America straightened his tie as his eyes met his own through the magic of the mirror. He fixed his hair just so, but naturally Nantucket refused to be laid down. He turned, adjusting Texas and checking himself out from the side. He was a little pudgy- Canada said it was muscle but to him it looked like fat. He sighed; he'd have to get to the gym today after the meeting. And he wouldn't have lunch- that should get rid of the fat, it usually did. He turned back to the mirror taking a deep breath. Alright, now was the time. He was going to show not only his entire country but also the entire world what he did as a nation. Who he was, and what that meant.

Was he scared? Maybe. Was he nervous? A bit. He took another deep breath. This could either work perfectly as he imagined it or… or things could turn out to be the biggest disaster since… since ever.

England still hadn't quite warmed up to the idea, but that was okay. He'd warm up to it once people started to leave them alone again. Once they started to be 'old news.'

The man sighed. This past week had been hell. As soon as people found out about them, it seemed as if the nations couldn't get a moment of peace. The paparazzi and press had started to swarm. The news had their faces everywhere. Long gone it seemed was Lady Gaga, forget about the election, forget about the president, the Democrats, the GOP, forget about the country America. Now was all about the human. The embodiment of the nation.

And according to England and France and Canada and even Germany and both Italies, it wasn't much different there. People swarmed when they left their homes, people gawked when they went to the store. Canada couldn't go to a hockey game without being torn between the two sides. Germany couldn't go to a pub. France couldn't sleep with anyone without it being plastered all over the tabloids the next day.

He ran his hand through his newly combed hair, sighing once more. This would be fine. He could do this fine. Everything would be fine. Today's meeting will go as normal. The difference? They'd have the CSPAN camera in the room. That's all.

So the man turned his back on the mirror, taking his bomber jacket off of his bedpost, pulling it on as he left the room.

-A-

"Are you sure? What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught. I promise you."

"But how can we grab him? He's the freaking United States of America."

"I told you, we have a way."

"Why can't we just stick with Canada?"

"Because we-"

"Stop! You won't be able to get him! He's smarter than that!"

The small, dark room came to a silence. Eyes went to the blonde-haired boy tied to the chair, his curl hanging in front of his face as anger filled his eyes. The room was secluded; the men had made sure about that. The walls were thick; they didn't want anyone overhearing their words. They weren't in the middle of nowhere, but they were far enough from the city to both distance themselves from the police force and yet be close enough to make their methods easier. The nation struggled harder against the binds that kept him there, but they wouldn't break. Every time he fought, he received some form of abuse. A hit. A slap. A cut from the knife that would quickly heal over.

A tall, lanky man who shouldn't have been as strong as he was approached Canada, kneeling next to him as he breathed on his neck, whispering into his ear loud enough for the rest of the small room in New York to hear, "So, Matthew- Matt- Mattie-"

"I'm Canada," he spat out, trying to be brave. But what he received was a slap across the face. He growled but was ignored.

"Thing, monster, freak," he continued, "Tell me, if I killed you, what would happen?"

"Nothing. Nothing would happen. I'd die and there would be no more Canada," Lie. That was a lie. "That goes for America too!" More lies. If they knew the truth… and they killed him and his brother… who would be next?

He felt a hand grip is hair by the bulk, pulling his head back as he felt the cold, sharp metal of the knife against his neck, "You better not be lying to me boy."

"I'm not! I'm not!" his eyes were wide, the pain was incredible, his hair… his neck… he couldn't move.

"They're starting the meeting, boss."

The knife left Matthew's neck and the hand left the confines of his hair as the villain turned towards the scene. "Send two. Tell them to grab America after the meeting. If he's not there now, people will know something's up. We don't want to be stopped before we get started."

"Yes boss."

"If he fights, tell him we have Canada. Tell him if he wants to see his brother alive, he'll come quietly and without a fuss. None of the other nations should know that they're both missing until the next world meeting."

"Yes boss."

"Now go," he commanded before he turned back to Canada, grinning as he looked to the boy, "your brother will be here soon. Don't worry."

"You're making a mistake. He's going to ruin your plans. He's going to defeat you. He forgets about me. He's not going to just remember…" Canada's voice was growing in volume as he spoke, his tone harsh and his eyes narrowed. "He's not going to give you his country!"

"Of course not. His country's going to give him to me," he said simply before pulling the knife out again, "or I'm going to take his country from him," He lifted the knife, putting it to Canada's neck once more, enjoying the sensation of the man freezing at the light touch of the blade, "And then I'm taking your country from you. With the power of all of North America, I'll be unstoppable."

"You won't get away with it, people will find out-"

"I've already gotten away with it Matthew. We just have to watch it play out. Now shh. The meeting's starting."

Canada could only look to the screen as he saw the nations start filing in, a different attitude among them all. They all seemed much more proper this time; there was no light banter between them, the excitement significantly lower than it normally was. This time they all had a country to represent- not that they hadn't before, but this time their people were watching them represent them. He didn't see his brother yet… maybe his brother could avoid being caught? Maybe he'd have gotten sick or-

And then Alfred F. Jones walked in, that bright smile on his face as he scanned the room, his smile seeming to falter when he couldn't find his brother. But it was just a flittering moment of that before his name was called by England and he turned towards him, laughing brightly before taking his place at the podium while the nations began to settle down.

"He'll come to us easily, I can tell already." The man laughed darkly, "North America will be ours by tomorrow night."


A/N: So yeah. I am not that happy with this chapter at all, but I'm tired and I wanted to get it up (what he said). Anyway, yeah- this is going to turn a lot darker since I tend to write dark things because they're fun.

Oh, and in response to a pondering, I have this to say: It's always America's fault because if anyone's ever watched an election of any sorts, or any sort of controversy, they know just how much the US press can dig up. But keep in mind, the countries are the ones who are blaming America. That doesn't mean their blame is right.