. My commie-busting language skills are a little rusty. Why, what happened?"

"I'm sure it must in English on the Internet somewhere, but to avoid making you hunt down information I already know..." He exhales. "It appears that some deaths have been reported among those near the explosions."

I slowly sit back up. "What?"

It sounds like his hair rubs against the phone—I think he's nodding. "All of the victims—I believe there have been six—are being further inspected, but they seem to have been overcome quickly once symptoms set in. There's still debate on whether the agent was a chemical or pathogen, but since the victims were in different nations, it nearly has to be related to the bombs."

I chew on my cheek a little bit. "So... I guess the aliens... Oh! They're just trying to throw us off their trail, distract us because we're so close to getting them."

Putting the phone on my shoulder, I cross my arms. "Come tomorrow, I bet we find out those people aren't really dead! Or maybe they'll be abducted to cover up the tracks." I shift my shoulders. "Although that could be dangerous for them, too... Tell you what! I'll talk to Tony and make sure he's looking for any suspicious abductions over the next few days. In the meantime, I'll get back to looking for the island."

"Um... Yes," he says. "I'm not sure that we should come to conclusions so quickly, but... In any case, please continue your searches, and I'll keep track of how this progresses."

"Sounds like a plan."

"All right. Until next time."

"Bye." I hang up.

The next day comes with all sorts of write-ups on the six deaths. And while I normally get all of my news from Colbert, I think the circumstances are extraordinary enough to check out a normal online paper.

The six "dead" are two old Italian ladies, a British guy, two little kids from China, and an Atlantan lady. All of them were near the explosions but not always the closest to them. Most of them had just come home on a flight, but the British guy was apparently just passing through.

They all definitely died—or so The Times says—from some infection or poison. They're still doing a bunch of tests to figure it out. It might take weeks, but apparently it's a pretty high priority.

And then there's a bunch of speculation on what the bombs were all about, but it's nothing new.

I close out the window and lean back in the office chair.

So, if the island's not anywhere near where the stars said they were, how do I go on looking for it? If it's underground, I'm definitely not going to catch it from a helicopter. I guess I could go hunting down all of the big nuke shelters. Even if it would take a lot of equipping, those would probably be the best places to start, unless they wanted to dig up a whole new thing. I guess that's not impossible, but still.

The island could always be on the aliens' home planet, too, but that'd be really hard to find and really hard to get to. The portal or wormhole or whatever that was at the meeting building is obviously closed now. Maybe there's a way to go backwards from the bedrooms, though. If that could do it, I'd probably have the best shot in one of the bedrooms of the guys who haven't come back yet. Maybe if I just stand exactly in the right place...

I thunk my head on the desk. Why did I take this job? There's so much thinking!

But I have to lead the rescue effort, and this part of it has the most adventure, as far as I can tell. So despite its difficulties, I will press ahead in my heroic quest!

So... I take a minute to run down my last train of thought. The wormholes, right. So, did we all show up in our rooms in, like, the same pose? Don't know about them, but as for me... Well, pretty soon after I got there, I went around throwing things and chucking the tie into the fireplace, so I'm really not sure how I was standing at first. Uh... Nope, don't remember.

At any rate, this strategy is going to be a lot easier than the underground one, so I'll check it out first.

After poking through my contacts list a bit, I decide to start with Canada, since he's the most recent one back.

I just get the answering machine, so I try his cell. No luck there, either.

Okay... Who was before? Uh, me, I think. Whoops. And before that... Either China or Austria. Let's start with China.

Hanging up, I go ahead and dial him up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, China," I say, carefully leaning my chair onto two legs. "So, I came up with another genius plan for tracking down the island, and, long story short, I need to know exactly how you were standing when you showed up at your house."

"Why would you..." He sighs. "Well, I was just standing the way I was after the last strike of the wok, I guess, aru. I don't remember moving much when the island faded into my living room."

"Okay, thanks." I hang up and call Austria.

"Hello?"

"Hey, so I have a new plan for getting to the island, and I need to know how you were standing when you first got in your bedroom."

"Hmph." Rustling as he shifts the phone between ears. "Although I seriously doubt this is a contribution to an intelligent theory, I was lying face-down."

Okay, that doesn't match anything. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Fine, fine. Well, thanks." I hang up, wander to the bed, and flop on top of it.

Okay, so if the wormholes are like that, they're different for everyone. So I'd have to figure out what everybody would do after killing someone somehow, and... And how would be get back afterwards?

You know what—maybe the aliens' plan isn't quite that complicated. Let's just start checking out underground shelters.

I've cleared one massive shelter from suspicion when my phone rings. I hurry to my car—it may be a decent temperature, but the wind is freezing—and answer.

"America!" It's definitely Germany. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the island. Duh."

"Where?"

"Well, Russia at the moment, just because I was already here. The island is definitely not underground where I am right now."

He exhales for what has to be at least ten seconds. "As I recall, you're supposed to be looking for the island over the Pacific, in a helicopter, with me. Right now."

"What? Oh, that." I wave a hand dismissively. "I mean, we already know it's not where I said it was, and with how weird it all was, I really think it makes more sense to be underground than on a real island with some crazy holographic stuff going on. I mean, we would have just been able to find it on the Internet or whatever as soon as we got back here, right? It really wouldn't be worth the trouble to disguise the stars."

Somehow he exhales even longer this time. "Now, what if we consider the possibility you and England were wrong about the stars?"

"Come on, man. I know my stars. Do you have any idea how much time I spend—"

"Just shut up and get to the helipad!" he snaps, hanging up before I can respond.

What is it with people hanging up on me lately?

I put up the phone and start up the car. Back by Russia's place, I guess. I seriously think going over the ocean again is a waste of time, but I guess it's still possible the aliens would rather get a real island than go underground. It'd be easier to find from orbit, at least. I mean, this is all really weird, so maybe the aliens are really weird and would totally go and swipe a real island and do really weird things to it.

Whatever. All that matters is that I get to the island and get everybody home safe. And I know that's going to happen.

Because the hero always saves the day.