Hi, everyone!

Back in my own country now and finally getting over the jet lag. I'm also spending a lot more time writing, which is good. To anyone who reads The Year That Never Was (my Doctor Who/Hetalia story), I should have that updated soon. I've got most of the next chapter written out.

Warnings for this chapter: angst (when isn't there?), drunken ramblings (as in England, not me), slightly strange behavior on America's part (ish) and a hell of a lot of paranoia on England's. Hope you enjoy!

Allons-y!


Eight

Countless Dangers

Right now, it's a choice between confronting them or escaping. There's no other option.

England has advanced from the room and entered the elevator. As he reaches the ground floor, he peers around a corner into the lobby. Over in the corner where the minibar is situated, France is greeting Scotland. Neither of them should be able to spot England, thankfully. The demon isn't there. It has obviously parted ways with France… but this does not change the fact that they were talking in the first place. The fact that they're allies.

He's no demon, England thinks to himself. I must stop referring to his as such. He's just a person. I'm not sure if he's a human or if he's something else, but he's not a demon. Nevertheless, the crimson eyes of the shady figure remain so demonic in his memories.

He both tortured and threatened to kill me, England remembers. He's certain of this. And if he's working with France then perhaps France will try to help him. Maybe he's using Scotland to get to me. Perhaps Scotland's in on it too.

No. England feels quite agonised at the mere thought. Scotland may be a terrible older brother and he did give up on England and convince everyone else to do so too, but he has had plenty of opportunities to harm England since the younger returned. Besides, as betrayed as England feels, he refuses to accept that his elder brother wants to physically hurt him too.

So… what to do? He can't go back up to the room because eventually Scotland will come up, and France might come too, seeing as England overheard France mentioning earlier about how he wants to ask England questions.

Ask me questions? Or kill me? Which is, France?

Ignoring the gut-wrenching feeling he gets when these thoughts pass through his head, England emerges from the wall he's hiding behind and makes his way to the front entrance of the hotel, hoping he won't be noticed by the other two nations. Unfortunately, he has to walk by quite close to them to reach his destination. He pulls the collar of his jacket up a little further in an effort to obscure his face. As he gets closer, he begins to hear snippets of their conversation.

'… Screaming?'

'Aye, because of a nightmare. And I don't mean a wee shriek either, I mean a full on about-to-be-murdered screech. Woke me up in the middle of the night with the noise. And he still wouldn't talk 'bout it afterwards. Damn stubborn bastard.' Scotland takes a massive swig of his drink.

'Why, though?' France asks. 'Angleterre is quite secluded about anything personal, but 'e offered no explanation at all? Not even to you?'

'He doesn't trust me,' Scotland says.

I wonder why, England thinks savagely.

'He'd go absolutely mental if he found out I've told yeh all of this,' Scotland mutters. 'He'd probably kick my arse.'

Damn right. For this and for everything else. Of course I don't trust you.

'Angleterre?'

Oh shit.

Scotland and France are both swivelled round in their seats, staring at England. He freezes and stares back at them before spitting out a simple, 'What?'

'You, uh… heard that?' Scotland says awkwardly.

'Well, I'm not deaf,' England snaps back.

He's not even sure what's bothering him the most. Is it the fact that Scotland's revealing too much about his situation behind his back or the fact that it's France of all people who is being supplied this information?

No. It's got more to do with France working with the demon. That's England's main concern. He never would have assumed that France becoming his enemy once more would bother him so much but it does. They've been allies for a while now. They still argue and play the hate game, but… they're not enemies anymore. They weren't enemies anymore.

It hurts.

But now he's just sitting there with an unreadable expression. The only thing England can make out about both France and Scotland is that they're embarrassed at having been caught talking about him. And maybe a little ashamed.

'Are yeh headed somewhere?' Scotland asks finally.

'Out. For a drink.'

'Well, yeh could just have a drink with us right here,' the redhead points out, gesturing the minibar.

'No, I don't think so,' England says coldly. He turns around and walks off, refusing to look back at them.


Two pints of beer later and England is feeling a little bit better.

To be honest, now that the alcohol is in his system, his problems are dancing only on the edge of his mind as opposed to occupying it completely. His worries are still quietly nagging away, but he can easily fix that by ordering another round. Tonight, he's going to ignore it all. Ignore the anger, sadness, paranoia, worry. So what if it feels as if someone's watching him? So what if he's letting his guard down? He's too tired to care.

'Another one,' he mutters to the bartender.

'Probably not such a good idea, man,' says a voice behind him.

America takes a seat next to England and grins widely. England glares back. 'What are you doing here?'

'Stopping you from getting wasted to the point where you can't walk. I'm not carrying you back.'

'It doesn't have to be any of your concern if you just leave,' England says irritably. 'How'd you know where to find me?'

'I was in the neighbourhood,' America says casually. 'Japan's not staying far away from your hotel and we were gaming. I saw France earlier too. He said he was getting a drink with Scotland. Shouldn't you be doing this with them?'

'Why on earth would I want to?'

'I spotted you leaving the hotel not long after. It's only round the corner, anyway. You didn't do a very good job of getting away this time.'

'I wasn't trying to get away, I was trying to get drunk. I'm still trying.'

'Yeah, I figured I should probably intervene after a couple of pints. Sorry, dude.'

'I'm not stopping-' But America has already grabbed his arm and is hauling him away from the bar. Freezing at the unexpected, unwelcome physical contact, England is hardly able to resist being dragged away.

As the cold night air quickly reaches his skin, England knows he's messed up because he's now at that stage of drunkenness where he despises himself even more than he usually does. He's furious at the decisions he's made this evening. Getting intoxicated was stupid. So, bloody foolish. He's even more vulnerable that when he's sleeping, because even then he always wakes up pretty easily and is ready with his knife should he need to find. Like this, England can't even recall whether he even has his knife with him. Oh God, please let me have my knife. What good would it do though? He'd probably collapse if he tried swinging it.

One half of his mind is screaming in fear because of all the countries to find him, it's America, the one who unnerves him the most, and the other half is yelling in anger at the opposite side because it's America for crying out loud, and why on earth should be afraid of him? America has apparently been keeping an eye on England since he entered the bar and England never even realised. He's completely let his guard slip.

'I'm so stupid,' he mutters, and is promptly horrified at how the words come out as a drunken sob.

America chuckles. 'Dude, you need to chill. You always used to get drunk. You haven't even had too much this time, don't worry.'

But England does worry because none of this is okay. He's still being held in America's grip and being pulled along. He wants to run but he knows he can't in this state. And he's so tired. Tired and afraid and tired of being afraid. He just wants everything to be the same again. He wants the demon to leave him alone (oh hell- it was close by not long ago, what if it's still here?) and he wants the dreams to stop and the voices to shut up. And he's so sick of not knowing. He just wants to forget all the bad things completely or to remember it completely so he can piece it all together and figure out what the hell happened to him.

The hotel entrance is within sight now and finally England finds the strength to resist. 'No, no,' he refuses, struggling his way out of America's hold. 'I'm not going back in there. I'm not seeing them.'

'Who? Scotland? France?'

'I'd rather sleep in the bloody park again,' England says stubbornly.

'Park? What park?'

England ignores any questions America asks him. All that matters is that he cannot, he will not go back in there. Not if Scotland thinks he should be dead, not if France actually wants him dead. (Is that right? His mind is hazy because of the alcohol but he's fairly certain it's something along those lines.)

'I'm not going back in there,' he repeats. He's a little wobbly on his feet but he stands his ground.

America tilts his head in confusion. 'Um. Okay. Well, sleeping outdoors isn't a great idea, Iggy. You can stay at my place tonight.'

There are warning bells ringing in England's head. He's too vulnerable right now and he's uncomfortable being around literally everyone, let alone America. This is a bad idea.

But it's far more preferable than the thought of facing France and Scotland in this state.

'Fine,' he mutters. 'Thanks.'


It's been three months. At first it goes by so quickly, back when no one takes it seriously. No one really thinks it's a problem in the beginning. But after a few weeks, it becomes important to everyone. The searches expand, covering not just the UK but Europe as well. That's when it feels slower. Agonisingly slow.

'The British economy is declining rapidly,' Germany announces one meeting, to an audience of nations who, for the most part, are actually paying attention. 'This means that his disappearance is definitely having an impact on the state of the United Kingdom.'

'Something must have happened to him,' Japan says quietly.

'Ve! Why say that, Japan? Maybe he's just gone on holiday and not told anyone,' Italy says optimistically.

'It's true that England wouldn't be the type to confide in the rest of us about needing a break, aru,' China reasons.

'Bullshit. He's been gone for three months,' Romano says.

'A declining economy signals that something unfortunate has happened to him,' Germany agrees with Japan. 'There's no way he would go this long without contacting anyone if all was well.'

''E is 'opeless,' France sighs. 'Still, I must admit that this amount of time in silence is unusual, even for Angleterre.'

'There's no sign of him anywhere in Britain?' Switzerland asks.

'His brothers have searched extensively for him. If he doesn't show up soon, Scotland or Wales are going to have to start representing him in meetings until we find him again...'

'His brothers?'

'He's been gone for three months now. We don't really have much of a choice.'

'Dudes, you're all overreacting,' America says loudly. 'Iggy will show up. He hates missing work.'

'Well, he's already been missing for three months, aru,' China says.

America waves it off with a big, casual grin. 'It's fine. This is England we're talking about. He'll turn up at some point.'

During the break, America leaves the meeting go and get himself a coffee. The search for England in Europe has only just begun, as everyone has finally decided that he can't possibly be in the UK. They'll find him eventually. They have to.

Clutching an espresso, America turns around to go back to the meeting and almost collides with someone, coming very close to spilling his coffee.

'Ah- sorry! Didn't see you there!'

'No one ever does,' Canada replies with sigh.

'Hey bro! You came for a coffee too?'

'No,' Canada says quietly. 'I came to talk to you, America. About England.'

America chuckles. 'He's taking one hell of a vacation, that's for sure. Kinda hypocritical too, 'cause he's always going on about how it's important to attend meetings and stuff.'

Canada frowns. 'You can fool everyone else but I'm not falling for it,' he says softly. 'This is really bad and you know it. You may seem casual but I know you're just putting on an act.'

America shrugs, sipping on his coffee. 'What act? He's probably gonna come back after another few weeks and claim that he was playing with all his imaginary friends in Narnia or something.'

'We're all worried,' Canada says firmly. 'You included. There's no need to deny it.'

America laughs. 'Whatever you say, man.'


It's been one year and America no longer pretends to be casual in front of Canada. He still smiles and jokes around at world meetings like nothing's wrong. But after one year, they still haven't found England. Europe has been thoroughly searched. Someone suggests that perhaps he's in a different continent, so they look through Asia next. China and Japan lead the search, but nothing comes up. Nothing ever does.

By the year after that, North and South America have been scoured too. The search is now taking place in Oceania, though people are thinking that maybe it's getting a little hopeless. England wouldn't do this, not if he was still around.

'Why the hell would he just leave like that? Without telling anyone? And he calls me irresponsible,' America mutters down the phone line to his brother on the fifth of November, 2012, two years after the last sighting of England. The London Olympics came and went and all the nations attended, naturally, but with the absence of the host, it didn't feel quite right. America has only known Scotland for the last two years but the summer of the Olympics was the most irritable he had ever seen the redhead, as Scotland and Wales were left to help organise the event.

'America…' Canada begins quietly on the other end of the line. 'Have you heard what some people are saying?'

'I hear everything, man! I'm always up to date on all the social gossip,' America says, trying to sound proud but failing miserably. After all, he's long since given up on pretending that everything's okay in front of Canada. The other nations don't know how much he's worrying, but he no longer hides anything from his brother.

'It's a popular opinion if that's what you mean,' Canada continues. 'Not that anyone says it outright. But being invisible to almost everyone means I hear quite a lot.'

'About?'

'Everything. Especially what they have to say about England.'

'Which is?'

'They think he's dead.'

America laughs. Not in a cruel way, as if he approves of the thought. More in an incredulous fashion. 'That's stupid.'

'Most people are starting to jump to this conclusion,' Canada sighs. 'Especially after what Scotland's been telling everyone.'

America frowns. 'What's he been saying?'

'He… he said that he and Wales and England linked because they're all part of Britain. Apparently Wales and Scotland can't sense England's life force at all. They just didn't have the heart to tell everyone in the beginning because they didn't want to believe it themselves. But Scotland… he thinks we should all call off the search.'

'What… what the hell? Why the hell would he just-?'

'I know, I know. But he wouldn't be saying this if he didn't genuinely believe that England is d-'

'Scotland sure knows how to talk crap,' America says. 'How come I haven't heard anything about this, anyway?'

He can practically feel Canada wince on the other end of the line. 'B… because you're in total denial over all of it, America. You have been from the very start. You shoot down any ideas that suggest that England isn't coming back.'

'That, bro, is 'cause he is gonna come back. England will come back and you know what he's gonna do? He's gonna complain about us all taking ages to find him and about all the meetings he's missed and the paperwork he hasn't completed and all the Doctor Who episodes he's missed and everything will just go back to how it should be.' America forces a forceful, stubborn voice to say these words, but everything Canada has informed him is causing his stomach to squirm uncomfortably and not for the first time in the last couple of years he feels like… panicking.

There's silence for a few seconds, then Canada says very quietly, 'I hope so, America. I really hope so.'

When they end the call, America slumps down in an armchair in his living room, closing his eyes for a second and allowing his mind to wonder. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be sitting here, feeling uncomfortable and uneasy, he should be watching TV and playing games or something. That's what he typically would be doing on a night such as this, if things hadn't worked out this way. If England hadn't disappeared and he wasn't worried about the whole situation, as much as he has tried to hide it.

The concern and the doubt is gnawing away inside him, despite his attempts to supress it. Because what if they're right? The other nations? No, they can't be. If something truly bad had happened, England's land and people would have suffered terribly. Sure, there's been a declining economy, but it's not as if the country is in ruins. Then America remembers what Canada said, about how Scotland and Wales are connected to England, and he remembers Scotland explaining a few months ago that the state of England's land and people can be sustained as because of the connection. Scotland and Wales are substituting for England. His people and land are linked to theirs. Plus, Scotland is apparently admitting that he and Wales can no longer sense England.

If that's the case, then England truly could be dead.

For a few terrifying seconds, America lets the one thing he tried to hide the most, both from the other countries and himself, take over: despair.

England. Dead. The two words don't feel like they should ever be associated, but oh God, what if he really is-?

All of a sudden, the phone starts ringing.

America takes a deep, sharp breath, quickly forcing the fear to the back of his mind. It's probably Canada, phoning back because he's forgotten something. Ha. Canada forgetting. How ironic. America would find that funny if he currently wasn't emotionally screwed up.

For crap's sake, he and England don't even like each other most of the time. They're constantly arguing and insulting each other. America's always winding England up and the latter is always overreacting. America has never even verbally stated that England is his friend. But this is killing him inside, not knowing. Because despite all that, this really, really scares him. And he really does give a damn. He just wants England to show up again. He just wants things to go back to how they should be. He shouldn't be feeling emotional, especially if he's about to talk to someone on the phone.

'Yo! The hero is speaking!' he answers with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, praying that his voice doesn't sound shaky or anything (because hell, he was actually on the verge of tearing up a minute ago). 'How can I help you?'

'Are you listening to the other countries? Do you believe what they say?' says the voice on the other end. It isn't Canada. America quickly pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns. Then his eyes widen in shock. It's England's house number.

'Who is this-?'

'Do you think he's not going to be found? Are you like all the others? Do you think he's dead?' The voice is high pitched, probably female.

'I… Who…?'

'Well? Do you believe England's not coming back?'

The hand that's holding the phone is shaking slightly, but America doesn't drop it. '… No,' he says finally. 'England's… alive. I'm sure of it.' Is he, though?

There's a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. 'So you might listen. Good. I thought you might.'

'Who-?'

There's the sound of someone yelling in the distance on the other end of the line and the feminine voice mutters, 'I have to go.' And then the line goes dead.


America chucks him a box of paracetamol the next morning when a hungover England walks cautiously into the kitchen. The latter is pleased to find that his reflexes are still good when he catches the box. He's also feeling a little safer at the thought of him discovering when he woke up that he did remember his knife last night after all. Of course he did. He was still sober when he left the hotel, and so there would have been no reason or excuse to leave it behind.

'You should try coffee for the hangover, dude,' America suggests as England pours himself a glass of water and gulps down a couple of pills.

'Not happening. Ever. What time is it?'

'Half nine. The meeting's not 'til ten. You coming?'

England thinks about it for a second. On the one hand, France and Scotland will be there. On the other, he's aware the other countries think he's snapped and he wants to prove to them that he can still function. He makes up his mind when America tells him that the meeting today will be back in the original building, the same one that they faced the entity in.

'Yes. Alright. I'll come.'

The floor they were on last time is still under reconstruction but it the building has been examined completely and the nations have been reassured that there should be no more 'gas leaks'. The meeting place has been relocated to a different floor. America and England are the last to arrive. All heads turn when they enter and several pairs of eyes widen; they clearly weren't expecting England to attend.

Scotland rises from his seat. 'Where were yeh last night-?'

'Where's the mirror? Is it still in the library?' England interrupts, pointedly ignoring his brother.

'The one the entity came through? Russia smashed it this morning,' Germany replies.

'Now bad things can't come through,' Russia says cheerfully.

England shivers and not from Russia's creepy tone. 'It's not the mirror specifically that was the problem. I've seen peculiar things happen in other places too. I'd say it's anything that casts a reflection.'

'Anything?' Germany is aghast.

Italy cowers in distress. 'Ve, no! Does that mean more monsters are coming?'

England sighs. 'Relax. If the culprit wanted to attack us in the same fashion, they'd have done it by now. Where are the mirror fragments, anyway? I need to see them.'

'Why?' France asks.

'To check my reflection,' England spits sarcastically. 'I didn't get a chance this morning.'

Scotland sighs. 'Why, England?'

'Because there could be… residue on them. Magical traces. I might recognise it. I might remember something. Whoever sent the entity after us definitely had something to do with my going missing, so I might figure out who did it.'

Japan nods. 'That sounds like a good idea. The glass shards are in a bag down in the library next to the mirror frame.'

'Thanks.' England turns around and heads for the door.

'Wait- hold on,' Scotland says. 'Yeh can do this later.'

'Perhaps you should stay in here, England,' Germany agrees. 'There are things we should discuss-'

'I'm good, thanks.' England hates the way they're all staring at him like it's still the moment when he killed the entity and revealed himself to be very much alive.

'England-'

He's already out the door, though. The less people he has to deal with, the better. He's still not ready to talk to them. Besides, Scotland will probably tell them every little secret, like he was doing with France last night.

England heads downstairs towards the library. As promised, he finds a black plastic back filled with the broken mirror shards, some quite large and others as big as snowflakes. He leans down and places his hand carefully on the glass, making sure not to let any of the sharp points cut into his skin, and closes his eyes, drawing out any residual magical energy. But all he can feel is his own, flowing through and flowing back into him from the mirror shards.

Wait, what? Why would his own power be radiating from the shards? He's only expelling his magic- there's no reason why he should be absorbing any of it. Unless…

The residue is his magic. The entity is a product of his own power. But that's impossible. He never summoned the creature. It wasn't him. So, why…?

There's something twisted about. England naturally knows his own power better than anyone. He knows exactly what his magic feels like. The residue on the glass is his magic, but it feels unfamiliar. Darker. More twisted. Like a different version of his own power.

'What…?' he whispers.

'Find anything?'

England yelps and drops the bag, accidently allowing a couple of shards to embed their way into his hands. Growling in frustration, he quickly pulls the shards out, ignoring the little squirts of blood, and turns around.

'What the bloody hell, America?!'

America winces as his eyes rest England's bloodied hands. 'Woops. Sorry, man. Didn't mean to…'

'Dammit,' England mutters, noticing that the blood has gotten onto his clean white (and clearly doomed) shirt. Well, seeing as it's already ruined, he might as well use it. He scrunches up the bottom and uses it to wipe his hands. This is the second shirt he's ruined with blood since the G8 began, and both times have been in the vicinity of the damn mirror. The other nations are going to think he was attacked again.

'Shouldn't you be in the meeting?' he asks America.

The bigger nation smirks. 'Shouldn't you?'

'No. Scotland's there.'

'Yeah, but now you're back you'll be taking his place eventually, right?'

England sighs. 'Why are you here, America?' You seem to be following me around quite a lot.

America shrugs and grins like nothing's wrong. 'Just wondered how you were doing with little magic mission thing.'

England swallows. There's no way he can tell any of the others that the dark magic he detected was his own. 'Nothing useful,' he mutters, hoping Scotland won't examine the shards for himself and recognise his younger brother's power.

America shrugs. 'Ah well. We'll catch the villains eventually.'

England raises his eyebrows. 'Villains?'

'Yeah, 'cause they're the bad guys, right? I mean, they captured you. But it's totally cool 'cause the hero is on the case.'

'Right,' England says with an exasperated smile. 'Good to know.'

America flashes him a confident smile as he turns to leave. 'Sure thing, man. Anytime.'

It might be from the blood loss (though it's only minor, so probably not) or maybe because of the excess blood that he can currently see, but right before America turns to leave, England spots something which leaves him staring at the door for a good few seconds after America has left.

Just for a second there, America's eyes had flashed crimson.


Does that answer anything? I'm sure it probably raises further questions. My updates tend to do that. Sorry. XD

Anywho, I thought I should finally give some idea of what it was like for America during England's disappearance. I'm planning on including more flashbacks during the next chapter, though they will probably be for England.

Thanks for reading, remember to review, and byeeee!