(Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

A pained moan escaped from the American's lips. He clutched his head as the pain there increased. He didn't dare touch the jacket that Mattie was holding out to him. Even at glance at the fabric made him cringe as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Alfred, I know it hurts, but could you put it on?" Mattie's voice was soft, but it still felt like someone was racking their nails down a chalkboard. "You used to love this coat. You would go anywhere without it."

"I've never seen that coat before," Alfred replied after a hesitant pause. He shook violently as he back into a chair. He collapsed in it with a heavy sigh. The American felt his eyes prickle at the corners. The pain was really getting to him, but he refused to cry in front of his brother.

"The faster you come to terms with who you are the sooner we'll have the chance to go find Arthur." Francis came forward and took the bomber jacket from the Canadian. "Put the jacket on, Amerique." There was no room for argument in the Frenchman's voice.

"But I wouldn't do those things!" Bombs burst in the air to send people scattering away in fear. Screams of fear split the air while the sound of muskets was almost a normal occurrence. "I couldn't kill all those people!"

There was a grim satisfaction in the Frenchman's voice. "Oh, really? What do you think of when you think of dear Angleterre's captors? Aren't you angry? Don't you just want to force justice upon them?"

"Well, yeah! They deserve to be punished for hurting Arthur!" Alfred's head fell into his hands as he moaned quietly. "Gawd, my head hurts."

"You're battling with yourself, Amerique. Accept yourself. You want to punish Anleterre's captors because of your strong sense of justice, you've always been unusually strong for a human for a reason, and how else would you explain your instant attraction to dear Angleterre? Of all the nations, the two of you found each other. The both of you have always been connected."

Alfred shook his head vigorously. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, I am twenty years old. I grew up in Massachusetts with - no. I grew up in New York." Alfred finished his ramble with an agitated noise. "I don't understand." His fingers dug into the gentle locks of his hair.

"You're at war with yourself, Amerique. You certainly have an eventful history. It makes sense. Just relax and embrace who you are." The Frenchman made a soothing motion with his hands. Matthew gently patted his brother's shoulder.

It was the gruff German accent that finally caused Alfred to look up. "Stand sharp," the man told the American. "You're a country whether you like it or not. Get your act together or we're all doomed."

"He's not ready to accept it yet, Ludwig." Matthew's hand ran gently over his brother's back. There was both concern and reproach in the normally calm tone. "Leave him alone."

"Even Germany has come to terms with his with than you do. Amerique-"

"Stop calling me that!" The American growled under his breath. "Besides," Alfred added quietly, "if I'm really America and Arthur is actually England than we're not together and he doesn't love me."

"Oh, ami," Francis might as well have purred, "is that what your big dilemma is all about?' The Frenchman sat down on the other side of the American. "you love him, no? Country or not?" Alfred simply nodded tiredly. "Then why should it change for him?"

Alfred shook his head. "We have too much history between us as countries. I've done too much to him. He'll never forgive me, and he'll never even consider taking me back."

"Then find him," Francis urged beside him. "Find him and rewrite all that history."

Ragged breaths came from the American. Finally he silenced himself. He stood up and held his hands out to the Frenchman. "Give me my jacket, we're going to go find Arthur, Gilbert, and the President and make the people who took them pay for what they did."

"That's more like it, Amerique."

Quiet emerald eyes watched the scene before him unfold. The owner couldn't hear what was happening due to the glass wall, but he thought he could figure it out. There was an argument going on. It was probably due to the choice in kidnapees. Not to mention that Ron Butcher didn't seem to like wield information on the purpose of the operation to begin with.

Ron's hand came up to meet the other man's face, and the argument immediately came to a close. Ron came storming out of the room and toward the cage where Arthur had been removed to. The Queen was sleeping in the cell next to him and the President was situated in the one on his other side. The man seemed to be in much worse shape than the Queen. He'd probably taken quite a few of her hits. Arthur couldn't feel more grateful.

"This is my operation," he snarled. "They don't understand." The book came from the inside of Ron's jacket and into his hands. It seemed to be the man's hobby, trying to figure out how the worn, leather book opened. Arthur just sighed and leaned back against his chair. Another long hour of waiting. Where was Alfred?

One Hour Later

"I still don't see how this is going to help us," America complained as they continued their trek. They'd had to abandon the car almost a quarter mile away when the road ended. Soon after the cold, London drizzle had began. Now all three nations were walking through soggy grass, shivering.

"London's a rather large place, if you didn't notice," Francis explained again. He was quickly growing weary of the impatient American. "There is no chance that we will find Angleterre by luck alone. We need other resources."

"Do the other resources have to be in the middle of no where? I say we just break down the door of the nearest police station and demand to know what they know."

France sighed in irritation. He tutted the young nation in disapproval. "They will know nothing, Amerique. Besides, would you still happen to have your nation identification because that will be the only way to remove you from prison when you are sent there. I assure you this way will be the fastest way to find Angleterre. London is a network of connections."

"We are all bound together whether we remember it or not. The nations have been flocking to London for years," Germany added. He'd remained silent most of their trip and when he spoke now his voice was still rough and reserved. "It's the same reason Gilbert and I wished to move here. We were all being drawn together."

France nodded. "Exactly. Someone is sure to have heard what happened to Angleterre or at least heard something that may help us find him. Needless to say, I believe we are at war here and if we are, we're going to need all the help we can get."

/Author's Note: I know, this is way overdue. I just haven't had time to work on it lately, thus its shortness and lack of editing. I literally wrote this part twice and scraped it before coming up with this product. Sad part is, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.

Well, let me know what you think! /