Chapter 36! A little shorter than the others, focusing on England and Laura, and tying to the Bratva plot, still. I tried to aim for serious and humorous at once...not sure I got it right.

Laura had been to numerous concerts in numerous countries. Even if she couldn't understand the language, she lived for the sheer energy of the crowds. Many times, she'd dressed up in the most head-turning of costumes and get-ups to fit in at these wild, music-fueled gatherings. But never once had she expected to go with her father.

Nor had she expected him to fit the part of punk rock junkie so well.

Bright green streaks accented the ashy blonde hair that had been coaxed into a wild mass of spikes. Black and silver wrist wraps and spiked straps spiraling up slim arms, and a skintight T-shirt bearing the Sex Pistols' "Anarchy in the UK" poster design beneath a thin, loose jacket adorned with numerous chains of varying thickness.

Numerous piercings seemed to have appeared, as if from nowhere, on his ears and face, and Laura was almost certain that guitar tattoo peeking through a large tear in the shirt hadn't been there earlier that day. Or, at least, she hadn't seen it before. It's not like she actively sought out her father when he was shirtless.

And honestly, she was shocked he could still fit into those skinny jeans.

England smirked at his daughter, adopting a rebellious tilt to his hips that he hadn't used in decades.

"Keep gaping like that, lass, and you're bound to catch flies." Laura made a show of closing her mouth, giggling as she walked down the last of the steps. "Now get your arse in the car. I hate dealing with these confounded GPS things, and I haven't been to the concert arena in years. You're navigating."

"Can I drive, too?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Bugger…"

The concert was one of the best England could remember.

At least, it was one of the best that he cared to remember.

He'd successfully 'pulled rank' and gotten the perfect pair of seats, right in front of the stage, but not too close, so they could still hear the music, but still appreciate the performers as well. The volume was just right, the floor (for once) wasn't sticky, the lights weren't too bright, and the seats were rather comfortable.

Of course, the music was fantastic as well.

The concert was a mass collaboration of several different punk bands, all ranging from top to bottom on the national charts, and hailing from all over. Muse, Catch 22, Rise Against, Flogging Molly and 7 Seconds were all included. Though not all the bands contained their original members, the spirit of the music was still the same, and the concert was a complete success.

Hours later, England and Laura stumbled out of the arena. Arm and arm, both were hoarse from screaming and singing, and more than a little intoxicated from the contents of at least a dozen alcoholic drinks that were now scattered across the floor of their row. England could honestly say that this was, perhaps, one of the best nights out he'd had in a long, long while.

Then his phone rang.

Growling, he unslung his arm from Laura's shoulders and fished the cell phone out of the pocket of his skinny jeans. He flipped it open to stop the ungodly wailing of the Star Spangled Banner (really, he ought to change that git's ringtone, sometime), and held it up to his ear with some amount of coordination.

"Arthur, we need to talk." America began. England scoffed.

"What is it, you bloody git?" He growled, only slurring his words a tiny bit. "I was busy having fun, for a change."

"…..you." America repeated with an incredulous tone, train of thought momentarily derailed. "Having fun? Wait, are you drunk?"

"Only a little." England smirked. "Now what was sooooo important that it couldn't wait until a sensible hour?"

"….find somewhere to sit first." America suggested. England blinked, but found a nearby bench and pulled Laura over to it. His daughter followed without much objection, though she found it much more entertaining to climb the tree growing behind the bench and dangle off the branches by one leg than to actually sit.

England sobered up quickly as America explained - in as much detail as he could stand - what had occurred with the Bratva in the last 24 hours. Nathan's disappearance, his argument with Russia, and the call he'd placed to Laura earlier that day to get Konrad involved - America told England all of it. The European nation shot his drunk daughter (still dangling from the tree branch) a half-hearted glare. America had told her to keep the call quiet, or she just hadn't wanted to worried him.

Neither possibility had succeeded, as he was aware of the call and now more worried than ever.

"My God…" He muttered. "Is the poor boy alright?" England asked. He didn't get a quick response.

"No….no, he isn't." America replied after a moment of silence. "I mean, he's healing fast and all, but….I don't think I want to know what those bastards did to him." He sighed heavily. "….the doctors'll let me take him home, like, tomorrow. I'm gonna introduce him to my states, then."

"Your states." England repeated, not bothering to correct his former colony's grammar this time. "You do recall how he handled you being his father, right? How do you think he'll handle having fifty step siblings?" America chuckled dryly.

"Probably not well…" He admitted. "But the Bratva snatched him right out of my house, England." America paused. "If I can't protect him by myself, then my states can help! Plus, I'm still trying to figure out what part of me Nathan is…" America's thoughts turned to a less grim topic. "He's not a state, and he can't speak Spanish, so he can't be Puerto Rico…." England sighed.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out…" He rolled his eyes. "But that's not exactly priority, now is it?" He leaned back on the bench, only half-paying attention to Laura, who had now wandered off from the tree and was dancing in a nearby fountain. Well, she HAD chugged more alcohol than him, anyway.

"Listen…..get the boy home, and do whatever you think necessary to keep him safe. I'll call around and inform the others to be more careful….especially those with the littlest ones." England sighed. "With any luck, the Bratva won't be stupid enough to go after anyone else…." Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he sobered up immediately, shrieking and leaping up, forgetting to hang up the phone before one unfortunate sentence.

"LAURA! PUT YOUR BLOODY SHIRT BACK ON!"

And that, my faithful readers, is why Laura should not drink...with England.

1) Kitsume Miyake - Thanks a lot! XD Don't worry - the little ones have their own time to shine in the Bratva arc. I'm tempted to end "CotN" there, though, and start the next arc as a sequel. I'm not sure yet.

2) LuckyNumbers, SunnyGreen and - Yes. Let there be States. XD I'll probably only give speaking roles to a select few, and just mention the others (I can't handle 50 more OCs!).

3) MattsyKunTehZebra - Nooo! Then France will have no-one to call him Papa in public! D8 And Prussia will be without his 'awesome' minion! And…..well, actually, I can't see the harm in you marrying France. Except England coming after your soul. XD

4) Palamecia - Thanks! ^_^ Don't worry, Austria, Hungary, and Richard (I might as well name him now) will appear soon. To be honest, I'm still cementing his profile, and his relationship with his parents, and perhaps a few other Nationlings, since he is among the middle of the age group.

5) NightWolfMoon - Actually…that wasn't Alexi. XD But good! The identity is secret!