Disclaimer: I don't own anything involved here. I just think this space looks silly without something here.

White Winter

Chapter Ten: Child-Snatchers

Their first steps into Winter's world were blinded by snow. Black became white and stillness became chaos as wind swept across the icy plane. The nations huddled together like penguins, forming a protective wall against the cold that made Iceland's puffin very happy. After a moment, the wind cleared and the finally got their first look at Winter's home.

It was a huge thing, a palace really, waiting for them at the peak of a mountain. It seemed to have been carved from the icy earth itself, its intricate carvings and precise angles hinting at millennia of hard work from skilled craftsmen. Blue stone swirled throughout the white like marble, and a huge tower kept watch in each cardinal direction, though there was no light to indicate that anyone dwelt there now. There was no path up the mountain, but there were no visible obstructions either, only rock, ice, snow and a few scraggily pine trees.

Denmark unbuckled his belt, swung his axe into a battle-ready grip and glanced around. "See anything?"

"No," said Finland softly. Of everyone there, he had the sharpest eyes.

"No guards? No traps? No soldiers?"

"Nothing."

"Why would he bother?" Iceland said, his hands trailing to his belt, where a pair of pistols hung in wait. "No one's ever been stupid enough to attack him before."

Canada swallowed and held more tightly onto Kumajiro. His sickness was quickly being overcome by nerves. It was ridiculous, really – he'd seen battle before, dozens of them, hundreds. But he didn't own a gun, not one he'd be comfortable fighting with, and even though he was confident with his own skill, not having a weapon at his fingertips as the Nordics did was unsettling. The fact that Russia did not have a weapon visible either was almost a comfort.

They made their way up the mountain, but only reached the third semi-flat ledge when Sweden suddenly stopped. He jerked his head to one side and sniffed the air like a dog. Finland signaled to the others, stepped close to him and whispered, "What is it, Su-san?"

"S'lf'r."

Finland blinked. "Sulfur?"

Denmark took a whiff of the air. "Hey, I smell it too. From down there."

He pointed back down the mountain, further to the east than the path of their ascent. There, two ridges met to form a deep crevice, from which an ugly creature peered. Its face was flat and void of a nose, dark eyes and wide seemingly carved into position by a knife. Its skin was scaly and bumpy, its dangling arms unnaturally long with webbed fingers and its hair like black sea draped over its melon-like head. When it noticed them staring, it barred rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth and let out a violent hiss. Another one shuffled from the crevice below and repeated the noise with an accompanying rude gesture.

Canada stared in surprise. "Those are…"

"You know them?" asked Norway, his pen already hovering over the blank page of his notebook.

"They look like Qallupilluk," Canada said, digging around in his old memories of ancient stories and whispered warnings around native camps. "But they normally live in the sea. They're…child-snatchers. They steal little kids who get too close to the water's edge and…and nobody really knows what happens after that."

"They do not appear interested in attacking us," Russia said with a nonchalant shrug. "We should continue on."

"I suppose you're right…"

They moved further, with Sweden moving to give Iceland a boost to the next ledge so he could carry the rope for the rest of them, but Finland stayed behind for moment, watching the Qallupilluk. His eyes were sharp from decades of training and he could spot an enemy from over a hundred meters with no scope, and something about these creatures – these child-snatchers, as Canada called them – bothered him.

The Qallupilluk hissed at him again and slipped back into their lair. He caught a brief glimpse of one's webbed hand before they vanished. It was clutching something bright blue.

Finland's heart stopped, his mind leaping to Sealand's very favorite blue hat, his trademark, the one he never went anywhere without. But that was impossible, Peter was far from the sea right now, and he'd called to check on him before they left, he'd spoken to him just yesterday!

He knew that he was being ridiculous, but his heart pounded with fear anyway.

A hand fell upon his shoulder and he jumped a foot. He spun around and found Sweden look at him in concern. "Yeh 'lr'ght?"

Finland shook himself. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing."

And it was nothing, but that nothing haunted him the rest of the way up the mountain.

( - )

"I think he's dead."

America certainly felt dead. His head was pounding, his vision was little more than a mass of colors and lights, and he couldn't quite remember where he was or what he was doing here. Everything below his neck was either numb or screamed with pain, and he couldn't tell which one was worse.

Someone prodded his shoulder and fire raced straight to his brain. "I really think he's dead, Yu."

"Shush," said another voice, softer and higher – a woman. "Nations don't die that way."

"But I don't even think he's breathing."

America wasn't, but the moment he thought about it, his automatic nervous system kicked in. He gulped a lungful of cold air and jerked up, painfully yanking his still-bound arms. A young man with blue-tinted skin and stark white hair yanked his hand away with a yelp of surprise; his companion, an impossibly pale girl with long black hair and a soft white kimono, did not react at all.

"I told you," she said with a heavy Japanese accent.

The strange boy shook himself and stuck out a blue tongue. "Shut up."

America coughed, convulsing on the ground, and tried to stand, but his limbs wouldn't listen. He forced himself to relax, sagged against the floor and turned his head to look up at the two strangers. They seemed very young – younger than he looked, even. Their presence baffled him more than anything else he'd seen so far.

"Who?" he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. It hurt, but managed it. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," said the girl softly.

Her friend snorted. "That's not nice Yuki."

"Shut up, Jack, before I do it for you."

America looked between them, baffled. How could anybody be so relaxed in the home of a monster? Weren't they prisoners here, too? Oh god, did that creep keep these kids the way he was keeping America…?

If either teen was aware of the odd looks he gave them, they did not acknowledge it. The girl, Yuki, reached for his shoulder and rolled him over to see his arms. America yelped in pain, but she didn't acknowledge that either. "Looks like the fractures have repaired themselves…"

"If that's what you want to call it," said Jack. He prodded America's arms between the coils of rope, and America yelped again. "Jiminy Christmas, they're all twisted up. I bet we could cut the ropes and he wouldn't even be able to move them."

"We're not going to try it."

"You're no fun."

"We're not supposed to untie him," Yuki retorted, turning America back over and dabbing his forehead with an icy cold cloth. "Our job is to patch him up, remember? Basic maintenance so that he's still in prime condition for the General."

At the mention of his captor, America tried to squirm away from their touch, but every muscle in his body knotted up and screamed in protest. He winced and bit his lip, forcing down a cry of pain.

Jack gave his forehead a reproachful slap, as though he were admonishing a dog. "Yo, jerkwad, don't do that. You'll just get more torn up and then the General'll have our hides. He likes his toys in good repair."

"Don't bother, Jack," Yuki said, wringing her cloth into a small bucket of water tinted red with blood. "These nations never listen to anything reasonable. Besides, we're not supposed to talk to the toys."

"We're not supposed to be seen by them, either."

"That's not in the orders. You just liked teasing Vanya."

America groaned, opened his eyes again and croaked, "Russia?"

The two glanced his way with expressions of disgust and Jack opened his mouth as though about to say something, but he was cut off as a door slammed shut somewhere down the hall. Yuki leapt up, snatching away the cool touch of the rag, and Jack sprung as though there were springs in his heels. America realized that they were leaving and tried to call after them – "Wait!" – but his croak was unheard as the two vanished with a burst of snow from each.

A second later, the double doors that lead to the room were flung wide and the General stormed in. Wind howled in his wake like tortured spirits and a snow drift tumbled over to bury his boots to the toes, but he didn't seem to notice. There was a snarl on his face and anger telegraphed with every twitch. He stormed across the room, seized America by his hair and snarled, "How dare they?"

America yelped as his head was yanked painfully, but that was all the resistance he could give. Supported only by his hair and collar, the General dragged him to the bed and flung him onto the mattress, roaring violently. "Think they can steal from me?"

In the next instant, he was upon America, pinning him down and digging his nails into the flesh of America's neck. He leaned close, his breath leaving ice upon America's nose, and hissed, "Never."

America didn't know what he was talking about. But then, he didn't seem to know much of anything anymore.

TBC…

Notes: Qallupilluk (no I don't know how to pronounce it) are Inuit creatures who lurk in the water and snatch away children who stray too close. In other words, the story was created to keep kids from playing by themselves on dangerous ice ridges and near too-cold waters. It's not told why they snatch children – some people thing they eat them, and others think they're just lonely, but the children never come back.

The attendant/servant-type things in General Winter's house are Jack Frost and Yuki-Onna, respectively. Yuki-Onna, literally "Snow Women," are Japanese mountain spirits; the most common story I've heard involves a man who watches one freeze his sleeping companions to death and is spared by her on the restriction that he never tells anyone. He survives, goes home and marries a beautiful woman, keeping his promise for many years until he finally divulges the truth to his wife. As is common in Japanese stories, it turns out that his wife is the Yuki-Onna, who promptly abandons and/or kills him.

As far as I know, the only Jack Frost-centric narrative in existence is that claymation Christmas special. I just had to work him in there because he's such a rotten little imp. Also, RL is kicking my ass, so I apologize for being late with this. We're getting to the climatic final encounter, and I'm always clumsy with fight scenes, so we'll see how it turns out.