AN: I should make a note. I do employ videogame logic as this is based on a game. So healing and availability of supplies is a bit skewed, etc. Oddly, I don't have much more to add about this chapter. Hope anyone out there reading it enjoys. I shall patiently wait with determination for reviews... One day.
America: The Search
America paid no attention to the hardwood floors or multiple hallways veering off from the entryway. He pounded straight up the stairs without a thought about the beauty of design or the state of shine on the floor. He reached the second floor and took only moments to evaluate the various avenues available before wheeling around to the hallway moving towards the front of the house. The hallway stretched the length of the front of the house and America looked carefully to determine where amongst the lineup was the room he would have seen Canada in.
He picked the left side and the first door. It was locked.
"No!" He shook the door and twisted the doorknob again. "No! Matthew! Are you in there?" Answer me!" He pounded on the door with his fists, voice clogging with distress. "Matthew, can you hear me? Matthew, are you in there?" He twisted the doorknob again with no success.
He dashed to the right, running to the next available door. He turned the knob and this time won the gamble as the door slipped open. He burst inside and quickly glanced through the room.
"Matthew?"
Bookshelves lined the wall on the right side of the door. The left wall by the door held a TV. Two plain white beds more closely resembling cots sat in the right corner, a bit away from the wall. A table with a couch parallel sat in the middle left half of the room.
No answer filled the void of the room. America felt despair winnow through his shoulders, but he pushed it off. He couldn't give up so easily.
Despite the lack of his brother, America entered the room. If he was going to be the hero and rescue his brother, then he would need to look around. Maybe he could find clues as to what was going on in the house. Or a crowbar to get that other door open.
He went first to look at the bookcases. He tried a careful examination of titles or for something out of place, but nothing seemed to be. The floor of the room was clean if a bit scratched. The beds were made and no monsters were hidden underneath. No crowbars or other weapons in sight.
America left, returning to the first door at the other end of the hall. He tried the door again and again, but it denied all attempts to open it.
Panic was riding a crest through his body, but he suffocated it. He couldn't afford those kinds of feelings. He concentrated instead on personal reflection. He had helped cause this mess and his self-hatred for that was fuel to his determination. If that's what it took to find Canada, he would try banging on every door.
He hadn't meant for anything like this to happen. He had thought the house would be terrifying—a thrill. The idea of real danger lurking inside, that his brother could be hurt or worse… He wanted to break things.
He turned and tried the door opposite. It refused to open.
Calm… he had to stay calm. He kicked the door with as much force as he could muster and followed it up with a bark of pain.
He retraced his steps to the short hallway that led to the stairs. The floor seemed to be set up like an 'H' with two long hallways running parallel and connected by one short one in the middle.
He turned right at the other long hallway and found two doors hiding on opposite sides of the hallway. He tried the door on the left, but it was locked. When he tried the door on the right however, he was rewarded. It opened with a soft click and he stepped inside.
"Matthew?"
At first glance, the room held a bed in the right corner by the door and more bookcases in the far right corner. The far left corner contained a row of low-lying cabinets and in the left by the door was another TV complete with loveseat and rug.
But the most distracting feature of the room was the giant gray thing standing at least two feet taller than himself. The head was especially immense. If he tried, he was quite certain that his arms would not have encircled it. The body was tiny in comparison to the head but unfortunately still sizable as a whole. Its body was big and bulky but rather crusty and hardened. In the minimal seconds America had to absorb these details, he was unable to determine if the hands were exactly the same was the one that had grabbed Canada, but they were similar enough to be the right idea.
And then, the creature attacked.
It was swift—much swifter than he would have expected a bulky creature to be. He drew his gun and managed only a single shot, wildly missed, before the creature struck his shoulder.
America gasped at the staggering pain that felt quite similar to shovelfuls of icicles being thrust into his shoulder. Luckily, it wasn't his gun arm and he managed another shot, this one much better aimed. It pierced through the thing's shoulder and exited the other side to be lodged in the wall.
America's ears were ringing and his head felt light, almost dizzy. The enemy was before him and it was an enemy that had hurt his brother. He felt light enough to fly and enraged enough to cut his enemy to pieces.
The thing roared in pain and swiped at him again. This time, he managed to dodge, but extra pain shrieked further through his torso. He pulled the trigger and heard the bullet collide with flesh though it was only a partial arm hit.
The creature hit him, fist colliding with his chest and sending him stumbling backwards a couple steps. Two tears tracked down his cheeks as the air vanished in a burst from his lungs. It made a reappearance a moment later in a whoosh that stung painfully and in little bursts on the way down.
He took care with the extra distance between them to aim properly and managed to clip its head as the thing rushed him. As the bullet made contact, the lights promptly went out and brought everything to total darkness.
America let out a startled scream that may have more closely resembled a yell. Still, nothing collided with him. He reached a hand out in front of him carefully but felt only air. Reaching towards the wall, he felt along the smooth surface until he located the switch. Flipping it to the on position, he found himself staring at an empty room.
He found himself disappointed that the thing was gone. He was actually a little surprised at the intensity of his desire to kill it. Fear made a sharp reappearance and it wasn't the house that was scaring him.
He stumbled forward a bit and swept a second glance through the room. It remained empty. He let out a harsh sigh before stumbling in for a closer look. Nothing was hiding under the bed or cluttered on the bookshelf. The cabinets were worn and scratched but empty.
On the couch rested a crinkled and smeared sheet of paper. One of the corners was torn off and some of the ink in the words had bled (water?), but the note was still legible. The handwriting itself was sloppy and slanted in the author's hurry to scribble it down.
Alfred,
I thought I told you to run? It's too dangerous in this house. I hope at the very least that you didn't bring Italy with you.
Most of the rooms are locked, but I think the keys are scattered through the house. You can probably find them if you look hard enough. But be careful. You have to run if you see them coming.
The truth is, I don't want you to get this letter, because that will mean you're trapped inside this house with me. I'm scared, Al. I want to ask for your help, but I can't because I don't want you in danger.
But Al, they've done things. I don't know if I-
The letter ended there rather abruptly.
Chills and tremors weeded his back and arms. He'd never really had to worry about Canada before. Canada was always so friendly and relatively neutral that no one wanted to cause him harm. That, and they seemed to forget about him a lot. But now he was in real danger and he was suffering and it was America's fault.
He crumpled the unfinished letter with sudden decisiveness and shoved it in his jacket pocket. A glint of light among the cushions caught his eye. He reached a hand in to pull out a small key. The engraving at the head of the key indicated it opened a room on the third floor. He curled it tightly in his hand a moment before adding it to his pocket collection.
Strangely, his vision started to blur. America reached his hand up to feel moisture sliding down his cheeks.
Quickly, he stood and strode out of the room. He just had to find Matthew. More tears fell, but he wiped them furiously away. He sprinted down the hallway and jumped the stairs two at a time up to the third floor.