Chapter Ten

The five Nordic countries sat in the room they all now shared due to that morning's news of the Italy brothers being captured. Sweden and Finland sat on one bed, Norway and Denmark on the other, and Iceland in a chair between the two beds. They had been silent for quite a while now, the last thing said being something dark and dreary.

Finland suddenly stood, looking quite anxious and concerned. "We have to find something to do. We can't just sit here and-and not say anything! We should try to play a game or something, yeah?" He smiled hopefully.

"We don't have any games." Iceland sighed.

"Oh! There's games that can be played without pieces, right? We could play one of those!" Denmark said excitedly, seemingly unaffected by the gloom surrounding them all. "Alfred taught me this one once called Never Have I Ever. You put up ten fingers and say things you've never done, and those who've done it put their fingers down!"

"...you do realize that except for Emil, we've all been alive for hundreds of years? There's almost nothing we haven't done, Mathias." Norway said flatly.

"Sure there is! Have any of you eaten four whole cakes in one sitting?"

There was confused blinking from the four of them before everyone shook their head.

"Why would any of us have done that?" Iceland asked, rolling his eyes.

"Alfred has!" Denmark laughed.

"Don't c'mpare us t' him." Sweden stated.

"Maybe we can find a different game?" Finland suggested, his smile becoming less forced at hearing the conversation between his four favorite people.

"Can that game be getting food? I'm hungry." Denmark chirped.

"We just ate dinner twenty minutes ago." Norway sighed.

"No, that's a good idea! We could all benefit from a walk." Finland pulled Sweden to his feet before looking at the others. "Come on!"

Denmark jumped up and was the first out the door, and Iceland and Norway reluctantly stood and followed behind Sweden and Finland, neither of them really wanting to leave the hotel room, even though they were all armed.

The five of them started walking down the hallway, keeping a sharp eye out, yet somehow managing to also keep their spirits high. Denmark and Finland, anyways.

"At least we're getting a break from work!" Finland said, even though they all knew they'd much rather be working than be in the situation they were in.

"And we get to stay in a nice hotel!" Denmark added.

"We get to all the time for meetings." Norway stated.

"Still! It's fun."

"You're the oldest out of us, yet you act the youngest." Iceland said, sighing.

"That's because you don't act like the youngest, and someone has to!" Denmark laughed again.

They had almost reached the kitchen when Finland heard the muffled sound of a gunshot. He jumped in shock, grabbed his gun from his shoulder, and looked around.

"Did any of you hear that?" He asked quickly.

"Hear what…?" Iceland asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There was a silenced gunshot!"

"It's been a long few days...are you sure it was r-" Norway was interrupted by Sweden as he grunted in pain.

Finland immediately spun around, his eyes widening in horror when he saw that he was leaning against the wall, blood soaking through his blue uniform. He was by his side in an instant, helping him to the floor so he didn't have to stand. The bullet had hit his chest, and if the way he was wheezing for air and coughing up blood was anything to go off of, it had collapsed his lung. Finland hushed him and brushed a bit of his hair out of his eyes before kissing his forehead and standing.

"Stay with him and keep him calm." He said firmly before turning the safety off on his gun and glaring at the figure that stood in the shadows of the hall they were walking down.

Thankfully, none of the other three Nordics protested and stayed by Sweden as Finland strode toward the nation, who walked toward him as well. When the man came into the light, he saw that it was his counterpart. His eyes were dark red and bore a cold glare, his hair so pale a blond that it was almost white, and his uniform was identical to Finland's, despite that it was red instead of light blue. He bore a serious, angry expression, and he held a gun in his hands as well, keeping it aimed at him as they wordlessly approached one another. They stopped when they were close enough to speak, each one glaring at the other.

"Get the hell out of here." Finland growled, his finger curling around the trigger. "You and whoever came with you. Get out before I blow your heads off."

"I came alone." Eero hissed, sounding and looking annoyed.

"I don't care! You hurt Berwald, and that's all I care about. Get the f-"

Finland was interrupted as his counterpart leapt towards him, and he squeezed the trigger of his gun to shoot him. A split second before he did so, Eero disappeared. He immediately looked around in alarm, prepared to tackle him to the ground or shoot at him again, but he was nowhere in sight. Wary and concerned for Sweden, he hurried back to where the rest of the Nordics were.

"What happened? Where did he go?" Denmark asked, wide eyed.

"I don't know, but I don't think he's gone for sure…." Finland said, glancing at him before looking at Sweden, who was now unconscious and lying on the floor. "What happened…?"

"I knocked him out. ...couldn't stand to watch him suffer like that. He'll heal quicker unconscious, anyways." He said, looking quite upset.

Finland nodded and glanced around again before his uneasy expression turned to panic. "Where's Emil?"

Norway's eyes widened and he looked away from Sweden, looking frantically around the hallway as he stood, his breathing picking up. "He was just here…."

Denmark stood as well, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh, god...no."

Norway broke into a sprint and began searching, and Denmark did the same, going in the opposite direction. Finland stayed with Sweden, trying his best to keep his composure. It was clear that Eero had gotten what he came for, so he put his gun down and held tightly to Sweden's hand for comfort. He silently repeated over and over in his head that he wasn't going to break down, but when Norway and Denmark returned several minutes later with heartbroken expressions and without Iceland, he lowered his head in his hands and sobbed until no more tears came.

Canada stared at the ceiling of his and America's hotel room, not even bothering to try to sleep. If the past few nights were anything to go off of, he wouldn't have any luck, and if he did, what sleep he managed to get was plagued by nightmares. It seemed to be the same with America, as he hadn't seen him close his eyes for more than a second since they arrived in Europe.

He glanced over at his brother and sighed. He still bore his usual grin, which Canada didn't quite understand. Seven countries had been taken since this all began, and the eighth, Iceland, had been captured just hours hours ago. He had expected him to be at least a little upset by England being gone, but instead of admitting to himself that he was scared, America merely delved further into the cheerful, energetic attitude he always had. Those who didn't know him well enough thought he was just using this as an opportunity to acquire more attention, but the very few that knew him as well as Canada did were aware that such was not the case. It wasn't that he didn't care or wasn't taking the situation seriously, but rather that if he acknowledged just how terrified he was, he would fall apart.

Watching his brother go from game to game on his phone and jabber on about the most random of things was usually annoying, but in this case, it made Canada quite sad. America had never been very good with dealing with his emotions, and seeing how much pain and fear was in his eyes while there was a grin on his face was upsetting.

Bottling up emotions until they couldn't be borne any longer was an awful habit, of which both of the North American brothers were guilty, and Canada was tired of watching America get worse with each day, so he took a deep breath and hoped trying to help him would work.

"Al, is there anything you want to talk about?"
America glanced up from his current game of Angry Birds, an eyebrow raised. "Huh? What makes you suddenly ask something like that? I'm totally fine, dude!"
He sighed patiently. "...there's a lot going on right now and I can tell it's getting to you. Ignoring what's upsetting you doesn't make it any better, trust me."

"Pfft, it's just a little stress, that's all! Can you blame me?" His smile faltered before he laughed loudly. "God, you're such a worrywart, Matt!"

"I'm being serious. We both know you're not taking this well and I want to talk to you about it. It'll help."

"I don't need help. Especially not from my little bro!" America smiled and ruffled Canada's hair. "I'm the one that's supposed to help you, remember?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm the younger brother. Please talk to me…?"

"About what?"

"About why you're upset."

"But I'm not!" He insisted, laughing a little. "Really, I'm not."

"Alfred, I-"

"Matthew, really. I'm okay." America sighed, looking slightly irritated. "I don't know why you're so worried, anyways! Everything's going to be just fine, I promise. I'll save everyone before anything really bad happens!"

"...I'm going to shower." Canada said, standing. Trying to have a serious conversation with America was only stressing him out more, and he didn't have the strength to be firm with him at the moment.

When he went into the bathroom and closed the door, America took a deep breath, stood from the chair he was in, and flopped onto his bed. He laid there, unmoving, as thoughts darted through his mind. Canada was right; he wasn't taking this well. He wished he had the bravery to admit that he wasn't able to be strong through everything, but as with every other case before this one, he had no such luck.

As he stared up at the ceiling, his expression changed from relaxed to concerned. England had been in the hands of their counterparts for a little over a week, and America couldn't help but wonder how much of that time he had spent screaming in agony. As Oliver had said in the note he sent, they were going to torture them until they resigned their titles and immortality, and then make them either kill themselves or have another country from their world kill them. England was one of the most stubborn people he knew, and he knew for a fact that he hadn't given up, but thinking of what he likely has endured since he was captured upset America greatly. Though the two had a difficult past, he couldn't deny that he still cared quite a bit for the cantankerous old nation.

He closed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, and sat up. He took another deep breath, opened his eyes, and was about to reach for his phone when a baseball bat with nails embedded in it was moved in front of his face. America immediately recoiled and quickly stood.

"Woah, what the f-" his words died on his tongue when he saw who stood in front of him. It was his counterpart. Allen was much tanner than he, had more muscles, dark brown hair, and deep red eyes. Instead of a smile, which America often wore, he was frowning and appeared almost disgusted to look at him. He was wearing an old looking, black tank top, jeans, and a rather worn version of his signature bomber jacket. He also held the bat, which somehow looked far more menacing now that he saw who was holding it.

"Holy- dude, you scared me!" America stumbled back, forcing the fear in his chest away with a laugh. "Ever heard of knockin'?"

"Hysterical." Allen rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. He lifted his bat and swung it at him, and America just barely was able to dodge it.

"Dude, woah! I think we got off on the wrong foot. We should grab a few burgers and talk it out!" He grinned widely as he dodged another swing of the bat, though his heart was racing.

"I'm vegan...and not a big fan of 'talking it out'." He paused in his attempts to hit him and rolled his eyes again.

"Wait, what?!" America gaped at him in shock. "You're a vegan?!"

"As sure as you're a fucking moron."

"But- how? How do you survive without meat?!"
"It's easy."

"God, you're nothing like me, even though we're basically the same person!"

Allen answered with another swing of his bat, which America hadn't expected. It hit his left shoulder and pain instantly burst from the area, causing him to cry out. He stumbled back in shock and looked at the bat with wide eyes, feeling a little sick, as some cloth and bloody flesh from his shoulder were stuck to the nails in it. His wound was throbbing, but he hardly paid it any heed, the fear he had been suppressing now consuming his mind and making it nearly impossible to think of anything else.

"Finally, you shut up." Allen sighed exasperatedly. He stepped forward and was just about to hit him again when there was the sound of a shotgun cocking.

"Get the fuck away from him right now." A voice growled. America didn't recognize whose voice it was until the looked over and saw Canada practically snarling at Allen, holding a shotgun and keeping it pointed at him, his hands unwavering and his usually soft violet eyes full of seething anger.

Allen looked and him and groaned in annoyance. "Do you guys seriously think we're going to listen to you when you say shit like that?"

Canada curled his finger around the trigger and clenched his teeth. "Put the bat down and get the hell away."

He muttered something under his breath and rolled his eyes. "Matt, deal with him."

Canada blinked in confusion before the realization clicked and he gasped. Matt was his counterpart; he remembered his name from the list Germany and France had found at England's house. He was just about to spin around to check if he was really there when what felt like the end of a hockey stick harshly collided with the back of his head. He cried out in pain and dropped his gun, falling to his knees and clutching the throbbing lump on his skull.

"Are you going to leave him or take him?" Allen asked, sounding bored.

"Leave him. I want to have fun capturing him, not just drag his unconscious body away." Matt said, lifting his hockey stick and hitting Canada's head again, which caused him to collapse forward, out cold.

The sight of his brother limp and lying on the ground, his blond hair stained with his own blood, snapped America out of his terrified daze. He clenched his fists and his fear was burned away by anger as he looked from Matt to Allen. He didn't bother uttering a threat before he lunged forward, too furious to even think straight, much less speak.

As the rational part of him expected, he wasn't able to land even one punch on either of them before he was on the ground, blinded by pain. He groaned and tried to push himself upright, but his arms gave out. He gave up on trying to get up and instead struggled to grasp his pistol, which was strapped to his hip. Unfortunately, Allen noticed and stomped on his hand, which broke at least one of his fingers. America let out a choked gurgle and desperately tried to crawl away, but he'd hardly moved an inch before his world blinked into darkness in a burst of pain.