MW: I'm just going to give up giving you guys excuses every time I take forever to update. It's always school and tests and drama and all that crap. So let's just roll into the chapter.

But first, some reviewers. Thank you to TotallyRandomAuthor, XxxImNotOkayxxX, MastermindKakashi, deadlyshadows, Hammsters, TheSilentReader (Don't apologize for long reviews. I love them!), Z, andModernation

Chapter Summary: Agatha's back, so things are going to start to get a little crazy around here.

Warnings: Coarse language

Disclaimer: Nothing. I own nothing.


~Chapter 4~

The Truth Hides in Plain Sight

"I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you."

Friedrich Nietzsche, German Philosopher and Poet


The Fangirl: December 27th

I watched as Sadiq adjusted the end of his skirt- his fingers were clumsy from nerves -before he glided up to the little table at the corner of the cafe. "Do you need any more tea, Miss?" he asked for the seventeenth time today.

The girl who stole my face looked up from her sketch pad and smiled coyly. "No thanks," she said. "I'm good."

I rolled my eyes, slapping another card onto the table as my game with France continued. One the good thing about Egyptian Rat Screw is that you could easily play it without too much effort. Sure, you might end up getting your fingers crushed by an avalanche of falling hands, but a few broken bones was a reasonable cost when compared to the shit that was happening at the other end of the cafe.

I watched with a skeptical eye as Sadiq asked if she wanted anything more: cakes, coffee, muffins, his number, did he just say that aloud? That was awkward. Obviously the only way to avoid the awkwardness was to exchange numbers.

I tried not to gag as he started the next comedy routine: how many times can Sadiq mess up trying to introduce himself properly in ways that were way too endearing to be fair before Agatha giggled her own name? Even I had to admire that there was something undeniably cute about the way he scratched the back of his neck as he confessed that he was "a little nervous" talking to her. Still, the whole show made me want to hurl.

"Seychelles?"

For a moment I forgot to respond, but France kicked my leg and called my attention back to our game. "Are you going to play now?" he asked.

I nodded, putting my eyes back to the man Ari and England forced to spend the day with me. Those two insisted they do all the work while I sit in jealousy heaven with Mr. Baguette until our afternoon rendezvous.

My face flushed red at the very thought. Jealous? I was not jealous. I was frustrated that my supposed mentor would rather spend all of yesterday in a zombie-like state without explaining to anyone who that imposter was. I was frustrated that he seemed to have forgotten that I was right here, not sitting at some table sipping herbal tea with a coquettish smirk. It pissed me off to think that he would forget about the extreme necessity of our predicament to flirt with a girl who wasn't even half way pretty.

I pulled a card from my deck and slapped it onto the growing pile in the middle of the table. I tried my best to block out the remnants of his flirtations with not-me, but their voices fought their way past my defenses and into the hollow of my head.

"So what's your name?" Sadiq asked, no doubt scratching his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

I heard the bitch giggle. "Agatha Stu."

Great, she even had the same name as me. (And my mom's maiden name!)

France scowled, placing a seven on the pile. "Are you alright?" he asked me, giving me a squinty-eyed look. "You seem a little angry."

I placed a seven on the pile and, before he could react, slapped my hand on top of it. "I am not angry!" I snapped.

He jumped, his legs pulled against his chest. "Be careful! You don't have to be so violent about it!" Hesitantly, the man uncurled himself, peering at the table as I swept the pile of cards into my hands. "Sherry, I think you cracked the table."

An eye roll came on before I could stop it. "It's mosaic. There's supposed to be cracks."

He jabbed a finger at one particularly deep one that severed the circular design in half. "That was definitely not here before!" He waited for me to give one of my many witty, half-assed remarks, but I busied myself with organizing my loot of cards into my deck. France sighed, slumping in his chair. He placed his own cards to the side, giving me his full attention. "You know, you can admit when you are jealous," he said.

I glanced up at him. His face was drawn in those fatherly lines that made me want to spill every last secret on my tongue. I bit the inside of my cheek, working my words through my head before speaking. "I am not jealous."

"Then why are you so angry?" he asked again.

I sighed, my hands fumbling with the cards. I swore and tried to jam them back into their proper places. "I just- there's nothing wrong, France."

"Keeping it pent up won't help you."

"What if I don't want you to help?"

"So there is something wrong."

I stopped, pressing my lips to hold back my groan. Damn him and his silky voice. The only smart strategy I had left was to change the subject, but my mouth refused to listen. No matter how much I willed it, my lips refused to give the excuse. I huffed, slamming my deck back onto the mosaic. The cards flew out from under my hand, scattering across the table and fluttering onto the floor. I swore again, jumping from my seat to pick them up.

France made no move to help me. He stayed in his seat, watching as I gathered each one again. His eyes dug into the pores on my back. I released a tense breath, not quite sure what I should say. Deep inside, I wanted to tell him and, at this point, there was no point to hold it back any longer. The sooner I made my position clear, the sooner he would let the matter drop.

I stacked my cards in my dark hand, refusing to meet his eyes. "Look France, it's just weird. It's weird to see him gaga over some girl who looks just like me. I mean, look at her." I made a half-hearted gestured in her general direction. "She even draws likes me. It's seriously scaring me shitless."

"Who do you think she is?" he prompted.

I thought back to the conversation we had last night. Ari had railed Sadiq for even considering making the girl an ally, sharply demanding for all of us to pretend she did not exist. "It's just like what Ari said," I told France. "She's probably some trap made by Himaruya."

"But didn't Sadiq say that he met her a few centuries ago? During THE WAR?"

The boys had explained to me this wild story last night about being at war during the pirate days, but I did not see how any of that was relevant now. I placed a few more cards onto my deck, saying, "Yeah, but who says that they're the same person just because they look alike? I kind of disprove that theory, you know?" The cards finally cleaned up, I stood and looked at France.

He looked more relaxed than before, but the concern visage still painted his face. France flicked a stray lock of hair away from his face with one majestic move of the hand. "Alright, but how does all of that make you feel?" he asked. "Are you feeling envious or neglected or-"

...What?

I rubbed the side of my head, expecting a headache to appear suddenly and drill into the sensitive parts of my temple. "Woah, woah- hold on there. What in the world makes you think that?" I demanded.

France held a hand over his mouth, no doubt trying to hide his smirk. "I just think that anyone would be a little upset if their lovers were to flirt with someone else."

My face turned a hot pink. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will the shade far from my face. "Sadiq is not my lover," I growled.

"Are you sure because you seem so attached to him-"

"Yes I'm sure!" His eyebrows jumped in shock as his mouth clamped shut. I was all too aware of how violent my defense was and my embarrassment only served to make my cheeks even redder. I buried my face in my hands, hoping that some convenient plot point would pull me away from this situation.

None came.

I had to say something.

"Look, I'm sorry." I dragged my hands down my face. They left behind a thin trail of sweat. "Okay, I'll be honest with you. I'm not jealous. I'm just really angry right now because he knows that that girl looks like me and yet he wouldn't back off."

France leaned into the table. "And that bugs you?"

"It makes me mad."

"Why?"

"Because it's my body and he's how many centuries older than me? It's creepy."

France propped his chin on his hand, looking bored. "And this is just upseting you now?" he asked, lazily twirling a strand of blond hair around his finger. "The last time you were here, you did not seem to care at all. You're closer in are in age to him now than you were before, so why does it matter now?"

I ground my teeth together. He really did have a knack for picking apart my words. "Because."

"Because what? Because you're jealous someone else is getting the attention and not you?" My blood rushed with heat so intense that it made my skin boil. "I may be the country of love, but even I can't find anything romantic about that. It's shallow."

I banged my hand on the table again. "Would you just let me talk?" I demanded loudly. When France leaned back into his seat, I knew he was only going to accept the truth. I thought about lying my way through this one, but his blue eyes were ready to sniff out all lies. I sighed. When I spoke, I sounded as defeated as I felt. "It's not because I'm being jealous or whatever else you think. Sadiq is way older than me. He's been twenty since I've been fifteen. Any reasonable girl would be disgusted by that."

"And you?"

I shrugged, not really sure what I could say. The six years I spent alone ruminating over the whole "dad or crush" issue gave me nothing more than sick dread. A long moment passed as I fiddled with the top cards on the deck. "I'm mad that it doesn't upset me," I said at last. "I just know that I should be disgusted by a guy who's hundreds of years my senior, but it just doesn't bug me. Not at all." I gave France a pleading look. "Is that weird?"

He smiled, understanding. "Miss Sherry, if anyone knows anything about romance, it's me." He leaned in closer to the table, giving me the impression that we really had some privacy in the middle of a Spanish cafe. "You're not the weird one. Love has always been the weird one. Everyone at some point of their life finds themselves caught in the middle of a romance they might disagree with. Your heart's the one who decides these kinds of things, not your brain. But when you do realize that this love exists, it's your brain that has to decide what you are going to do about it. So when you actually want to admit that you are in love with Turkey-"

"I am not in love with him!"

"Then you have to decide what you are going to do about it. That makes all of the difference." France smiled, rejoicing in the indignant tone of my glare. He picked up his deck of cards, smiling as he placed a king on the top of our pile. "You have three turns to match or pair, Sherry."

I wanted to punch him. I wanted to squish his face inwards until his face was twisted and he had to start calling himself Quasimodo. Turkey and every sexy inch of him may have me endlessly confused, but I did know one thing for sure: I was not "in love" with him. He was a guy my fifteen year old self could not control her hormones over. I was just having a spontaneous relapse. If anything, he was the one in love with me. Who kisses a girl before letting her go back to her world? What kind of platonic romance could ever make that happen?

In the end, I decided to let France keep his cheeky grin. I would exact my revenge on him later. We continued on with our game, killing time until Ari and England returned for our lunch time rendezvous. When they did, they found France and I vying for a free cookie Spain had given us twenty minutes before. We were caught in the middle of a heightened game of Old Maid, snarling every time one of us ended up with the cursed card. Ari had the good humor to laugh and pull up another seat, unzipping his coat. "You know, you guys could just buy another cookie," he said.

I did not bother to look at him. I was trying to figure out a way to trick France into taking back the Old Maid. "It's more fun this way," I replied.

France snorted. "Fun? I have not experienced anything this 'fun' since my little bunny passed a kidney stone during our ninth honeymoon." England yelped, but his boyfriend ignored him. "Do you know how hard it is to have sex with a man who had the Stone Hedge coming out of his-"

England bitched slapped him across the cheek. "Why the bloody hell are you bringing that up now, you git?"

Silence fell between us as the side of France's face burned the same shade as strawberries. England pursed his lips as melting snow dripped noisily from his heavy gray coat and scarf.

I coughed and took a card from France. "So England..." Green eyes shot towards me, as if already knowing what I was going to say. "How does it feel to have a prehistoric monument coming out of your penis?"

Ari roared with laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair in the process. France placed a polite hand over his mouth, trying to hide his chuckles but forgetting to erase the mirth from his eyes. England gave me a look of horror, as if someone had told him his eyebrows had been waxed in his sleep. He turned away us, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you," he huffed. "Women should not say such crude things."

"Screw your gender roles," I said with a brush of a hand. I could not fight away the smirk that drew itself on my lips as I took a sip of my coffee.

England grimaced. "It's not gender roles. It's being polite company and discussing things you are not well aware of."

"I've been watching porn since I was twelve." I watched with victorious eyes as England choked. "I know more than enough about penises."

"You know more than enough about what?"

Looky here! Guess who decided to show his face.

Sadiq stood behind my chair, wiping his hands on the itty-bitty apron on his skirt. For reasons that evaded me, he seemed more energized today. I forgot about being mad at him for a moment, just long enough to scrutinize his face. He was still the twenty (looking) year old man I knew and loathed. His eyes, though. His eyes lacked the sunken shadows from lack of sleep. The creases hovering around his eyes were less prominent than before, nearly invisible. He glowed with life, excreting a sense of hope. He had not looked this way since we defeated Himaruya back in the Void.

At this particular moment, because of reasons I refused to think about, Sadiq did not look haunted.

"Is there something on my face?" Sadiq asked, looking down at me as he brought his hand to his cheek.

My mouth opened as if I was to reply, but I did not know what to say. So I mimicked England. I crossed my arms over my chest and turn away with a loud huff, one loud enough for him to know how angry I was. My indignation only served to give France more cause for his theory. The blond leaned into the table and placed his hand back under his chin, a triumphed look on his face. I copied his posture, except I had every finger the hand under my chin curled into a fist. That is, all but the middle one.

Sadiq's confusion was plain on his face. He placed a hand on my shoulder and started to say something when Ari spoke up again. "Hey Pops, did you know that England pees tourist sites?"

England threw his hands up in the air as we burst into another fit of laughter. "Sod off, Iceland!"

It took far too long for us to settle down again. When we all had enough air to breathe, France straightened his teal turtle neck and coughed into his fist. "Alright, I suppose that now is a good time to get down to business," he said. "C'mon, let's all take out seats now."

Sadiq and Ari took a seat on each of my sides, each a little too close for my personal comfort. Even England and France were seated more far apart than us and they have sex every other night. The embarrassed red that had tinted England's cheeks had washed away, leaving behind a pair of frazzled brows. He smoothed them with prim and proper movements, ones that made me want to call him a pansy. I nearly did, but he started to speak before I could.

"I suppose I'll go over what Iceland and I discovered. Like we mentioned last night, we decided to check on the investigation of the police station fire. Crime Scene Investigator Pangaea reported that the explosion was caused by what Explosives Expert Pangaea identified as a homemade bomb."

"She said that the bomb was mainly gasoline based," Ari added. "So basically anyone could have made it."

"Didn't America make it or something?" I asked.

England shrugged. "He could have, but that's a bit of an assumption."

"He attacked Ari and me. I don't think he's innocent."

"I'm not saying he's innocent-"

"I think my little bunny is trying to say that there could be more people than just America out there," France said.

Ari slumped back in his chair, his iconic bored expression back on his face. "If you ask me, I think it's Liechtenstein and the Netherlands. Those two have still been acting way too suspicious for their own good."

"Who's acting way too suspicious for their own good?" Ari and I jumped in our chairs. Spain loomed above us, a merry smile on his face as he held a pot of coffee steady in his hands. He looked friendly enough, but his face radiated with unsettling, sweat-dropping vibes.

"Would you go away, Spain?" England snapped.

Spain blinked and tilted his head to the side. "I just wanted to see if anyone here needed some more coffee," he said. He paused, waiting for an answer none of us were willing to give. His jovial visage seemed as realistic as the mosaic images on the coffee tables. I could hear his neck creak as he turned to look at me. "Your cup is empty, Seychelles. Would you like some more coffee?"

I nodded, practically shoving the cup into his hands. Spain moved his arms like a doll, his movements sharp and awkward as he poured me a steaming cup. He handed it back to me with a large smile. "There," he said. "Is there anything else I can get everybody?"

England growled, "You can get out of here."

He laughed. "Oh England you are so funny!" I could not tell if he was being sarcastic or was truly humored. I prayed for the latter. "But I'll go now. Call if you need anything!" He whistled a happy tune as he skipped merrily away. The bounce in his step made the back of his skirt jump up, reveal his butt in his birthday suit glory.

I leaned my chair back, balancing in order to get a good view of his ass. Yes, it looked the same as it felt: amazing.

"Sherry would you please control your hormones and return to the world of the living?" Sadiq demanded.

I shook my head, watching Spain retreat behind his counter. "Only when you tell me what shea butter is." I heard him smack his forehead and mutter what sounded to be a string of Turkish swears. He grabbed the back of my chair and yanked me back into place. I scowled, glaring down at my coffee. "Like you're the one to talk, Casanova."

"What was that?"

I looked at him with a forced grin. "Nothing."

"Let's get back on subject." England rubbed his temples, sighing in the process. "Does anyone here have anything constructive to add?" he asked.

France turned to Sadiq. "You haven't said anything about the matter," he said. "So what do you think?"

Sadiq looked less than prepared. He pressed his lips as his hand slithered into his skirt pocket. "I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that America's the one who set off the bomb. But there is something else I wanted to bring up." He pulled out his golden wrist watch, holding it at the center of the table. All of us, even myself, scooted in our chair to get a better look at the reflective shine and flawless color. "I noticed that something was wrong with this the other day, but I didn't figure out what it was until about an hour ago."

I placed a hand over my mouth, ordering myself not to hurl. That pocket watch always was our first hint for trouble. "What is it?" I asked.

Sadiq held up the watch and tugged at the end of the chain. My eyes trailed down each link, watching as it fell listlessly onto his lap. "The last time I had this, the chain was connected to the end of my wrist. But it hasn't done that yet."

England scratched the side of his head, think. "Why would it even do something like that in the first place?"

"It was kinda like his shackle," I said. I ignored the raised brows Sadiq gave me as I continued to explain. "It showed that he was the one who made the contract. It doesn't necessarily attach itself to him the whole entire time, but when the watch was away from Sadiq, the chain would point in his general direction."

Sadiq nodded. "And the chain does levitate sometimes, but not too often."

"Then the solution is simple," Ari said, stroking an invisible beard. Even with the goofy action he still looked like he was more competent than the rest of us. Or at least, more competent than me. "Obviously you are not the person who made the contract with Himaruya. So the watch would not be connected to you since it's not yours. But that means that we can use the chain's levitation to point us in the direction of the contract maker."

England nodded. "And from that person we should be able to discern why you are here, Sherry."

I bobbed my head up and down. Leave it to Ari to figure out the simple solutions to what I thought would be a complicated problem. Sadiq pressed his lips as he rolled the plan over in his head. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds just about right. Let's give it a try."

France whispered to his boyfriend as the Turk rose to his feet, not bothering to be quiet about it. "Shouldn't we prepare ourselves incase this enlists some sort of attack?"

Sadiq's eyes refused to rip away from the watch's clock face as he positioned himself next to his chair. "If that happens, we'll deal with it," he muttered. He stared at the pale white face and the three clock hands for a breath longer before holding the watch out in front of his chest.

The chain levitated forwards, right over my head. His eyes seemed to enlarge, as if he was not expecting it to happen. He and I held our breaths as he took a small step forward. The chain stayed in place. He took another. He took a full four steps in the direction when the chain suddenly veered to the right. He turned and marched in that direction. The chain rotated to the right again and he adjusted himself again. He did that a few more times before his awkward movements took him back to our table.

"What in the world..." He took a step towards Ari and the chain turned towards the opposite direction. He rounded the corner of the table, nearly reaching France before the chain turned again. He turned around and returned back to his starting point: right beside me. Sadiq stared at the watch, the realization slow to dawn. Each second his brain worked was another second for me to figure out what this meant.

I looked at my hands placed on my lap. I picked at the skin that peeled at the corner of my nail, fighting away the sick feeling in my gut. I wanted the waste basket in my room to barf in.

Sadiq circled me. The men watched the chain pin itself to the spot over my head.

Dead air filled the space between me and their stares.

Ari was the first one to talk. "Sherry, did you make a contract?" His question came in the slow, careful manner one gave when dealing with the unstable.

It ticked me off, but a lump clogged all of my objections in the middle of my throat. I shook my head, trying to banish it away. "No."

"Then why is the chain drawn to you?"

"I don't know." I dared not look at him.

I heard England give another one of his stressed sighs. "But then why would the chain be pointing at you?" he asked.

My eyes ached with the need to cry. "I don't know," I repeated. "Maybe we were wrong. Maybe the chain doesn't point to the contract person at all."

Sadiq appeared at my side, his arms straddled between the tabletop and the back of the chair. He leaned forward until he imprisoned me in my chair. I made the mistake of looking up. His eyes had lost all youth. They were hollowed out, vacant of all emotion yet still teaming with unspoken anger. "You and I both know that's not true," he hissed in a low roll of thunder. "The chain only points to the watch's owner." He leaned in further. "Did you make a contract?"

His eyes ordered me to answer. This time, I had no idea what to say. I knew that I didn't make the contract- that would only be giving my voice away to Ursula. Something in my head said otherwise. A remote voice in the corner, the inklings of a forgotten memory, told me that I was wrong, that I might have really made that contract.

Sadiq took my silence as a confession. He slammed his hand on the mosaic, swearing a loud "fuck." He stepped away from me, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck..." When he looked at me again, his eyes were solid and cold to look at. I knew the moment I looked at them that they were no longer wide open for me to read.

He had shut me out of his head.

"You lied to me," he said softly. "You said that you didn't make a contract. Remember?"

Our conversation in the snow the other night flooded back to me. I balled my hand as tightly as I could, feeling my knuckles turn white. "I didn't lie," I whispered. "Sadiq, you know me. You know that I wouldn't do that."

"Everyone has their breaking point. Just tell me right now that someone hit yours and I'll understand." His body tensed in anticipation. "Please Sherry. You know I'll understand."

I closed my eyes and saw myself standing in my house again. I could see a replay of my argument with Larry, ending with me falling onto the couch in a fit of tears. I was sure that there was nothing more to add. I never moved from the couch so I had to have fallen asleep in the living room. Yet, I could easily imagine myself screaming. Screaming because someone was hurt. Screaming that I would make the sacrifice. Screaming that I would make the contract.

But that was my imagination. Sadiq's accusations were planting ridiculous thoughts into my head.

I thought about opening my eyes, but my fright glued my eyelids to my skin. I ran my hand up and down the leg of my jeans, feeling every strand of thread against my fingers. I swallowed the spit that welled in my mouth. When I finally spoke, my voice was far softer than what I liked. "I didn't make a contract."

He was silent for a long moment. Motionless, I waited for him to start screaming. That was what the Sadiq I knew would do. I cracked an eye open.

He hand snatched the front of my shirt. I yelped. Sadiq pulled me towards him, a fist coming straight towards my face. "Don't lie to-"

Ari's chair fell to the ground right as his hand grabbed my shoulder. He pulled me out of Sadiq's grasp as his other hand landed on my other shoulder like a shield. My brain rocked back in forth in my skull. I blinked away the growing ache in my temples.

Right, the Sadiq I knew had the tendency to hit me whenever I pushed him to his limits. How could I have forgotten that?

"Back off." Ari tightened his grip on me, his nails gouging into my skin. My eyes flickered up to him, amazed to see his cool facade was gone, replaced by a vicious glare. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Sadiq moved his hands nervously about him, searching for a way to occupy himself. He played with the ends of his skirt, picked at the lace on his breast, rubbed his hand along his stubble. He made a strange gesture, as if to say he had no idea. I wanted to say that he did not mean to nearly sock my face inward- that his sweep of emotions was no harm to our friendship -but the hostile glances he gave me proved otherwise.

England, who had stood with Ari, placed his hands on the table. "You chaps need to calm down," he pressed. "You're making a scene."

Sadiq's face contorted until it was ugly and sour. "I'm going for a walk." He stormed his way to the cafe's front doors, leaving behind a slimy trail of discontent. Just when I thought he was going to leave for good, he turned back towards us. "Sherry." Anxiety pricked my skin. He dropped his watch on the ground and kicked to towards me. It skidded with an awful screech before knocking into my chair leg. "I'm not going to carry your junk around, jackass."

I did not know what to say. My mouth flew open, but I had no response to snap back. I curled into myself, my white-knuckled hands rolled into fists. Himaruya was the jackass. I was not the jackass.

Ari looked between Sadiq and me, his lips pressed into a straight line. "I'll go talk to him," he said before running out of the cafe, calling out for his pops.

France and England were as quiet as I was, both at a loss. I felt Spain's eyes on my back, his gaze from his counter too intense to bear. I rubbed my eyes, thinking about the watch at my feet. I slapped my hand on the table. "Damn it!"

The couple continued to look at me as I rose to my feet, taking my coat off of the back of my chair and pulling my arms through the blue sleeves. "I'm going on a walk too," I said. My voice wavered, edging on the fringes of being in complete shambles.

France bowed his head and shook it. "We don't think you make a contract," he said.

I flicked the coat collar straight and stuck my scarf beneath it. "Whatever. You and England aren't gonna stop me."

His lips were pulled into an unaccustomed frown. "I think a walk would do you good," he replied. "Since you are leaving, may I ask you a favor? Can you find Poland and ask him to MC for the festival on New Year's Eve? I think you're the only one who could get him to come around."

I gaped at him. I was going to be able to do something by myself? Was he serious? France's face did not move from its concerned visage and there was no trace of that one bit of knowledge. Even England was giving me an unconditional nod of approval. An elated rush of energy surged up my chest. "Really?"

They nodded again.

I clicked into attention, shooting them an army salute. "Aye, aye Captain! One Polish announcer coming right up!" I ran out of the cafe, scarcely hearing England yell for me to keep my phone on.

My feet slid on the snow and I glided the first few steps of my quest. I giggled when I grabbed a streetlamp to balance myself, then dashed off down the left of the street- the exact opposite direction from Sadiq and Ari.

Last night I attempted to get the idiot to stop obsessing over Agatha by bringing up Poland. There were two things I learned: Poland is doing fine and well, and he worked as a fashion consultant at Pangaea's Clothing Store. He and Sadiq were still dating. That was good. It would mean less shit for me to deal with.

Anyway, Pangaea's Clothing Store was easy enough to find. The building's salmon shade was stark against the white snow. The store was labeled by a huge cursive sign along the building, taking up every inch of space. Poland was small when compared to it, but even he was still an obvious find. Maybe it was his relaxed presence, maybe it was the sparkles on his pink skirt. I did not know. He just looked cute.

Poland spotted me first. He shoved the phone he had been texting on into his pocket before waving a shopping bag-filled hand. "Seychelles!"

I smiled and returned the gesture.

When I caught up with him in front of the store, he bounded for my hands, taking them in his and looking at me with bright eyes. "Oh my God- I haven't, like, seen you in totes forever. How you been?"

A goofy grin spread across my face. I just had to get him to talk about the festival. Then I could easily just ask him and guilt trip him into accepting the position. I was a pretty good liar, so this should be pretty easy. Right? "I've been fine," I said, fitting into the box I made for Seychelles. "I've just been busy. You know, with the festival and everything."

"Isn't the festival this year, like, about love or something?"

I nodded. "Yeah, like the equality of love." I dug around my head for one of the details France and England told me last night. "There's going to be singing and dancing and a lot of games. We just need an MC."

Poland flicked the ends of his sharp hair. "And it's, like, how many days until the festival?" he asked. "Wow, I totes hope you can, like, find someone to do it."

I twirled the end of my pigtail. The sucker was playing right into my trap. "Well about that..."

He made an X with his arms. "Heck no. I, like, have no idea what the heck your game is, but I'm, like, am so not going to do it."

I clapped my hands together, as if I was praying. "Aw, please Poland? You're really funny and everyone likes you!" He huffed a little air and rolled his eyes. "No, seriously. Lithuania likes you. France and England likes you. Turkey's fucking you-"

His cheeks turned the same shade as his skirt. He squeaked, lifting his shopping bags in front of his face. "Can you, like, not say it like that?" He demanded, knees shaking. Dumbness struck me. I had never seen his shyness before and it was weird. It was like I was looking at a completely different person. "A-and besides, T-turkey's special..."

I pushed all of my guilt aside in order to smirk and cross my arms over my chest. I was close to getting him to agree. I could feel it. "Oh really? How so?"

Poland lowered his bags. His body stopped shaking and it seemed like he was returning to normal. "Turkey's, like, polyamorous. I'm, like, not that special."

I searched my head for the meaning of what he was exactly telling me. I knew a boy who was polyamorous. He took the same animation class as me at CalArts. I never cared to learn his name, but I knew he had a mouth that never seemed to turn off. He would go on and on about the three way relationship he was in and rare movies that depicted them accurately (he lent me a copy of some German film with one in it and later quizzed me on the various aspects of the main character's relationship). So if Sadiq's like this guy and was polyamorous that would mean...

"Whoa, wait a second!" I pressed my fingers into my temples, hoping it would speed the Windows computer of my brain. I held out my free hand, motioning for Poland to shut up. "Hold it right there. So you're telling me that Sadiq can be in love with multiple people at the same time?"

Poland tilted his head to the side. "Sadiq?"

I swore. "I mean Turkey."

He nodded.

I should have seen that one coming. The idiot always said that he was in love with Poland, yet he always clinged to Switzerland. But wouldn't that also mean that the stupid kiss he gave me before I left back then was more than just a way for him to distract me? What about that kiss on the cheek from the other night? If that was not part of my imagination that would mean...

My chest filled with air. "Poland, can you tell me every single person Turkey's in love with?" I asked.

He gave me a confused look. "Why?"

"It, uh, has to do with the festival."

His green eyes were drawn in a squint as he peered at me for a second. He shrugged it away, relaxing again. "Let's see..." He held out his hand, counting each finger with each name. "There's like me, Switzerland, and, like, this human- I totally can't remember her name."

"Her name?" The pressure in my chest increased. "Is it, by any chance, Sherry?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Ah, no."

Disappoint dripped down my skin, but the air was still gathered in my ribcage. I already knew the alternative, even if it pained me to say so. "Is it someone named Agatha?" I asked.

"Yeah, that totally sounds right."

I nodded as if I was agreeing, but even Poland could tell I was bullshitting it. Before he could say anything, I forced a broad smile across my face. "Thanks. I was just wondering." I chewed on my lip. Why was I even talking to him again?

Oh yeah, the festival.

I took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll stop bothering you about the festival thing, even if everything will be pink, you can wear cute clothes, and there'll be a petting zoo with ponies-"

"Larry!"

Instinct forced my head to whip around to the street behind me. Logic settled back in the moment I remembered that I was not home and my brother would not be here. I rubbed my hand over my chest, telling myself to calm down. Larry would never be here. It was just me. I was all alone. Yet the raspy voice from before kept yelling out his name. I noticed a head of blond hair ran out from the crowd, weaving dangerously between the cars on the street before ducking into an alley way. The cacophony of car horns rattled my brain, making it hard to think.

Was that Liechtenstein running? Why?

I blinked away the oncoming headache, spotting the next, more unwelcomed blond. A few stores down was Himaruya, dressed in a smart police uniform, casually patrolling the sidewalks. Sweat pricked at my skin. I rubbed my hand over my jeans. So he was still here.

"What are you looking at?"

I screamed, jumping away from the Polish man who had appeared at my ear. I looked between his inquiring face and the bastard behind me. This was my chance to do something important, without France and England's permission or Ari and Sadiq's insistence that I stay safe. "I gotta go!" I yelled at Poland, already running down the street. "Call France and England if you're interested in the job!" I watched Poland give a hesitant wave before I turned my attention fully towards the man who looked like Estonia.

He glanced at me as I approached. Worry sparkled in his eye, nothing malicious. I did not want it to unnerve me, yet I felt my steps fade into a hesitant walk. My heart was wild- beating in erratic thumps, twisting this way and that. I gulped and forced myself to ignore it.

The pocket watch was heavy in my pocket. My hand slunk down my side and wrapped itself around the cold metal.

When I reached Himaruya, he was still giving me his curious gaze. The glue sealing my mouth refused to rip open. I watched dumbly as he coughed into the crook of his arm. He gave me a gentle smile. "Can I help you, Seychelles?" he asked innocently. Again, his tone lacked any sign of hate and spite.

Regret swarmed my senses. Who was I kidding? If I tried to confront this asshole, I'll get my head blown off. But at this point, I didn't think that there was a safe path for me to flee down. No, I would just have to ignore my doubts and push forward.

"Seychelles?" Himaruya stepped towards me. "Are you-"

I took a deep breath. Anger swelled in my chest. I knew that I should have been tougher on him (Sadiq would have slammed him into a wall and broken a couple of bones), but I could not bring myself to raise a hand against him. Was it from my fear or humanity? I gulped the lump down my throat, trying to clear my vocal cords. It took far too long for me to actually speak and, when I did, I could barely manage to speak in a loud whisper. "Call me by my real name."

"Your real name?" he repeated, confused. "What do you-"

I took another deep breath, feeling the sweat cascade down my back. I did my best to pull on my adult face, but the mask was far from convincing. "We need to talk," I said. "Is there any place where we can talk in private, Himaruya?"

"Hima..." He grew quiet. Then, with a curt nod, he gestured the nearest alley way. "We can talk there."

I started to walk over there, but then remembered every anime I had ever watched. The minute I turned my back to him, the bastard was going to stab me in the back. I let him walk in front of me instead, hoping and praying he was not taking me to some sort of trap.

The alley seemed innocent enough. There was nothing much there besides a large garbage bin, a few scraps of litter, and the ever piling snow. Himaruya leaned against the brick side of the building, folding his hands in front of himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sure that you're not going to believe me when I say this, but I'm not Hidekaz," he said. He spoke in that spelled-out manner an adult would use on a child. "I'm Estonia."

I shook my head. It would explain why he lacked his usual venomous air, but I refused to fall into another one of his clever traps. "No, you're not." I sounded stern, as if I had control of my situation. "You did this to me last time and there's no way I'll be tricked by it again."

Himaruya pulled off his rectangular specs and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I once let him use my body, but not anymore." He sighed. "I'm going to have to tell you the whole story, aren't I?"

"What story?"

He sighed again. "Okay. It's long so please don't interrupt me, Seychelles."

"You know I'm not Seychelles."

He was silent for a long moment. "He did say back then that someone else was in Seychelles's body," he muttered to himself. He looked at me again. The blue of his eyes bore through my skin, making my resolve melt. Maybe I really did have the wrong guy. "What's your name?" It took me a minute of stupid stuttering to spit it out, but when I did, he nodded and repeated it to himself. "Sherry Sue. That's nice. Okay, Sherry, so here's what happened:

About a year ago, I woke up in this white room where this person who called themself Hidekaz Himaruya wanted to use my body for a bit. I agreed and he used my image for a bit. When Turkey 'killed' him, he moved on to this other body that he had prepared beforehand- like he knew that it was going to happen. I haven't seen him since."

I replayed his story in my head, looking for some sort of hole I could tear open and get more answers from. It was what Ari would do. I may not be as smart as him, but it did not mean that I couldn't try. I ruminated over each part of the story for a good, awkward minute until a point finally came to me. "So why did you agree to do it?"

Estonia pressed his lips. He opened and closed his mouth like a suffocating fish before he found the courage to speak. "What would you say if I told you that I couldn't tell you?"

"I would say bullshit."

The skin between his brows creased, but besides that, he showed no other obvious signs of anger. He crossed his arms over his chest, a nonchalant eye scrutinizing my stubborness. "But it's true," he said. "Himaruya made me promise that if I told anyone any of the details to his plan, I'd be screwed."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I demanded.

He eyed the ground with a meek stare. Estonia bowed his head so low that his bangs created a screen in front of his face, shielding his eyes from my view. He shifted between one foot and the other. "All I can really say is that..." He took a deep breath. "They have a goal that I approve of."

"What?" The passion of my outrage surged through my blood, filling me to the brim with hot heat. I slammed my hand into the garbage bin. A flash of white pain shot up my arm. I wanted to hit his face, but I still could not bring myself to hit him. Even knowing what I did, I could not bring myself to even give the smallest amount of revenge.

What was wrong with me?

A walkie-talkie hooked onto the Estonian's belt sounded a small note before an indescribable voice started to speak through it. Estonia pulled it off and spoke into it with such rapid speech that each word slurred into another, creating a strange overall sound. He clipped it back to his side and looked at me with steady eyes. "I have to go back to the station now," he told me. "I just... I'm sorry. About everything." He danced on his feet again. "Actually, there is one more hint I can give you. I still stand by what I did, but I feel like I should say something more..." He looked up and down, between me and the ground again. "Remember, Sherry Sue: nothing is as it first appears."

He did not give me a chance to reply. He rushed off and fitted back into the crowd, making his way back to the burnt police station.

I did not move. I watched him go in a helpless state of paralysis, watching his cowardly back retreat. I was still. Snow dusted my shoulders and arms. His words echoed in my head, folding in on themselves as the next round started.

Nothing is as it first appears.

I leaned against the dumpster as my knees shook and gave out. I slid into the snow, staring at the bleak gray of the cloud curtained sky. It seemed like the lesson from a children's book, like a rejected Dr. Seuss about the dangers of communism. Still, it made perfect sense to me. The last time I was here, everything I thought I knew about everyone turned out to be the exact opposite of reality. Was he now telling me that there were more lies that I was going to have to uncover?

A faint pain tapped the side of my head. I pressed the heel of my hand into the pressure point, trying to relieve the oncoming ache. I should keep this to myself. Information like this would only create panic. It happened in every movie. The hero team learns that there might be a spy among them and they all think that it is the other. There were more than enough irrational people in my team to make that a reality.

With courage and discipline we have broken all barriers. With the tiller in our hands, we will always remain brothers~

My arms moved with sluggish reluctance as I fished Seychelles's phone from my pocket. It was the same red one that damned me countless time before. Why Seychelles kept it or why I even trusted it was beyond me. I flicked it open and pushed it to my ear. "You've reached the office of complete and utter failure," I drawled. "How may I fuck up your day?"

A hiss sounded on the speakers. "I think your coarse language did enough to spoil mine already, thank you very much."

I pressed my lips. "Hell-fucking-o, England. How the fuck are you doing today, shithead?"

France's voice popped into the scene. "Please resist aggravating him." His pout sounded in his tone. "My Little Bunny is not so nice when he is mad."

I huffed, "I'm mad, but no one seems to care."

"Why are you mad?" he asked. "You did a good job. We just got off the phone with Poland and he said that he'll be willing to be the festival's announcer."

"Of course," England added. "That is on the condition we double the amount of pink, triple the number of ponies painted pink, and continually play music by Pink." I could not help but to chuckle. Glad to know that I did something right with my life. "There is, however, another reason why we are calling." I imagined him leaning into the edge of the table, drawing his face into another portrait of solemnity. "Poland did mention that you ran off suddenly without explanation." My heart sank. "Did something happen?"

"I..." What was I supposed to tell him? I talked to the asshole who got us into this situation and found out that he was not the real bad guy? No one would believe me. Even worse, every single one of them would yell me for doing something so reckless. I rubbed my eye, the lie tumbling thoughtlessly from my lips. "I thought I saw Sadiq and I ran to talk to him, but it was someone else."

"Ah, I see," France replied, a smirk in his voice. "That is perfectly understandable, my dear. But don't fret so. I'm sure that he'll not be so mad at you once Iceland has calmed him down."

I drew circles with my finger in the snow. "Yeah..." Why did that seem so unlikely?

"Are you going to come back to the cafe now?" England asked. "France and I were talking earlier and we realized what step we should take next." he paused, waiting for me to ask him what it was. The awkward silence lasted for a few second before he went on, sounding more annoyed than when he started. "This entire quagmire started at the school, so it would be logical to return there and search for clues, right?"

I continued my design, feeling the dirty snow suck the heat from my hand. "It sounds right," I said. Memories of that place flashed in the back of my head. I remembered the wood hallways and glass windows vividly. I saw them all the time in my dreams. The idea of seeing them in real life again made me sick.

England was silent (again) for a long moment, waiting for me to show more enthusiasm. When I didn't, the phone speakers made a strange noise I could only presume was an awkward cough. "So we need you to come back as soon as possible to go over the details."

I gave another disinterested reply.

"Plus France and I were about to make the final decisions on the floral plans for the festival." His voice had that fake sweetness someone only uses when he was trying to entertain a crowd that refused to laugh. "We're still trying to decide between roses or nasturtiums. A third head would be greatly appreciated."

I continued my design, feeling the dirty snow suck the heat from my hand. I should go back before I got myself stuck in a confrontation I could not get out of, but I did not want to get myself demoted back to damsel in distress status. I had to do something.

The problem was that I knew exactly what I could do.

"I'll come back in a bit," I said into the phone. "I have something I need to take care of first." I closed the phone before they could object. I pushed myself to my feet, cursing when I realized that my jeans were soaking wet. Great. Frostbite on the butt, here I come.

I ignored it and walked out into the street.

A plan formed in my head, the first step being simple: find the girl who had my face and get some answers for myself.


The Fanboy: December 27th

"...and remember to be safe and cautious," Antonio added with a bright smile. He stood at the doorway of the back entrance of his cafe, his bare legs spotted from the cold. I averted my gaze when his eyes landed on me. "Germany may be a nice guy, but anything can set him off. So be careful." He turned his gaze to my overly tall companion. "Promise me you'll keep Larry safe."

Lars shrugged. "I'll do my best," he replied, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. His hands patted over twenty hiding places, looking for his lighter.

I adjusted the brown canvas purse hanging from my shoulder, one I was embarrassed to wear, preparing myself to ask the ever impending question. A part of me already knew that he was going to shoot me down, but I still had to try. I cleared my throat, drawing his caring gaze back onto me. "Um, Antonio? Can I ask you something?"

His smile lengthened. "Of course you can!"

I winced. I felt a little bad for ruining his mood, but I was already at the point of no return. "If Germany is going to be so dangerous," I said, "then I might need to get something to protect myself, like some throwing knives-"

His visage did not falter as he shook his head. "Absolutely not!"

"But-"

"I said no." Even though his voice refused to drop that sickening sweetness, there was a sense of finality in it. "The last time you had a throwing knife, you threatened your brother. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't believe that you're in the proper mental state to be carrying around dangerous weapons like that."

My temper flared in the well of my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm. Getting angry would only serve to prove his point. I took a slow breath and spoke when I was sure I could do so evenly. "But it's dangerous," I said. "You said so yourself that we don't know what's going to happen. You and Lars aren't always going to be here to protect me."

Antonio brushed hand through his curls. His smile seemed more forced now, but stayed carved on his face nonetheless. "I said no and that is final."

I started to object more, but Lars was quick to place his hand on my back and usher me onto the street. "We'll see you at dinner," he called over his shoulder, his cigarette bouncing in between his lips. "We'll call if anything important happens."

I craned my head around my shoulder in time to see Antonio wave. Then we turned the corner and he was out of sight.

I expected Lars to immediately berate me. He only pushed me forward, eyes trained dead ahead. I glanced up at him with eyes half filled with awe, the rest fear. It had been three years, yet I still remembered the intense glares he gave Alfred and Himaruya when they took Mathias from him. It was three years ago, in the Room amidst flooding tears, yet those green eyes retained their unsettling glint.

"Why do you have a purse?"

I blinked and realized a little too late that he knew that I was staring, even if he did not bother to turn his stare onto me. I looked down at the bag hanging on my shoulder and placed a protective hand on it. "It makes me look more like a girl," I said.

He rolled his eyes, almost chuckling. "That's why you have boobs. What's your real reason?"

The idea of lying crossed my mind for a split second, but I decided against it. If he did not believe me, he would rip the bag from my shoulder and find out for himself. With a reluctant sigh, I unzipped it. I held it out to him, displaying the steak knife I had hidden inside. "I took it from the apartment kitchen last night when you and Antonio were asleep," I explained as Lars gave an impressed quirk of the brows. "I figured that Antonio would deny me the throwing knives if I asked, so I took the next best thing."

Lars pulled his cigarette from his mouth, drawing a trail of gray smoke in the air. "I didn't know you had it in you to go against Antonio," he said. "You usually obey him like a desperate puppy."

I scowled. "I do not!" I snapped the bag shut, making sure that the brown accessory was safely zipped. "If I had the money I would buy some myself, but right now I am completely broke."

He thought about it for a moment, then said, "Suppose so. He must be trying to make you completely dependent on him."

I stopped in my tracks. "Dependent?"

Lars walked a few steps more before realizing I was behind. His back rose and fell in an irritated sigh before he finally turned back to me. "Look- I trust you. Yeah you're a bit overwhelming and a bit hotheaded, but you always do the right thing in the end. I don't know what Antonio's thinking, but maybe he's trying to make sure you don't go on a different side."

"That makes no sense," I scoffed. "He's endangering me and making me more pissed at him than I already am. He's just pushing me to go against him- not like I would or anything."

Lars shrugged. "Maybe, but shepherds would break the legs of lambs that run away a lot. Then they carry them around on their shoulder as they heal and, when the lamb can walk again, they don't leave the shepherd's side."

I was silent for a long moment. My breath poured out of my nose, forming white clouds around my face. Did Antonio not trust me? Did he really think that I would switch sides? Even after all that's happened to me? It suddenly grew ten times colder. I grabbed my arms and held them to my chest. Maybe that was the real reason why he won't tell me what the real creator's plan is.

"Let's go," I mutter softly. I sounded weak and Lars looked like he barely heard me. I dragged my feet through the snow. It crunched with each stride. Lars did not move until I had passed him.

Germany was a mechanic on the other side of town. We walked along the boardwalk along the bay, coming to hate the piling snow more and more with each step. It clung to our ankles like coiled snakes, making our journey more work than what it was really worth. The only relief was the idyllic scenery: white dots of snow falling into the deep blue of the ocean water before disappearing completely. The land surrounding the bay curved into a bowl a little bit away, creating a wall of pine trees painted in the same white.

The German's garage was a God send. It was a gray square in the white, cut in a clear, no nonsense sort of way. It looked rigid and stiff in an uncomfortable sort of way. Lars held the door opened for me as I walked through, breathing in the warm air of the heater. The inside was also gray, but it had a more industrial, metallic shade. A quaint counter was the only barrier between the actual shop, where a few cars with their hoods up were displaying their innards, and the lounge for the waiting customers.

I stopped.

Holy Rome stood behind the counter, older than he was before, pointing to a paper as he talked to his blond customer.

I grabbed my throat, ordering myself to breathe.

A part of me knew I was. I could feel the air go in and out of my nose, but none of it made my lungs hurt any less.

Then, I was back on the Romanov again, standing in the middle of thundering rain. My bones creaked as I threw a knife into Holy Rome's stomach. Blood poured through the cracks between his fingers.

I held my breath,

This isn't real, Larry, I told myself. Stop imagining things.

I moved my hands to my face, hoping to scrub the visions from my eyes. I did, to some extent. The more I rubbed my eyes, the less visions I saw.

But the more my hands were on my face, the more I could smell the blood on my skin.

I swallowed back vomit.

A weight appeared on my shoulder. I felt the warm breath on the rim of my ear before I recognized the words he whispered. "Larry, are you alright?"

Reality surged back. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the shop. The men at the counter barely noticed my existence. Lars's hand pinned me to my spot, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I almost reached up to hold it, but the imaginary blood made my hands feel sticky. I wiped them on my jeans instead. "I'm alright," I hissed back. My voice sounded distant. "I... just had a moment there."

Lars knew better than to question me. He nodded and returned to his full height. He did not move his hand from my shoulder. He only gave me another squeeze. He ushered me to a line of chairs against the wall. He flipped open one of the magazines that sat on a coffee table (was that Cosmopolitan?) as I kept my eyes on the two men. Their conversation continued in low voices uninterrupted, though the German gave me the occasional glance.

Looking at him now, I was overwhelmed with how little he resembled Holy Rome. The teenager I remember had a fuller, more rounded face. This man's was sculpted into defined ridges. His cheeks fell into his face while Holy Rome's seemed to bulge out of his skin. He had the standard Aryan look at anything like Hetalia would give their Germany personification.

So this is the guy who went crazy. I placed my hand beneath my chin, noticing how he smeared even the faintest traces of a smile from his face. He looked sane enough.

But what has this universe taught me but to never believe what I see? The minute I talk to this guy I knew I was going to find something off about him.

The conversation finally ended with a quick shake of hands. The second blond buried his hands into the pocket of his trench coat before strutting away. At first, I thought that he was going to walk right past me, but he ended up stopping in front of me. His blue eyes were cold as his lips curled into a sneer. He spat at my feet. "Straightie."

My mouth hung off my face as I looked between the man with the girlie clip in his hair and the saliva on the ground. I started to rise to my feet, prepared to demand what his problem was when Lars held an arm in front of me. I looked back at him and saw the set glint in his eyes. 'Not now,' they seemed to say.

Germany planted his hands on the edge of his counter. "Not in here, Norway," he snapped.

Norway twisted his mouth, but said nothing. Without another glance in my direction, he walked out of the store. His chin was held as high as his back was held straight. I could not resist giving his the middle finger as he went.

"I'm sorry about that," Germany said. He spoke as if he was muttering, keeping his face low as he wiped his counter. Oil covered his calloused hands and the space beneath his nails. "Norway can be like that. Even to me."

"Are you straight too?" I asked.

Germany shook his head. "No, I'm gay. Always have been." He froze, thought about his words, but then started to shake his head. "No, I'm wrong. I was straight a long time ago. Not that you would care."

I looked back at Lars, silently asking him if we should get that day's mission out of the way. He nodded and lifted himself from his chair, blowing air from his nose as he went. "Can we ask you a few questions?" he asked, making his way to the counter. I trailed behind him, leaning into the edge when I got there.

Germany went to one of the cars in the back, focusing his eyes on the machine inside. "Of course," he said. "Fire away."

Antonio had helped us decide on our questions the night before. We could not outright ask him if he was involved in a contract, but we could get other related pieces of information from him. I stood a little straighter than usual, trying to look professional. "What do you know about the fire at the police station?" I asked.

Germany was silent for a long moment as he reached into a red tool box and pulled out a wrench. He shrugged. "Just as much as everyone else. Some sort of explosion went off and no one knows why."

I nodded as I committed it to memory. I wasn't sure if he was being vague in order to hide something or because he truly didn't know anything. "Okay, next question: is there anything particularly stressful going on in your life or the lives of your friends?"

He looked around the hood of the car, raising a transparent eyebrow. "What-"

"West!"

Lars and I exchanged a sharp look of panic. Gilbert was the last person we needed right now. "We have to go," I said hurriedly, not bothering to explain why before following Lars to the front doors. We were moving quickly, but not so fast as to arouse suspicion.

We did not move fast enough.

I was just slipping through the doorway when I heard the same raspy voice call out, "Hey! Where are you going?"

I ran across the ice covered ground, keeping in pace with Lars. My heart thumped in my temples. There was no rhythm to the pulses. Each one brought me in and out of focus until I felt vertigo swirling in my head. I could not help but to hate myself for being so careless. If Gilbert was Prussian, then he and Germany had to be closely related to each other. I should have known he would have been close by. I should have checked or asked Germany to step outside or maybe made sure that Gilbert never drank that vial all those years ago.

Lars stole a glance over his shoulder and swore. "He's chasing after us," he told me, voice thin.

I dared to look behind, but the moment I did, the white-haired man twenty paces behind started screaming again. "Larry! Wait up! I need to talk to you!"

Memories and a guilty conscience made me slow. Mathias needed to talk to me all those years ago. He didn't listen and he lost ownership of his soul. It was all my fault. Maybe Gilbert was going through something like it. Maybe I could stop one more tragedy.

Lars grabbed my arm and pulled me back to his pace. "Don't lose focus," he hissed, refusing to rip his eyes from the quickly passing scenery. "I know what you're thinking, but he's the new Himaruya. Don't get tricked."

I knew he was right. Himaruya was only trying to play off of my contrite feelings. It still took all of my grit to pull myself along and continue our mad dash. I felt like my chest had been ripped open and my raw muscle was exposed for the entire world to see. Turning onto the main crowd with cars and people did not soothe me in any way, shape, or form.

"Larry!" Gilbert called again. "I seriously need to talk to you!"

I looked up at Lars, showing him the frustrated glare that tore apart my eyes. "Doesn't he know to keep my identity a secret?" I demanded.

Lars shrugged. "Maybe..." His eyes shot to a particular form ahead. I followed the line of his sight to see the tense forms of Turkey and Iceland. The taller man was leaning against a building as he angrily stabbed a straw into a juice box while the one with silver hair talked quietly into the phone. Although he did not say so, I could tell that Lars wanted to follow them.

I did the math. I have already asserted that we would take care of Germany before investigating anyone else, but Gilbert was going to make that mission impossible. Lars was also taller and less nimble than Liechtenstein was. If we split up, there could be a chance that Gilbert would mistakenly chase after him without realizing that I already fled.

With all that in mind, I veered into the street. "Let's split up!" I shouted before car brakes shrieked and a chorus of horns followed. I dodged their bumpers as I ran my way across, ignoring Gilbert's further cries of my name. Was the doitsu trying to reveal my identity to the whole world?

I barreled into an alley and exited out on the opposite end. I paid no attention to where I was going, only to how far I can get from Gilbert. Streets passed me in a multicolored blur. I could no longer hear his yells and, when I stopped beneath a snow laden canopy stretching in front of a store window, I saw that he was no longer chasing me. A wry smirk forced itself on my face. He took the bait.

Even if I was off the hook, I decided to keep moving. For all I knew, Gilbert was going to pop out from behind a corner and trying to confront me then. If I stayed moving, I could avoid both him and the frostbite at the same time. I started down the street I thought would most likely take me back to Antonio's cafe, but I realized within the first few minutes that I was hopelessly lost. Some parts of the pallid town seemed to tingle some distant part of my memory, but I could not wrap my hands around it.

I meandered through the labyrinth of streets and stores, searching the throng for a familiar face. If I saw someone I knew, like Belarus or Russia, I could ask for directions and make my way back. Life, however, was not that easy. I spied a face here and there that I thought resembled someone I once knew, but the moment I got close to them, I realized that I had no idea who they were. So I pushed it aside and kept on going, ignoring the growing worry in my gut.

The moment I saw the burnt skeleton of the police station, I was able to get my bearings. If my memory of the previous night served me right, then I was only ten or so blocks from the cafe. My feet slid on the icy sidewalks as I strutted, feeling the confidence grow in my chest. I started to hum some pop song I heard on the radio the other day. See, Larry? You could figure out a solution all by your-

"Why do we need to go inside?"

All feeling drained from me. All of my certainty spilt from my hands and dripped sluggishly onto the snow below. I swallowed, forcing my brain to think. I placed my hand on the side of my purse, feeling the kitchen knife through the canvas. You were not going to freeze up this time, Larry, I told myself. Just think your way through this one.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Sherry could not be here. She has no connection to Himaruya or the contracts. Hearing her voice here then could only mean one thing: Agatha was back.

I pressed myself against the brick department store building, scanning across the horizon. A few stores down, wedged in a queer spot between two buildings and the five foot wide gap separating them, were two familiar heads of hair. The first was the fiery curls I always knew my sister had. They poured out from a green snow cap, ending just shy of the girl's thick waist. The other was taller and slimmer with two red ribbons popping from their places in her hair.

I held my breath as the taller girl motioned for the ginger to lower her voice. Not only was Agatha back, but Seychelles was talking to her? Seychelles, the very girl Lars had been pining to investigate?

Even though Agatha gave Seychelles a large huff of air, she still turned down her volume so low that I could no longer hear them. I had to get closer. Looking to make sure no one would find me suspicious, I inched down the line of stores, pausing only when I thought a person was looking at me. I finally stopped on the other side of the boutique Seychelles and Agatha were hiding beside. I leaned forward, hoping to hear their words easier.

"...don't understand what you mean," Agatha was saying, crossing her hands over her chest. "We look nothing alike."

Seychelles groaned, running a hand over her head. "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm just not me right now," she explained. "When I am, I look just like you."

I choked on thin air.

Agatha gave her an odd look, prompting another irritated groan. "Look, I know I'm not making sense right now," Seychelles said, "but trust me. You look just like me."

I held a hand over my mouth, trying to calm myself long enough to breathe properly. I looked back at Seychelles, seeing her press her full lips into a trite line as Agatha started to explain again why she was wrong. Sherry makes that expression all the time when she was upset.

My heart punched my ribcage

Sherry did have realistic drawings of the Hetalia cast tacked to her wall. They were perfect representations, right down to the dimples in Antonio's smile. The anime could never give her that intense level details. The only way she could have ever gotten them was if...

Sherry had the same restless nights I did. Sleeps plagued by terrible nightmares that ended in screams. Dying from lack of sleep was better than sleeping through the encore of a previous nightmare. She always jumped at the mention of the wrong thing, of pointless quirks that made the hairs on her arms prick up, just like me. If we had the same fears, then maybe...

Himaruya told me the answer once. When I sat across from him at his frigid white table, he confessed that he had brought Sherry to this world long before he brought me. He said he put her in Seychelles's body. I told him that he was only trying to mess with my head, that I would never fall for such an ill-conceived ploy. Yet, here was Seychelles talking to Agatha, insisting that they had the same face. That would mean...

I shook my head, trying to banish the treacherous thoughts from my skull.

That was impossible.

My sister could not have been here.

That was impossible.

My breath hitched.

I would know if my sister went through Hetalia like I did.

My knees felt weak.

I would know, wouldn't I?

They gave out.

I would know.

I felt the snow on the bottom of my jeans.

I would know.

I pulled at my hair.

But what if I didn't?

"Sherry!" Her name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I looked at the secluded corner, amazed to find that the spot was empty. Where did she go? Sherry was just there a minute ago. Maybe I was hallucinating. I looked down at myself and saw a wispy layer of snow on my knees. How much time did I spend in my state of panic?

Another thought occurred to me: if Sherry just left, there was a chance that I could still catch up to her.

My legs had fallen asleep and they locked in place when I tried to get up. I braced a hand against the wall and found something holding my palm away from it. I stared at the silver blade for a long minute before realizing that it was the kitchen knife. I didn't remember pulling it out of its bag, even if the feel of the smooth hilt eased my nerves.

I staggered to the spot, disappointed when I discovered that the snow had covered all traces of their path away. I swept my eyes around, less surprised to see a lack of red ribbons. Sherry was gone and I had no idea where to find her.

Worse, I had no idea how to explain to her who I was.

I didn't even know how to tell Lars and Antonio.

Antonio. He said that he knew who made the contract, but refused to tell me. He knew that Sherry was here. I tightened my hand into a fist. He knew Sherry was here. He kept it from me for a reason, a reason that had to benefit his plan more than me.

He couldn't know that I knew the truth. Not yet, at least. If I was going to make contact with my sister, I was going to have to do it without him catching on.

I leaned against the building, rubbing the area above Liechtenstein's breasts.

Sherry was here.

I was finding it harder and harder to trust Antonio.

Who else was more than what they seemed?


MW: So I had a about seven other things that I had pushed off until this chapter that I was not able to fit in. Not a lot of it was very important, but in case you were wondering, Roderich is still here. His scene just keeps on getting cut. Speaking of cut, guess what dramatic scene is cut next chapter? Larry realizing who Seychelles is! Yeah, I was writing this chapter when I realized that I had no reason why he shouldn't realize the truth.

In other news, Norway made his cameo at last. Someone (I forgot who so if it's you, please tell me so that I can give proper credit) requested a long time ago that I stick him in somewhere.

And in even more other news, I think all just mutually forgot about that contest thing. If no one asks me about before I update next, we can just pretend it never happened.

So thanks for reading. See you next time around!

Notes

"CalArts"- So I actually live by CalArts, so I've been imagining the entire time that Sherry had been going to college there. Figured I might as well confirm it instead of just hinting at it.

"Copy of some German film" This is a reference to the film Gloomy Sunday. It's really good.

Next Chapter: Sherry and her team go back to Gauken Hetalia to search for clues. What will they find there? Will Larry be able to talk to Sherry before it's too late?

Thanks for reading! Have a great summer break! Stay Safe!