Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: Well, a great number of victims of the MH17 disaster are being identified in the Netherlands now. It gives me, and many more people, some peace of mind to know that the bodies are in good hands and being taken care of. On July 23 (on my mom's birthday – she actually served snacks while we watched the sad parade of black cars heading to Hilversum from Eindhoven), there was a national day of mourning here, the first one in more than fifty years, or so they said. The bells of the churches were tolled and people shut up and stopped doing whatever they did for a whole minute. It was a very somber, sober day.
'What a moron,' my mom chuckled right after the moment of silence while we watched that guy with the trumpet fix his tiny hat. 'His head's too fat, haha!~'
But anyway…
You guys are great. Seriously. Most of you who were kind enough to sent me a review, left me the most beautiful, encouraging and motivating messages. Saying that I'm not a hypocrite, saying that you know what I mean and understand my conflicted feelings, telling me that it's okay to feel this way…
It was great. I know it sounds weird, but I think you all know what I mean.^^ I feel blessed to have so many wonderful readers and nobody can tell me otherwise.
Gah. You brought me to the very verge of tears. Thanks for that.^^

A/n2: To my anonymous reviewers (and especially you, Anna-Chan): thank you very much for your love and attention, even though you know I can't reply to your sweet reviews the way I would want to.^^ I feel very grateful for your kindness and I hope you realize that you, too, are very important to me – and your quiet, mysterious support is one of the most important reasons why I've enabled anonymous reviews. Thanks again!

A/n3: So, I got me some fanart again!^^ And it's absolutely beautiful. Like, whoa. OoO Amazing. You should defintely see it! Look up the name Zombiecookiex with that one site that starts with a T. You know the one. You won't be disappointed.

~~ And Three Makes Five ~~

Chapter 60:

Well, they don't stay children forever.
Ashly Lorenzana
(American sex worker, freelance writer and author)

'Goooooooooooooodnight, Conference Room 5.3! How are you all feeling on this epic, starry evening?'

America excitedly stared into the lens of his camera – was it his phone, was it an actual camera, was it a fucking spaceship to goddamn Mars, I had no idea – and waved at us, his smile uncanny big and curious.

'Wow – my heroic presence has made such an impression on you that it left the entire room speechless, worried and pretty much empty, huh? It's okay, ssssshhh, calm your tits. I got this.'

I blinked. He could see us as well?

Just a minute – did that mean that he was carrying a laptop? He dragged a frigging laptop around?

Oh god.

Wait, he could also be carrying a really high-tech smartphone or something.

…

Whatever.

Anyway, it was like Antonio had said: America had totally dressed himself up like a soldier, but it looked like he hadn't really paid attention to how to actually really camouflage himself, since he had used colors like orange and purple. I wondered if he had done that to prove to us how incredibly stupid he was, or to fuck around with us. Or, more importantly, to fuck around with England.

'What in the bloody world are you wearing!' England yelled out loud as soon as he realized there were diverse colorful smudges on his former lover's face.

To fuck around with England it was. Yep. Definitely the latter.

'What, me?' America innocently said, looking at his clothes like he hadn't noticed them before. 'Oh, I just prepared myself very carefully for this marvelous operation! Can you tell? How do I look, huh?'

'YOU LOOK LIKE A CRIPPLED RAINBOW, YOU PRICK!'

'Totally nailed it,' America said, and to my big relief, I heard some nations in the room snicker at that.

'No,' England started, shaking his head at the webcam, 'this is preposterous. I forbid you to enter that building looking like that! Go home right now and go put on something decent! Like actual army gear!'

America tilted his head, in a teasing way. 'Aww, Iggy-kins, are you worried about me? That's so cute. I'll remember that when I enter this big-ass building and search the hell out of it!'

'Are you even listening to me!'

'Hey hey, check it out – which movie is this?' America put the camera of the device he was carrying uncomfortably close to his face, so that its little lamp thingy put America's mug into a hellish light – and so that we could stare straight into his nose.

'I'm scared… I-I'm so scared…'

'Oh! I know that movie!' Canada said.

'I'm so scared I might accidentally pee-tinkle myself…' America continued.

'I don't know that movie,' Canada said.

'Well anyway,' America not-so-subtly chanced subjects, obviously already bored with doing obscure movie references and making absurd jokes because of the minimal input we Europeans showed (and because he still had this strange tendency to completely ignore Canada), 'look at this dark building behind me – it's the headquarters of the PPSS!'

He turned the camera so that it gave us a full-view of a simple, kind of plain-looking building. It seemed to be pitch-black, but that was because of the darkening evening sky and a big, shiny moon above the building. Like I said, it just looked like a… well, a house, a building, a place where business people with suits and suitcases and a way too high stress-level came together to discuss economical matters, talk about important changes in the company or watch a boring powerpoint about – the hell do I know – a new campaign for a snack.

And inside that completely normal building, the answers to our questions were supposedly hidden.

So very bizarre. The building was right there. You could just waltz right in. But that wouldn't be very clever – and America probably knew that, too. He'd go find a more sneaky way of getting in.

'I'm going to waltz right in,' America said as he corrected the camera again.

…

I'll never understand that bastard.

'What!' England said as America briskly walked to the entrance – oh god, he really was doing it like that, what the actual fuck – and reached out for the door. 'No! Are you mad?! You can't just walk through the front door! You're not visiting a goddamn friend, America, you git – you're breaking into a secret organization's hideout!'

America gave the camera a menacing look, a look that was wholly and solely meant for England's eyes to register. 'Wow, England, see if I care!'

'I care!' England said, patting his chest rapidly.

'Like hell you care,' the Netherlands snorted. 'You only care about yourself and your ideals. Leave him be already and go whine about tea in a corner or something.'

Wrong move – England instantly aimed all of his frustration about America and his own inability to stop said American towards the battered Dutchman.

'You shut up! You bloody fool – you should just keep your damn mouth shut! You let your girlfriend and bratty kid get taken away from you by her paranoid, trigger-happy brother because you were too occupied by feeling sorry for yourself, for goodness sake – you couldn't even convince yourself you'd protect them! You think you have any right to talk about caring?'

The Netherlands made a choking noise and looked away from him.

'E-England…' Hungary stammered – but England wasn't finished yet.

'And you!' he went on, pointing at Russia – who was just staring at his glass of water in such a depressing way it made me feel like the glass was to blame, 'You can't even cheer Belgium up! The most cheerful woman of this entire, God forsaken continent – and you can't make her smile. Bloody hell, I must applaud to you – that is some accomplishment you have made right there. Or should I say haven't made.'

England's lone, dry claps filled the cold room and Russia glared at him – but, like the Netherlands, he kept quiet.

America, who, by the looks of it, had indeed successfully infiltrated into the building and was now making his way through a badly-lid hallway, passing many doors with weird door plate descriptions, shook his head at the camera.

'England – seriously, what the hell are you doing?'

England still wasn't finished and started calling up country names like he was talking about a collection.

'Now, and let's see, what more do I have to say… oh, let's talk about France, who is hiding in Paris somewhere with his daughter and apparently trying hard to get a new identity for both Desiree and himself. Or Greece and Turkey, who are trying to get them and their kid away from their troubles by going on an extended holiday to Australia! Australia, I tell you! And then there's Norway and Denmark, both of them being too sick to do anything at all or so they claim, and Latvia being unable to take proper care of his daughter and suffering from several mental breakdowns – but what's new – and Belarus, Belarus, of all people, being too scared to fucking leave her House, and, ohh, before I forget it, there's also the lovely couple consisting of Germany and Italy.'

I cringed when I heard him mention Feliciano.

'England, cut it out,' Antonio tried to interrupt him.

It was no use. England grinned in a way that told me he was clearing losing his mind, especially when there were also tears visible behind his glassy eyes.

'Yes, that's what true love's about, right? One leaving the other, kidnapping their kid to their homeland and trying to convince a worried relative to stay with him, thus attempting to destroy another relationship in the process. That's what "caring" is about, isn't it?'

How do you even know all of that, who fucking told you, I wanted to snarl – but I was only able reproduce a frustrated gasp.

The rest of the room responded in disbelieve and shock.

'God, England!'

'You're going way too far!'

'Stop it already – we get it, just stop!'

'Is THAT,' England cried out above all of the protests, his hoarse voice breaking, 'what fucking CARING is about, you bunch of soulless creatures – is THAT what caring for somebody IS? Well tell me! Teach me, goddamn it – you know it all so well, just fucking TELL ME!'

But nobody told him, or anybody else for all that matters, anything. Like we did before, we sat and watched him and thought absolutely nothing. There was just too much anxiety, anger and fear floating around.

'Jesus,' America muttered on the background. 'And I thought I was a great paparazzi. Sounds like you've been watching the other nations as well, haven't you? Please tell me you even called it "Operation: Big Brother, 2.0" – come on, humor me.'

England flopped down in a chair and gripped his face.

'You disappoint me.' America's nonchalant façade was crumbling apart as he gritted his teeth. 'Dammit, Arthur. Don't tell me you're just as bad as I am.'

'I'm WORSE than you are!' England bit at the screen of his laptop. 'I've always been worse than you are or have been – always! You should know that by now, you dumb, arrogant wiseass!'

'How did you—'

'They told me, alright – the organization kept me up to date. They told me about the state of the other nations. They've always kept an eye on us.'

'But why,' Austria dared to say, 'did they tell you? What do you have to do with all of this?'

'England created the kids, Austria – of course he plays a huge part in all of this. You still don't get it?' Canada sneered. 'He's with them. We just don't really know how big his part is.'

England licked his lips and swallowed. 'No. I… You don't understand. I was a mere paw – nothing more.'

'For what goal? For what plan – for what… what reason?' Antonio was losing his patience, just like the rest of us, and gripped the table with his free hand. 'God, England, we don't understand – we're scared! Just tell us already! What's going on! And what can we do to... I don't know, I… just give us some advice! Please!'

I snapped my head to the side, wanting to stare at Antonio with mixed feelings of disgust and surprise – I couldn't believe he was actually pleading now – but one determined look of him made it click: if we couldn't convince England to tell us what was going on by being mad at him, then perhaps begging him for it would be more successful?

For a very short-lived moment, I could see – we all could see – that England, just as baffled as I was, started to hesitate. I was the sudden witness of an intense, internal struggle as England watched his former enemy stare at him with such passionate, hopeful eyes that it almost broke both to tears.

Oh god. The rest of us held our breath. We waited, and waited – was he going to do it, was this enough, was he really going to—

'Hey, lookie here – I'm so amazing, I found myself an interesting room!' America all of a sudden announced.

'What is it now,' England immediately snapped out of it, relieved to tear his gaze off Antonio to glare at the screen. Poor Antonio slumped down in his chair in defeat – and the rest of us shot incredibly annoyed looks at the big, wall-sized American.

I really don't know how it was possible for America to see us while the laptop was facing England, but I guess there were more camera's installed in this room, since he blinked confusedly after we had fired these mental daggers at him (and since he was America, spying champ no. 1).

'Huh? What's with the vengeful stares? What did I do?'

'You did nothing, as always,' England handwaved the little intermezzo between himself and Antonio away. 'Just tell us what you're doing. Or, even better, get out of that hellhole.'

America laughed, which was risky to do in a strange building of a creepy organization but not risky enough to stop him from doing it anyway.

'Ha! You're so goofy, England – you should send a resume to Disneyland (the American Disneyland, that is)! Of course I won't get out! Not when I've just found this!'

The device he was carrying was aimed at a small doorplate, next to a very ordinary, white door. It read "Medical Lab. 10".

While we didn't really know what to think of it – in all honesty, I actually found myself thinking 'huh, are there nine more laboratories, or is there even an eleventh lab, where the fuck do they get their money from to get all of that' – England uttered a shocked shriek and shot out of his chair again.

'No! Don't go in there, America – whatever you do, don't go in there!'

'Ohh, now this is interesting: you didn't seem to get this agitated when I passed those other set of suspicious doors. Does that mean that this room, this specific laboratory, is holding some…let's say… secrets…?'

'That doesn't matter – just get away from it, you oaf! They'll see you, they'll discover you – oh bloody hell – there are alarm sensors everywhere in that room!' England rattled, clutching his messed-up hair.

America grinned into the camera and lifted a fist, his thumb standing up proudly. 'No worries, Iggy: I eat alarm sensors for breakfast! They're really crunchy!'

'Is he making jokes?' England's enlarged, haunted eyes sought connection with mine, for some reason, but before I could stammer an answer, he continued his nagging at America. 'Are you making jokes? I can't believe you're still thinking this is all a big game for you – you could get hurt, Alfred! The PPSS isn't an organization you should mock with. There's a reason they never got discovered before! A bone-chilling reason!'

America smiled. 'You called me Alfred.'

England was shushed for a second and flushed embarrassedly. 'No! I-I meant to say—'

'I know what you meant to say, but you didn't. That makes me happy.' America rubbed his pointer finger over his nose and chuckled, also blushing a little. 'Aw shucks, Arthur, you should flirt some more with me now I'm this close to finding out the truth. Who knows, maybe it'll… distract me.'

It probably was America's own weird way of asking England to reconsider the current status of their relationship, or he simply wanted to force the older nation to be nice to him, now that he had the power to do that. It was a desperate an childish move, I realized. But America had pushed it too far. England didn't like mind games like that and his cheeks almost instantly cooled down at that.

He glared at the American haughtily. 'Like bloody HELL I will.'

America – who was hurt, no matter how much he tried to conceal that with his casual smile – shrugged and wordlessly opened the door of Medical Lab. 10. It all happened so suddenly that he didn't even give England a second opportunity to try and stop him.

'Right, let's see…' America murmured, ignoring the raspy sounds an enraged England in the meantime was making. He walked around slowly and filmed the broad tables, neatly arranges tools and equipments and beakers and flasks in all kinds of shapes. There also were broad, solid, yellow boxes below workbenches with black drawings of exclamation marks on them, indicating danger, no doubt, but none of that could prevent America from going further.

To the contrary – in a way, the blond dweeb seemed to fucking enjoy himself!

'By the way,' he whispered excitedly as he sneaked past countertops and an extremely realistic model of a skeleton with red and blue marks on them, 'if you weren't aware of it by now – this building is located in an English-speaking country. I wish I could tell you what country that is, but England made me promise to at least shut my trap about that… so I won't tell you it's located in the best nation on Earth.'

England now made noises that sounded like he was being strangled while being furious at the same time.

'It makes sense,' Finland said, tapping his chin. 'A big and secret organization isn't easy to find in a country that's also very big.'

'I wonder how long they've been successfully hiding there,' Hungary spoke up her mind.

'Oh, for ages – for centuries, really,' America said, now approaching a series of tall storage cabinets. 'What I've found out so far, is that the PPSS has always been around – as long as we exist. You know this, I told you the last time we met. However, the Personification Protection Security Services hadn't always resided in America. It was originally founded in – yes – England, when some people came to know about us personifications and wanted to be of use to us, so they actually aren't really bad, but – oh, wait a minute, let me search through that cabinet…'

While America gleefully threw himself on the cabinet, Canada stared at the wall confusedly. 'But, Alfred, if the people of the PPSS aren't really bad, then why do we feel so… so threatened by them?'

'Because they used to be an organization that just operated in the shadows, who's only goal was to protect and defend the personifications – but then, somewhere along the way, they all of a sudden decided to actually meddle themselves into our private affairs, judging by the role they play in England's great "Honey I Made Us Some Kids" – scheme,' America explained as he opened file box after file box.

Austria nodded. 'Now that's very odd indeed. Why would they do that? What's in it for them? And how do the children fit into this picture?'

'Only one person who could answer to that question,' Hungary not very secretively muttered, giving England's seriously stressed-out figure a small nod of the head.

'I'm NOT answering ANY questions,' England feverishly defended himself, not looking away from America's actions on the screen. 'What does it matter – you bastards have decided I'm the bad guy already anyway. I-I… god, you oblivious blokes don't even know how much pressure I've endured, how much pain I've had, how mentally-crashed I am. You….y-you don't even care what my side of the story is!'

'Of course not,' Russia friendly said. 'You don't plan to say anything anyway.'

England lurked at Russia, obviously boiling with rage, but before he could snap at Russia or, say, chuck the beamer into the blissfully smiling Russian's face, America decided he wouldn't find anything inside the cabinets – something he loudly announced.

'Screw that shit – I'm marching on. Like my economy and country's developments!'

'What?' England said. 'But you haven't even looked through half of those cabinets! What kind of abysmal researcher are you!'

'He's got a point,' the Netherlands admitted.

America let out a casual 'pfffft' as he stepped over some boxes. 'Now why would I continue searching through a bunch of cabinets that's got nothing important inside of them anyway?'

'He's got a point,' the Netherlands admitted, again.

Finland rolled his eyes at him. 'God, decide already.'

The Netherlands shrugged. 'They both have points, is all I'm saying. And please, call me Daan.'

'My point's better,' America huffed. 'Think about it – would I really discover something epic in a cabinet that England wants me to look through? Very carefully, at that? Hell no – that eyebrow-breeding asshole wants me to lose precious time, so that I have to run away by the time the sun has risen again!'

'Seriously, dear, I love to watch you walk around and tattle about, but we have a sickeningly intelligent son waiting for our return,' Hungary pointed out after a worried glance on Austria's pocket watch.

'And we have three of them,' I very unnecessarily added – but the only one who seemed to catch my words was Antonio, who beamed a proud smile at me, in spite of everything, and nodded fiercely.

'Yes – How long are you planning to stay in that warehouse-like building anyway?'

America smooshed the camera in his face again, pouting demonstratively. 'How should I know – I don't even know where to look to find the information! Well, except that it's definitely in here somewhere, since England's acting like an innocent high-school girl that's being approached by huge tentacle monsters in a dark alleyway.'

'That's BULLOCKS!' England wheezed.

'Oh my,' Hungary whispered hotly, folding her fingers together.

'Just hold on, guys – I'm getting warmer, I just know I am, but maybe that's my own fault for wearing thick socks during Summer.'

America waited, but there was no groaning, laughing or face-palming he needed to pause for, since we didn't really feel like it.

'Anyway,' he easily carried on, 'please have a little faith in me, okay? I just know it's in here somewhere… I thought it would be stashed away carefully, but maybe I have to change my thinking methods.'

England looked like America had said he was going to personally tattoo his private parts, but instead of screaming, he managed to calmly sit down on his chair again – although his hands clung to the furniture desperately.

America, who had watched the Brit carefully, smirked, unimpressed.

'You're so easy to read, Arthur, it's pathetic.'

'Shut up,' England stoically said. 'And get out – please, I'm saying this because I care about you, Alfred: just get out of there, before something terrible happens to you.'

'Ah! Calling me by my name again – what a bittersweet sound that is. But you're too late now, Iggy: even if you did try to persuade me with lovey-dovey words, it still wouldn't have any effect anyway, since I'm completely over you.'

A sarcastic smile broke through on England's ash-colored face. 'Oh, really? Just a few minutes ago, you were so hopelessly aching for me that you attempted to blackmail me into telling you sweet nothings. And you're calling me pathetic?'

America was caught off guard and got red – from humiliation or from anger, I'm not sure – and while the rest was waiting for the embarrassing lover's quarrel to escalate, I just happened to notice something behind America.

It was a large, armored, square door, it seemed – a square door with a simple, metal handle, made of a specific, unbreakable concrete, with some sort of combination lock build within it. It really was a huge thing, but it still wasn't an eye-catcher – it probably was built to look like… well, like something that wasn't worth your attention.

Was that…

Was that a vault?

'America!' I instantly found myself shouting out and raising up. 'Behind you! There's a vault – a huge vault!'

Right after, I was lucky to say that a large suitcase that was spontaneously catapulted at me missed my head by a hair's breadth.

I fell down in my seat again, positively terrified when I saw an heavy breathing, compulsively shaking England glaring at me, his morbidly-green eyes seething with hate and despair.

'Shut UP! Shut up shut up shut up, shut the fuck up – you bratty, nosy, worthless spaghetti-eating wanker – SHUT UP!'

I heard the legs of a chair scraping over the hard floor.

'Throw something at Lovino again.' Antonio stood up from his seat and cracked his finger's joins and his neck, glaring at the English nation with an indifferent kind of red-hot hatred, while Finland, who sat next to him, instinctively pushed his chair away from him.

'Go on, then. Do it again. Throw something else at him – but something heavier this time. I'll personally make sure that's going to be the last thing you'll ever do, you lowlife.'

'Antonio!' I hissed, hastily grabbing his sleeve. 'Cut it out – sit down!'

'He threw something at you.' Antonio, looking like a bullied, neglected fighting dog whose patience had finally worn thin, didn't look away from England. 'I'm just asking him to do it again.'

'He missed me – he fucking missed me, I'm fine, I'm okay – just sit down already!' I was now pulling his arm hysterically, since the last time I had seen a similar gaze like Antonio's, it was my own, right before I had destroyed the mirror in the spare bedroom.

Now I was uncontrollably destructive and hateful when my limit was being pushed too far – but Antonio… Antonio was…

God, I had heard stories and I had a horrific idea of what could happen, but I didn't want to see it happen.

'Sit down – please sit down!' I begged him, while the rest of the room watched us, breathless and petrified, as Antonio tried to shake me off him like an annoying fly.

'I could throw another thing at him. Or at you. Or at both of you.' England was standing up as well, his voice sounding deformed and surreal as he lifted the chair next to his own like it was a pillow. 'Maybe I should. You and that cranky Italian wuss have always been a thorn in my flesh, with your so-called happy relationship, without fights or different opinions—'

'What the hell are you talking about!' I yelled – still hanging on to Antonio's arm for dear life. 'We fight as much as every damn couple, you bastard! We have different opinions! We get mad at each other! I nearly fucking attacked him this week – please sit down already – you too, England, get your ass the fuck DOWN!'

'Then why does it still work with you! And with them! And them! And even with the two of them!' England aggressively pointed to Hungary and Austria, to Finland, to Russia and to the Netherlands.

'Your bloody relationships all work out – they all work out so very perfectly, even if you don't match or complement each other whatsoever! How! And why just you! What about us – what about US, for GOD's SAKE?'

England clenched his teeth together. His fatigued body eventually couldn't carry the weight of the chair anymore and said chair clattered on the floor. He himself practically fell down on the table and started to make the most sad, unreal and heart-breaking howls that, as I discovered, had to be the sound of England – crying.

This unexpected turn of events confused Antonio long enough for me to drag him back to his chair and snarl at him that I was going to head-butt him to kingdom come or even fucking further if he had the sheer guts to snap like that again.

'Okay,' Antonio replied, panting as he calmed down again. 'Okay, Lovi – I-I get it.'

'I hope so!' I nagged, harshly grasping one of his hands because I was sure to fucking bawl otherwise.

'I get it,' Antonio repeated, gripping my cold, sweaty hand tightly. He pulled me closer. 'And I'm… I'm sorry.'

While he held me and kept stammering he was sorry, the rest of the room let out a collective sigh, happy that nothing really bad had happened and that they hadn't even needed to get off their lazy asses for that, goddammit.

Opportunistic idiots.

'Well,' America solemnly/boorishly said, as if he had been waiting for us to get our shits together already, 'now that the evil Brit and creepy Spaniard have come back to their senses – who could help me out with this combination here?'

He conveniently ignored the angry glares I shot his way (and England's weeping) and made "ohh ohh look at this magnificent prize" –gestures as his hands ghosted over the vault's door.

'Man, it looks tough as nails! I wish Switzy was here – I'm not sure, but something tells me he could open this door like I open a fresh bag of donuts. Hahahahaha!'

Are you really that heartless – are you really just going to laugh your fake-laugh and pretend you don't see or hear England cry his fucking face off, I wanted to nag at him – but I didn't need to do that, because Finland beat me to it by making a similar, just as disapproving remark.

America's response was cold and aloof. 'Hah, so just because Kirkland's emotionally torturing himself, I should show some empathy and wait or something? No way, Finland. It's just another method of his, just another dirty trick to stall some time. You may think you know him, but I know him better. Not the best – nobody knows England the best – but at least better.'

England raised his snot-covered face from the table and stared at his laptop with quivering eyes. His hands slowly grabbed the sides of the screen and he took a deep, uneven gulp of breath.

'A-America… please… I'm begging you, please go away from that vault. Please. It's bad news. It's got alarms, it—'

'Ohh, alarms, huh? Yeah, you told me this place was loaded with alarm systems and the like, yes. I sure have noticed that.' America blankly stared back into the camera and wiggled a finger in his ear. 'Not.'

'I'm serious – especially regarding that bloody vault!' England, surprisingly enough, got some of his usual energy-sucking spark back and his voice grew stronger. 'It's…! It's a trap! You need to get out of there, as soon as possible, before they find you!'

America groaned. 'You're repetitive commentary is starting to annoy me, England – just shut up if you don't have anything new to say. I'm going to open that stupid vault and that's that.'

He put the laptop/smartphone/whatever down on some platform, pointing its camera to the large vault's door. Then he walked towards the huge mechanism and mumbled 'hmm, hmmmmm,' as he patted and touched the surface of it.

'Hey guys, guess what – that combination lock isn't real, it's just part of the decoration! Nobody tell Switzerland, though – it'll be fun to brag about this later.'

'No – no! Don't do it!' England's breathing intensified. 'America – stop it! Don't touch it – go away! Go away, now!'

The way America hummed and ignored him and the way England's voice was reaching shrill and panicky heights again made my heart beat like mad – thumping rapidly and painfully, like there was little metal frame around it. Also, I started to realize England was actually being serious. The way he shouted at the screen, gripped his head, moved his hands – the guy was having a breakdown, for God's sake!

Hungary turned out to be the first one to carefully get up from her chair, her hands still folded together – but her hands looked pale, because she squeezed them together so hard.

'America, maybe… maybe you should listen to Englan–'

'STOP IT!' England eerily screeched through her words, making her and the other nations cower in something that looked a lot like fear.

Still, Hungary bravely carried on, noticeably doing the best she could to avoid looking at the screaming and flailing Brit as she kept her eyes locked on the white wall.

'Maybe he's right – maybe you should get out of there, dear…'

'No can do.' America started pulling on some handles now.

'NO! Get out! Get OUT ALREADY!' England yelled.

'Can't you at least consider it?' Hungary asked, frowning.

America moaned out loud and turned himself towards the camera again.

'Alright then, alright – England, stop screaming your head off for a sec and listen up. I have a proposal.'

England instantly shut up. He stared at the screen in momentarily silence. He was creeping me the fuck out.

'If you come clean now,' America started, speaking in a tone that could almost pass as friendly, 'if you tell us what's up with the kids, if you tell us what they are, if you tell us what's exactly going on, I'll leave.'

England's eyes widened.

'I'll turn my back on this vault, on this entire room, and I'll head home,' America promised. 'I swear I will. So. What's it going to be, Arthur?'

We all looked at England, but some of us had never looked away from him in the first place. The tension in the room was getting unbearable. Russia made creaking noises with his chair. Austria's hand seemed to be glued to his glasses since he was just fixing them again. Netherland's mouth was open. Canada leaned over the table with bathed breath. Antonio was squeezing my hand to a pulp and I tried not to scream, for all kinds of reasons.

England breathed in and out anxiously, his head jolting around to watch the familiar faces around him. Meanwhile, behind him, America was staring just as hard at him as the rest of us.

'Y-you…' England finally said, or rather croaked, '…you don't understand… I'm not allowed to say anything… they'll find out, they'll call me out…'

America sighed and harshly rubbed his face.

'You make me sad.'

And with that, he turned back to the vault and took a firm hold on the handle.

'Oh god,' I murmured.

'NO!' England panted. 'No, America, you'll open it – you'll open it – stop it, stop it, please stop it!'

'You – hnf! – know what to do, old man… say the magic words!' America said between grunts and huffs. 'That's all you need to do… that's all you… oh?'

The door moved – just a little, but enough to ensure us all that it indeed was possible for America to actually open the vault.

And enough to shred the last bits of dignity that were left in England.

He cried out something nobody could translate to actual words and launched himself against the white, granular wall, clawing it fanatically. Then he yelled something else.

'The kids are mortal! The kids are mortal! The kids… they're mortal… they're mortal you son of a bitch – please stop – please get out – the kids are mortal, damn it all!'

'What?' Finland said.

'What?' Russia said.

'What?' Antonio said.

'What?' America said – and at the same time a ear-deafening alarm started off, he was hit by something in the neck. 'Ow.'

'No,' England gasped.

America made a face and let go of the vault's barely opened door. He reached for his neck and pulled out a small, transparent dart out of it.

'What the… what's this? What's that noise?'

'No,' England gasped again. The white wall in front of him was now covered with thin, red marks.

America stared into the lens of the camera, then he tried to walk towards it – but his legs weren't working the way they were supposed to work. His walk was wobbly, unsteady and unsure, as if he was drunk.

'Oh fuck,' he muttered as he fell down and got out of the sight of the camera. We only heard a smack to the floor and some soft whining.

'Alfred!' Canada cried out. 'Alfred – what's going on! Get up! Please get up – you're not going to let some stupid dart get the best of you, are you?'

America uttered some strangled moans. It was amazing we could still hear him, since the monotonous alarm was loud and unforgiving. We watched as the view of the camera was starting to tilt and tumble – was he trying to pull himself up or was he trying to get the device with the camera down?

Whatever America was trying to do, it didn't help. He appeared to be too weak to either get himself up or drag the camera down, and in the end, all we could hear was his astonished stammering – as if he couldn't believe this wasn't going to end like some of his nation's movies.

'Alfred…' England, now nothing more than a bundle of flesh and clothes whining, let his head dangle and sobbed uncontrollably. 'I warned you… goddammit, I warned you…'

America laughed – or was he crying? 'Sorry, Ar…thur…'

'What's that sound?' Russia asked all of a sudden.

In the background, we could hear heavy footsteps echoing through the halls of the building America had broken into. But not just heavy footsteps. Heavy, running footsteps.

Then the door of the lab was kicked open. Unknown voices filled the already extremely crowded air.

'We've got an intruder! Secure all the exits and warn the company's Elite!'

'They know, sir. It's a personification.'

'Ah. Looks like they were right, then. What was it doing here? Snooping around for clues? What a gullible idiot.'

'Well—'

'Doesn't matter. Drag it out of here, you know what to do with it.'

'Yes sir!'

'Sir?'

My heart stood still when another person, clad in black from top to toe, came into the view of the camera. Some of us produced a breathless gasp when a camouflaged face with two dark eyes got closer to the device's camera.

'There's a laptop here, and – crap, there's a whole room watching!'

'Stand aside!'

Another hidden face, another pair of dark eyes.

'Oh, it's just personifications, nothing to worry about. They'll take care of them. Now, turn the damn thing off and—'

The connection with America's laptop was abruptly cut off. They didn't even finish their sentence first. All that was left was a white beam of light, focusing its square form on a part of the wall that used to be white.

My stomach turned upside down.