The Home

All Disclaimers Implied

Notes: Again, sorry about the lateness of this. I got sucked into the universe of Glee and read Dalton by CP Coulter and got sucked into that fandom and God, everything is Dalton and Jogan and Jameron and shit, everything hurts.

Anyways, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter and to those that took the time to read it~

Firey-Nii-Wolf is going on a hiatus because she's moving, so I didn't want to bother her. Thus, this chapter may have numerous mistakes. ^^;

I AM SO NOT HAPPY WITH THIS CHAPTER; ALDJFA;DF. D

Ahem.

Finally, here's the seventh chapter:


|| Chapter Seven ||

A week later, D.C. found himself out of his usual Armani suits and in casual clothes with Moscow at his side. He scratched at the collar of his loose dress shirt while Moscow fixed her ridiculously large sun hat complete with a sunflower in its brim. He eyed it cautiously, as if it concealed some sort of poison dart.

The Cold War had, after all, lasted a while and it was hard to get out of habits after doing them for so many years – especially when it had to be dredged right back up for the recent Third World War.

"Stop your fidgeting, George," she grumbled, elbowing him. D.C. flinched; Moscow had bony elbows. "Fix your clothing now; you can't look so disheveled if we want them to remember you." She fingered her ever-present scarf, which looked out of place in the midst of Moscow's 'summer clothes'. She was nothing if not fashionable and the scarf was not, if anything.

"I think they'd 'member me better if I was in my usual clothes," D.C. grumbled causing Moscow to elbow him again. He scowled at her but said nothing lest she do it again. They entered the building, walking to the front desk. It wasn't so busy with people trickling in and out.

Moscow smiled at the lady who sat behind the desk, though the latter had her eyes mostly on D.C., who was looking around nervously, avoiding her gaze. "Привет. We're here to see Doctor Beilschmidt." The lady smiled timidly back at Moscow and D.C. didn't blame her. Moscow had inherited a lot from her father, including her menacing smile.

It was a shame she didn't inherit her younger aunt's smile; D.C. heard it was pretty cute (of course, you generally had about five seconds to run before she killed you.)

"Ah yes...Miss Braginski and Mister Jones?" She smiled flirtingly at D.C., who hesitantly flashed a rather nervous smile in return. "Here are your passes; he's right down the hall over there." Moscow nodded once and D.C. could feel the receptionist's eyes on his back.

"I don't like humans like that," he muttered to Moscow, who gave him a laughing smirk.

"I'm content in your unhappiness," she replied expectantly. D.C. rolled his eyes at the pale blonde but didn't say any more as they neared Prussia's office.

Moscow knocked on the door and D.C. idly wondered how her and Prussia's relationship was like. She loved her father while Prussia hated him, though there was nothing to be said about how he felt for Russia's children. Through the see-through glass on the window, they saw a blurry figure with white hair get up and the door opened after.

"Yo, D.C.; Moscow," he grimaced, as if the name conjured up bad memories (which it probably did). "Here to visit?" Prussia turned his attention to D.C. instead, his egoistic grin flashing on his face.

The American capital nodded. "I think we'll try the Americans first. Neither Ottawa nor Beijing wanted to come, for whatever reason. Who are the 'suspects'?"

Prussia leaned against the doorway, a thoughtful expression on. His arms crossed in front of his chest as he told them, "The ones we 'suspect' are Carrie Jones, – sort of in her name there, no? – Emma Gale, – 'Wizard of Oz' and all – Emmaline Briggs, Luke Gomez and Alice Sinclair could be the Californias, Blake Rodriguez – he's from Las Vegas. That's in America, right? – William Duncan, Vera Braginski – Braginski, come on. That isn't hard – the Bernand twins – North and South Carl or something... There's also Elisabeth Founders, Ethan Dawes, and Anthony Roberts. That's just the Americans." He waved his hand. "Whatever the states are; you'll have to ask the others."

Moscow raised an eyebrow. "You need to get geography lessons, Gilbert." They glared at each other through narrowed eyes and D.C. suddenly felt uncomfortable. He decided to go America's route and completely misread the situation.

"Yeah! Maybe Al could teach you! Everything's in America, y'know." He gave them a toothy grin and the two stared at him. There was a silence that followed quite uncomfortably until Prussia slapped him on the back (quite hard) and laughed.

"You know, these are the times when you really know that you're an American!" Moscow giggled quietly as well and D.C. simply grinned, inwardly groaning. "Well, as much as the Awesome Me should stick around and make you even more Awesome and shit, I have to get back to the un-Awesome workload, which doesn't even deserve a capital 'W'." He waved them off and went back inside his office, presumably to wait around until another opportunity gives rise to distract him from paperwork.

"Perhaps we could find Austria," Moscow suggested quietly. D.C. nodded in response, keeping an eye out for the brunette. "...that Vera one, do you think it could be Alaska?" Her voice had a hint of guilt in it, something that probably not even her own father would notice. D.C. looked over at her before resuming his search.

Moscow and Alaska always had a complicated relationship. In the colonial days, Moscow had been content with ignoring Alaska, the child who seemed to have nothing worth of value. Then somehow, it seemed as if the Russian capital had received human morals and a soul, something that still surprised D.C., if he spoke truthfully. All joking aside, the relationship went something like; (Moscow to Alaska) ignore-pine, ignore-hate, ignore-despair, ignore-desperate ignore, notice-secret pine, sorry-secret pine, friendly-adoration, friendly-idolization, friendly-hate, and so on. Everyone else had long stopped trying to keep up with the ever-changing feelings for it seemed like it was different each day.

Still, Moscow had this little part of her that felt like she was obligated to try and spend time with her 'little sister' and everyone knew that Alaska liked the attention, however late it was.

D.C. didn't know what to say – he'd never had such a relationship in personal experience – and instead shrugged insensitively like America. "Could be; though Braginski is a common name." He didn't miss the way Moscow deflated slightly, though she brought herself right back up in a blink.

"Let's start with the Jones girl. What was her name?" She looked over at D.C.

"Carrie Jones. It would have helped if Prussia gave us the files, no?" The taller blonde ran through the names in his head carefully, hoping that he didn't get them wrong or that Prussia gave them wrong on purpose. If he did, then D.C. would have to throttle him, no matter how 'awesome' the albino claimed to be.

Moscow tugged on his sleeve and nodded her head discreetly. At first, D.C. thought she had found Austria or a patient that caught her eye before he recognized the towering figure with the billowing scarf and the much shorter male in traditional red robes. "What are they doing here?"

He looked at the pale blonde, who had a hint of surprise on her otherwise impassive face. "You didn't know they would be here?" he asked in return, a bit shocked.

"I am his daughter. He does not need to tell me where he is going for the day." She replied with a scowl marring her face. As quickly as it appeared however, it disappeared and she pulled him away quickly. "However, I do not plan on Папа knowing that I am here as well instead of with Minsk and Kyiv."

D.C. found himself grinning at her. "Really? You lied to Daddy Dearest?" He clasped his hands together dramatically and batted his eyes girlishly. "I am so proud!" Moscow rolled her eyes at his childishness and swatted him on the arm.

"Pay attention, idiot." She hissed at him. "I don't want to miss a patient and neither do I want to attract attention, especially now that we know who's here."

He simply waved her off. "Come on then; I've found Hungary." Without waiting for a response, D.C. starting pulling Moscow away from China and Russia. The Russian blonde looked around, trying to zero in on the Hungarian brunette before finding her. She pulled her arm away from D.C.'s grasp and reached Hungary first.

"Рада тебя видеть, Hungary," she greeted to her back, causing Hungary to tense slightly and turn around, a clipboard in her hands.

In the back of his mind, D.C. remembered that Hungary was under Soviet rule (or something, right? Damnit, Al!) once too. There was a cold tenseness about the two and D.C. groaned mentally when he realized he'll probably have to act like his father once more in order to avoid an awkward moment.

"Yo!" he grinned at the green-eyed nation. Their attention was turned to him, quelling the thick air just ever so-slightly. "We're here for the files for the American states!"

A spark of amusement lit up Hungary's eyes. "Wait a moment," she told him, turning around to shuffle around in the cart's bin. She retrieved a pile of manila folders, dropping them into D.C.'s arms. He nearly staggered under the sudden weight. Moscow giggled quietly beside him, a hand reaching out to hold his elbow.

"What's in here!" he groaned, trying to look over the pile of folders. Hungary rolled her eyes and left. "...h-hello...?"

"She left already, idiot," Moscow piped up, grabbing some folders off the top of the pile. "Let's get started, shall we?" Flipping open the top folder, she whisked out the basic information paper and examined it. "Alice Sinclair...sound familiar?"

D.C. considered it for a moment before recalling the name from Prussia's list. He nodded. "Yeah, sort of. What exactly do you have in mind for this whole...'remembering past lives' sort of thing?"

Moscow gave him a look. "You mean you practically threw a fit to be able to get here when you don't even know what to do?" He frowned.

"You were the one who told me to do it!" he defended. She rolled her eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh. "Don't give me that – if I recall correctly, your exact words were, 'well, if you change your mind and decide to not be a pansy anymore, give me a call and we'll head down to the Home together, hmm?'" His voice was high-pitched in order to mimic Moscow's. She glared slightly at him. "And don't deny it; I know that I have the whole conversation on tape."

Their eyes focused on each other in a tense moment, not exactly glaring but simply staring. She sighed again, this time sounding more resigned to D.C. "Like I said; a fine politician." Moscow looked around, searching for something. "I suppose we'll just talk to the girl, no? See if she has had some weird dreams or a memory that she doesn't remember."

D.C. nodded and they made their way down a hallway.


Aiyah...

China watched as the air between Russia and Prussia grew tenser and more...purple-ish, he supposed. But perhaps that was simply the taller man's dark aura growing as he became more and more frustrated. Prussia, on the other hand, was already angry, bordering on furious now. Relations between the two had been beyond horrible ever since World War Two.

"We simply need information, da?"

"Screw you, you fucking Russian! Go find information on your own!"

"Why won't comrade help us, da?"

"I'm no fucking co-friend of yours, you fucking un-awesome-"

"Ah, comrade is very hurtful, da?"

"FUUU- I just told you-!"

"Comrade will give us information now, da?"

China didn't know where the bloody and rusty pipe had come from, but he knew enough to know what it was for. He grabbed Russia's wrist, making sure to press his thumb onto a pressure point. The pale hand jerked once before going limp and dropping the pipe.

"China? Why would you do that, da?" Russia frowned at his long-time neighbor. The slender man rolled his eyes.

"I will not let you beat up a 'doctor' at an asylum, aru! Even if he kind of deserves it, aru," he directed a slight glare at the albino at the last comment. Prussia held up his hands in a defensive position.

"Hey, now. Like you said, I'm a doctor here and I can't just give out patient information to just about anyone. Besides, your kid already got some," he added as an afterthought. Russia froze, his violet eyes leaving China's hand around his wrist to look at Prussia.

"...pardon, da? Did you say my 'kid' was here?" He narrowed his eyes at the ex-nation, daring him to deny it. Prussia, seeing the familiar look in the Russian's eyes, involuntarily took a step back. He'd seen enough of that when he was Russian territory.

Still, the bastard could tell when he was lying, oddly enough. It wouldn't help him if he tried, even if China had one hand rendered useless for the time being. So, he nodded. "Along with the American kid; Washington or something." He shrugged. "I dunno his name; West is better at that. Why, bastard?"

His question went unanswered as Russia had already turned on his heel by then, stalking down the hallway with a distinct dark purple aura around him while he muttered 'kolkolkolkol' under his breath. China was dragged along, with a surprised yelp, his feet barely touching the ground.

Prussia stared after them, unsure of what to say or do.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Oh well. The Russian bastard wouldn't hurt his capital; she was his heart, after all. The same couldn't be said for that Washington kid, but perhaps Russia would keep in mind that relations with the personification of America were still tense (at least, on the blonde's side) and if he wanted everyone to 'be one' with him, he'd best remember to be on people's good side.

Or neutral side.

Or something.

All Prussia knew is that he did not want to come between an angry Russia and his intended target; not anymore.


They stood in front of the white door.

D.C. stared at it, a horrid feeling in his stomach. The number on the plate next to the door read, E-O92. Alice Sinclair.

Suddenly, it felt all too real.

His family was missing members; members that he'd never thought about dying, let alone reincarnating and reappearing in an insane asylum. The thought made his stomach churn. He cleared his throat and asked Moscow to distract himself from his own feelings, "What exactly is he in here for?"

"You make it sound like she is a prisoner," she muttered softly, looking at the papers. "She has multiple personalities and apparently has no recollection of them; she thinks she has short-term memory. The staff and other patients have names for each of her personalities; 'Mama' for her maternal side, 'Fury' when she's angry, 'Angel' when she's calm and happy and nice, 'Squirrel' when she's hyper, and simply 'Anna' when she's...'normal', I suppose."

D.C. nodded. "Where's she from?"

"Southern California; Alice Sinclair is eighteen and tried to kill her father in his sleep after she got tired of seeing him beat her older brother. It seems that she cares very much for her siblings, particularly her little sister, Briana, who is three years younger." Moscow looked up. "You have two Californias?"

He nodded. "Yeah; I guess that they're distinctly different enough to have a North and a South. It's sort of like the Carolinas, I guess." D.C. gave a shrug.

They didn't move.

"What time is it?" Moscow asked conversationally. He glanced at his wrist watch.

"Eleven-fifty; why?" he looked over at what she was looking at. "Therapy times? It seems that it's a bit too early for her group therapy, so she's either in there," he gestured to the door, which could have blended into the walls if it were for the brass hinges, "or eating. But she will leave soon."

Moscow turned her eyes onto her (her what? Comrade? Fellow spy-slash-secret agent? Friend with benefits? Their relationship was really complex.) expectantly. "...aren't you going in, George?"

D.C. shrugged carelessly, but Moscow hadn't gone through the Cold War and Third World War without keeping a few habits, like picking up on slight signs of discomfort. His fingers were rubbing against each other and she could almost see his toes wiggling in anxiety.

They knew each other too well for too long.

Heaving a sigh, she lifted a fist and knocked on the door, almost seeming as if she didn't want to be there.

But D.C. knew her too, and smiled faintly when he realized that she was taking the first step for him.

"...thanks," he murmured softly as they waited for the door to open.

Moscow glanced at D.C. before resuming her staring at the white door. "For knocking, George? Well, what was I supposed to do? Stand here and watch you gather up the balls that you don't have in order to knock? I do not have that sort of time, and I don't think you do either."

"Yeah? Then why didn't you tell me to knock instead?" he replied easily, the words rolling off his tongue like the simple way Moscow rolled her eyes.

"It would have taken too much time rather than to simply knock on the door." She shot back with a playful edge.

D.C. chuckled quietly. "Oh really? I thought you were one for the hard way, Rozaline."

"And I thought you were courageous; like the American spirit entails. Obviously, we were both wrong." She elbowed him as they heard the door unlocking. He held in a hiss of pain as the door slowly opened to reveal a slender figure standing there.

He felt a pang in his chest when he met Alice Sinclair's eyes. They seemed so familiar but...

They just weren't.


Notes: Sorry to end that so soon. I'd write more, but y'know, I just really wanted to get this out. I'm so sorry about the long delay. First Australia, then Brazil, then Czech Republic, then California, and then my birthday... ^^; I've just been a bit busy.

So this was originally supposed to be longer, but I'm starting school soon and my curfew has been set up again.

But anyways; I hope you enjoyed this! :D

(( Thanks ~ fiir . verdepol ))