Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia!
A/N: Hey, everyone!
Well, here it is, the second chapter. I was dreading re-editing this chapter just because it was boring. You know, it took me forever to convince Castor to play this chapter, and then I was disappointed by it. I wanted more kidnapping scenes. This was the exact reason Castor became the plot-liner: because I move too quickly. This story wouldn't have been a story if I'd had control of it.
Enjoy! Please review!
Who are you?
The Nebo Vysokoye Aeroporta was busy with last minute stragglers and bustling businessmen. If there was ever a time the attendants were stressed out, it was now. Still, that did not deter Anya Volkov from doing her duty, and staying positive.
"Spasibo, (Thank you,) for flying with Nebo Vysokoye Aeroporta, Mister . . ." Anya said with a pleasant smile as he handed the man before her the airplane passes. Norway accepted them without batting an eye.
"Bondevik," Norway said smoothly. "Takk. (Thank you.)" He slipped the airplane passes into the breast pocket of his winter jacket. "And I have some precious cargo I need to transport to Denmark on the flight."
"Konechno, (Of course,)" Anya said, holding her smile under Norway's cold gaze. "Dima, will you show Mister Bondevik where to load his cargo onto the plane?" Anya asked a young man with a crooked nose.
"Da," the man said with a nod. "This way, Mister Bondevik, ser."
"Please come back anytime, Mister Bondevik," Anya said. Her smile vanished when Norway walked away with Dima and she shivered. Something about the emotionless man freaked her out and she never wanted to meet him again.
"What are you loading, may I ask?" Dima asked Norway as they arrived at the loading tunnel. They paused outside the entrance.
"It's rather private," Norway said as he pressed a one thousand rubles banknote into Dima's hand. Dima swallowed hard and licked his lips, sorely tempted, before he closed his fist around the banknote and nodded.
"Da, enjoy your flight," Dima said before turning and hurrying away from Norway.
Norway only had to wait a few minutes for Denmark and Sweden to appear carrying a rather large crate between them.
"Lukas Bondevik?" Denmark sniggered as he carefully backed up into the cargo holder of the plane. Sweden took care to step onto the plane without shaking the crate too much. It wouldn't do for their cargo to wake up in the middle of their flight. Awkward questions would be asked.
"Shut up, Dan," Norway said in a bored tone. "We don't need them knowing about us. And be careful with that."
"Ja, ja, I know," Denmark said, rolling his eyes. He and Sweden slowly lowered the crate the floor. Strong ratchet straps were pulled over the crate to keep it from tipping over or sliding around. Denmark's bones popped as he straightened up.
"Do ya really think this will work?" Denmark asked as he and Sweden exited the cargo hold. "I mean, won't he wake up?"
"I gave America another dose of sedatives before we loaded him up," Norway explained coolly. "You might not be able to remember the finer details, but I assure you I can easily remember them."
"Whatever ya say, Norge," Denmark said.
The three Vikings made their way to the plane's cabin. Denmark shut the door behind them and latched it shut before taking his seat beside Sweden. The taller nation was staring out the window, already bored with the two, nearly three, hour flight. Norway situated himself in the seat opposite Denmark and Sweden. There was a loud clang as the cargo hold door was secured.
"We're ready ta go whenever ya are," Denmark called to the cockpit.
"Yes, sir," the pilot said, tipping his hat to the Viking before turning back to the consoles. The co-pilot shifted restlessly in his seat.
Denmark settled back into his seat, his stomach doing flips. He still couldn't believe they had managed to rescue their youngest son. Albeit, America might not consider it rescuing at first, but he would understand soon enough.
"One nation down," Norway mused quietly, almost to himself. "The rest of the world to go."
.o.)O(.o.
The surveillance room would have been as black as the night had it not been for the wall of televisions. They were old devices, nearly thirty years now, which occasionally sputtered, dancing with white ants. The only way to fix the problem was to hit the television. Russia had to be reminded every time that no, a water pipe did not count as hitting the television. It only aided in buying new televisions.
Russia stood in the glow of the television, his violet eyes scanning each screen carefully. There was no one else in the room save for a single human. She was Russia's personal assistant, mainly due to the fact she never questioned his orders.
"Again," Russia demanded, not looking at his most trusted agent. Agent Orlov, a young woman in her early thirties with silver hair and lavender eyes, tapped a few keys on her computer and turned back to the television screens.
"Where are you, Little America?" Russia asked as he leaned forward to study the screen. His eyes flicked to a screen portraying the Russian hotel's lobby. "I see Norway, Denmark, and Sweden leave with a crate," Russia muttered to himself. "But not Little America." Agent Orlov sat patiently in her chair. She knew if Russia had any questions he would ask her.
Russia had been keeping careful tabs on all the nations visiting his country for the world meeting. It wasn't because he thought they might have brought bombs or other dangerous weapons into the meeting, but because he was paranoid. Thanks to one of his leaders, Stalin, Russia had become very paranoid to make sure every nation was safe and left his country when they intended to. Many of the agents of the Russian government were thankful Russia was not paranoid like Stalin had been: thinking everyone was out to kill him. That would have made matters difficult.
"Ser, is there anything you need?" Agent Orlov asked from her seat before the computer monitor. Her stomach twisted when Russia turned to look at her. The nation's expression was a conflicted mask of anger, fear, and worry. It was both terrifying and heart-breaking at the same time.
"Da," Russia said finally. "I want you to search for Little America after he left the Scandinavians' room. Did any security guards check the crate they left with?"
"Net, ser, they did not," Agent Orlov answered almost instantly. "We asked all of them." She saw Russia's eye twitch in annoyance, a dangerous sign.
"And why not?" the nation asked in a cold voice. His childish smile caused the toughest agent on his taskforce to shrink back in her chair.
"They did not think they needed to, ser," Agent Orlov managed to say, her voice cracking with fear. "Nations come and go with strange objects all the time. Like the time Mister America brought an object from his alien friend to the meeting."
The memory brought a warm smile to Russia's lips. America had once brought what looked like a replication of Saturn to a world meeting. It had turned out to be a portal to an alien world. The portal had opened and released an entire alien army onto Earth ready for invasion. It had taken seven weeks to get rid of the aliens.
"Silly Little America," Russia thought to himself, shaking his head. His face hardened and he tapped the water pipe in his hand thoughtfully. Agent Orlov's eyes followed the water pipe's path warily. She had seen the damage it could do when a terrorist had thought it a good idea to try and assassinate Russia's boss.
"Da," Russia finally said, shocking Agent Orlov out of her trance. "We do bring strange objects. But if Little America was to disappear while in my country then they would all bal-," he stopped talking as a new figure appeared on one of the television screens. "Who is that?" He pointed to the screen in question. It showed an image of the street just outside the hotel. "That little girl."
Agent Orlov leaned over cautiously to look at the girl on the screen. She looked rather familiar to the human agent.
"I do not know, ser," Agent Orlov finally said. "She does not look like one of the nations."
"Net, she looks a bit like Little America, don't you think?" Russia asked with a cock of his head. "Look into theat. But first, call my old friend. I want to know if he has seen anything strange from the satellites."
"Da, ser," the human said. "I will do that right away." Agent Orlov turned back to her computer monitor with a determined air about herself. She would not be intimidated by Russia's terrifying aura nor his menacing demeanor.
"Mister Russia," a new voice said, and Russia turned to the man standing in the doorway of the surveillance room. "Forgive me for interrupting."
"Da, what is it?" Russia asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously, and the agent gulped. His eyes flicked from the water pipe in Russia's hand back to his face and he straightened up.
"I believe you have a game with Mister Canada soon," the agent said, pointedly tapping his watch.
Russia fiddled with his scarf; his eyes flicked to the television screen before he answered. "Da," he finally said. "You will remain with Agent Orlov and help. Ask my friend if he has seen any strange activity with Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. And I want to know what was in the crate."
"Da, ser." The male agent stepped aside to allow Russia to pass then moved quickly to Agent Orlov's side and began working at once.
Russia tucked his water pipe into his jacket as he strode quickly down the hall. Agents scampered aside and out of his way when his long, purposeful strides carried him past them. No human in their right mind would get in Russia's way when he was in a foul mood.
"Where are you, Little America?" Russia asked himself. "I hope you are alright."
.o.)O(.o.
America was groggy, barely aware of what was going on around him. He could himself curled uncomfortably into a ball and walls pressing all around him. His glasses and jacket had been removed and were nowhere to be seen, or felt.
The surrounding darkness was broken by a single crack of light that grew in size until America blinked up into the blinding light. He could just barely make out spiked hair and flashing eyes.
"What?" America croaked through a thick tongue. His body refused to work as he tried to maneuver himself out of the crate.
"He's awake, Norge," the man above him said. Another figure joined him, smaller with a curl off the side of his head.
"This should keep him asleep until we reach the house," the new figure said. Soft hands reached into the crate and gently pushed America back down. His right arm was taken in soft hands and a needle pierced his skin.
America couldn't stop himself as his head hit the floor and his eyes fluttered shut. He was barely aware of the hand stroking his hair or the lid being shut. He fell back into a fitful sleep.
.)O(.
The next time America came to, he found himself in a much more comfortable position. He had been laid out on something soft, perhaps a mattress, and some kind of blanket had been pulled over him. The comfortable bed did not help the fact that his head pounded and his muscles ached.
"Dad," America croaked through a dry throat. His tongue was still heavy but he found he could speak easier than before. "Papa."
"What's going on?" a stony voice asked. America groggily turned his head to find Sweden standing in the doorway of the room. The new light revealed a bedroom furnished with two identical beds and matching nightstands next to them.
"Wh-What did you do to me?" America asked as he tried to shift on the bed. He found he could make his limbs move, but just barely. They were still weak, feeling like jelly, from the sedative.
"N'rge g've you s'mething to r'lax you," Sweden said. America tensed when the taller nation moved to his side and gently eased America into a sitting position. The younger nation could just barely hold himself up thanks to the sedatives still moving through his system.
"You drugged me," America said, his eyes widening in realization. "You kidnapped me?" He frowned in confusion, wondering what the Scandinavians could have possibly wanted with him. None of this made any sense.
"It was for your own good, Am'rica," Sweden told America gently. The other nation only puffed out his cheeks like a child who had been told 'no'.
"My own good?" America repeated. His tongue was losing the thick feeling the more he talked. "How is kidnapping me 'for my own good'?" he demanded.
Sweden didn't answer as he left the room. America barely had a moment to wonder where the other nation was going when Sweden returned with a wooden chair in one hand and a bowl of steaming food in the other. America's stomach grumbled and the nation secretly wondered when the last he'd eaten was. His hunger didn't stop him from eyeing the food distrustfully. Who was to say his kidnappers wouldn't drug his food.
"What are you even doing?" America asked. "Why did you kidnap me?" Sweden ignored the questions as he sat down beside the bed.
"It's breakf'st time," the Nordic nation said. "I thought you would l'ke s'me food." He stirred the bowl of what looked like porridge sprinkled with brown sugar.
"When it's not poisoned," America said hotly. "Why did you kidnap me?" Again, Sweden ignored the question. America wanted to punch him.
"The food isn't pois'ned," Sweden said, holding out a spoonful of porridge for America. "Eat."
"Why did you kidnap me?" America asked firmly, determined to get an answer. He saw Sweden's eye twitch in aggravation and he swelled with pride. "I'm going to keep asking you until you answer me."
Sweden sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I t'll you, w'll you eat your breakf'st?" he asked. America looked at the bowl for a moment before nodding slowly. "You w're our son f'rst," Sweden explained carefully. "Engl'nd got l'cky and m'de claims for you b'fore we could. We j'st w'nt wh't is r'ghtfully ours."
America gaped at Sweden. "What are you smoking?" he asked in shock. Sweden graciously ignored the jibe and offered the spoonful of porridge out to America once more.
"You said you would eat," Sweden reminded the young nation. "Now eat your breakf'st."
"No!" America shouted. "You're crazy!" He tried to struggle but his body was still too weak from the drugs.
"He is not lying, America," Norway said from the doorway, having come to investigate the noise. He watched America with cool, calculating eyes. "L'Anse aux Meadows was one of our earlier settlements. Granted, we only made it into Canada, but we would have had all of you if our plan had succeeded."
America could do nothing more than mouth wordlessly at the two nations before him. He reminded Norway of a fish gasping for air.
"You're crazy," America finally managed to say. "Crazier than South in Texas in the middle of the night!"
"Who?" Sweden and Norway asked together, and America felt his stomach drop.
"What are you talking about, America?" Norway asked, wondering for a moment if the drugs had possibly addled America's brains.
"Nothing!" America said quickly. He licked his lips nervously and drummed his fingers on the bed.
"Who is South?" Norway pressed. "And what do you mean by that?"
"N-No one," America stuttered as he tried to think of an excuse. "She's no one." His stomach twisted at his own words. He was only digging himself a deeper grave.
"She?" Norway repeated with a quirked eyebrow. Now he was getting curious about all these 'Souths' and 'shes'.
"There is no she because there is no south," America said desperately, trying to grasp at something that would save him from this mess.
"Calm down, America," Norway said in a soothing tone. Moving forward, he placed a gentle hand on America's shoulder. The younger nation flinched at the touch. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," America said quickly. "What are you talking about?" He tried to flash Norway a smile but all he could manage was a slightly insane grin.
"I think the drugs have affected his mind," Norway told Sweden with a shake of his head.
"I'm not crazy," America said defiantly. "You're the ones who think you're Vikings and that I'm your kid." Norway's words echoed through his mind and his eyes widened. "Hang on. You said Canada was your settlement. You're going to go after him, aren't you?"
"He's our son, America," Norway said. "Just like you."
"No, I won't let you!" America struggled on the bed and only managed to tip sideways. Sweden was quick to catch the smaller nation before he could hit the floor and returned America to his bed. Norway watched the pair with a rather bored expression.
"Leave. Canada. Alone,' America gasped as he was situated back onto the bed.
Norway sighed and opened the nightstand, grabbed a vial and a syringe from the drawer. He should have known America would cause so much trouble. Filling the syringe and making sure to release any air from it, he pricked the struggling America in the neck. America stiffened and, finding no other means of unleashing his frustration, screamed until his lungs were empty, flopping back on the bed when he was done.
"Leave . . . Canada . . . alone," America panted, trying to catch his breath. He could feel the drugs pumping through his system, exhaustion rolling over him in waves once more. "South . . . help."
Norway tossed the syringe into the wastebasket beside the nightstand and turned to leave the bedroom.
"I'm going to get an IV to feed America," he told Sweden. "He at least needs nutrients." Sweden nodded and waited until his brother had left to turn back to America.
"It's okay, America," Sweden said soothing. "P'ppa's h're." America whimpered, his head falling to the side as he lost control of his muscles.
"Canada," the young nation whispered helplessly. "South."
Am'rica," Sweden said cautiously, an idea coming to him. "Who is South?" America's eyes flicked to him and he shook his head.
"South is south," he told Sweden with a faint smile, as if remembering something happy.
Sweden sighed. "Go to sleep, Am'rica." Standing, he pushed the chair to the wall and left the room, shutting the door behind himself.
"South, help," America thought as his eyes slipped closed and he fell into a drugged sleep once more.
.o.)O(.o.
Canada wandered up the path with Kumajirou in his arms to America's house. His brother had fifty-one houses, and guessing where he would be was nearly impossible. Thankfully, the military kept tabs on their nation's personification and had told Canada his brother would probably be in West Virginia.
America's house was built like an old plantation home: tall with two stories and a veranda running nearly all the way around the house. The house had been painted a cool cream color and decorated with blue shutters.
A sudden sight caused Canada to frown in confusion. There was a young woman in America's yard, possibly in her late teens. She was picking up everyday objects, inspecting them, and then tossing them far away from their original positions. She was singing the entire time she did this.
"I wish I was in the land of cotton,
Old times they are not forgotten;
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
In Dixie Land where I was born,
Earn on one frost mornin',
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land."
The suddenly spun in a circle with her arms spread, giggling slightly. Kumajirou cocked his head as he watched the girl with curiosity. Canada shook his head to break himself from the daze and set Kumajirou on the ground. The polar bear waddled quickly after his owner before Canada could shut the garden gate behind himself.
"Who are you?" Kumajirou piped up before Canada could speak. The girl suddenly stopped spinning to look at the pair.
"Um, I don't know," she said in a southern drawl. "Who do y'all think you are anyway?"
"I'm Canada," Canada told the girl nervously. "And this is Kumatachi, but I just call him Kuma. Who are you?" At the question, the girl suddenly became nervous, shifting from foot to foot and fiddling with her hair.
"Um, details not important," she said in her sweet southern accent.
"Are you a friend of America's?" Canada pressed. He knew is brother enjoyed befriending the local humans in the neighborhood, but this girl looked out of place. She wore jean shorts, calf-high leather boots, and a plaid shirt with the ends tied above her navel.
"Who?" the girl asked with a confused expression.
"Um, Alfred F. Jones," Canada tried, wondering if the girl didn't know what his brother actually was. The girl was chewing her lip, visibly panicking now.
"Um, I don't know any Alfred F. Jones," she said.
Kumajirou sniffed the air. "You smell like him," the polar bear commented, but Canada ignored him.
"Um, have you seen this man around?" Canada asked, digging his wallet out of his pocket and opening it to show the girl a picture. "Alfred is the man on the left." The picture had been taken at America's last birthday party with England captured in Canada and America's hug. The girl inspected the picture carefully before brightening.
"Oh!" she said excitedly. "You mean North. Yeah, I saw him. How do you know him?" The word 'North' caused Canada to frown. He had never heard America called 'North' before.
"I'm his younger brother," Canada told the girl, choosing to continue with his investigation. "Matthew."
"You're his brother?" the girl repeated with a cock of her head before she suddenly stamped her foot. "You ain't his brother!" she practically shouted, and Canada jumped in surprise.
"What do you mean?" Canada demanded. "Of course I'm his brother. We're practically twins."
"No!" the girl was screeching now. "You ain't his brother! You ain't! You ain't! You AIN'T!"
A black head suddenly popped out from a couple of bushes and beady eyes blinked blearily, as if just having woken up from a nap. A small black bear waddled out of the bushes and the girl froze when she spotted it.
"Oh." The mysterious girl calmed down almost instantly. "Who are you?" she asked the black bear.
"Smokey," the bear said with an expression that said it got asked the question a lot.
Kumajirou approached the talking black bear called Smokey and sniffed him experimentally. He sat back on his haunches and looked the black bear over.
"You smell like America," Kumajirou told Smokey who shot him a rather cold glare.
"You smell like stupid," Smokey countered and Kumajirou growled, dropping into a threatening stance. Well, as threatening a polar bear cub could be.
"Stupid is as stupid does, dummy," Kumajirou retorted.
"Kuma!" Canada shouted, shocked at his pet's behavior.
Smoked snarled angrily at Kumajirou. "I'll tear you apart!" he growled, imitating Kumajirou's stance.
"Get him, Smokey!" the girl cheered her little bear on. "Get that yaller dog!"
"Not if I do it first," Kumajirou snarled.
"No, Kuma!" Canada ordered before turning back to the girl. "Don't encourage them," he snapped at her. The girl completely ignored him and watched the bears with a childish excitement.
"Get him! Get him!" She was jumping up and down enthusiastically.
Kumajirou charged forward and seized Smokey's back leg in his strong jaws. The black bear yelped in both surprise and pain.
"Kuma!" Canada grabbed Kumajirou around the middle but had to jerk his hands back when Smokey clamped his teeth in a vice-like grip on Kumajirou's back. The polar bear whined in pain but refused to release the black bear. Both bears stumbled in a strange dance, refusing to let go or admit defeat.
Canada rounded on the girl. "Who the maple are you," he demanded. "And why do you have such a violent bear?" The girl ignored him once more as she began to realize the bears' situations.
"Smokey!" the girl shouted, lunging forward to yank at the bear. She was crying hysterically. "Let him go, you no 'count varmint!" Kumajirou just snarled and snapped at the girl, releasing Smokey's leg from his strong grip.
"Kuma!" Canada managed to grab the polar bear when Smokey released Kumajirou from his jaws. "Answer my question," he snapped at the girl. "Who are you?"
"Smokey, please don't die," the girl sobbed into the bear's fur, ignoring Canada for the third time now. "Don't leave me!"
"Where's Alfred?" Canada demanded. Kumajirou was trying to lick his bleeding injuries and was failing miserably.
"Not here," the polar bear said, giving up on his attempts. "He never left."
"North never left?" the girl asked, her attention being drawn to what the polar bear had said. "Where's my big brother?" she asked in a quiet voice that made Canada freeze.
"Your big brother?" he repeated slowly. "Wait a minute. Kuma, what do you mean he never left?" His polar bear gave him a look that labeled him as stupid.
"He went for hot chocolate but didn't go to your hockey game against Russia," Kumajirou said slowly. "Congratulations on winning, by the way."
"That's not important right now," Canada said in exasperation. Kumajirou just yawned at him. "You're impossible."
"He never left the hotel," Kumajirou commented, ignoring his owner's remark. "You and Russia were the last people to leave that place."
Smokey looked up from his position in the girl's arms. "Well," he said. "What are you going to do, bastard?"
"Shut up, you poor excuse for a bear," Kumajirou snarled right back.
"Kuma," Canada groaned. The last thing he needed was another fight on his hands.
"I am so going to put a trap on your nose," Smokey growled, wriggling around in the girl's arms.
"Stop it, Smokey," the girl said in what she must have thought was a stern voice. "You'll only get hurt."
"Yeah?" Kumajirou demanded. "Well I'm going to drop you down an oil well!" He was struggling just as hard as Smokey in Canada's arms.
"Kuma, knock it off," Canada ordered. "Or I'll let Netherlands babysit you again." This caused Kumajirou to freeze in his struggling.
"That stupid smoking guy didn't feed me all weekend," the polar bear commented.
"Exactly!" Canada snapped before turning back to the girl. "So . . . Alfred is missing?"
"Darn tootin' North is missin'," the girl said. "What do I do?" she asked Canada.
"I'm going to talk to Ivan," Canada told her. "If he took Alfred, he'll be sorry. Why don't you stay here while I go talk to Ivan?" The girl nodded solemnly and Canada left the yard quickly, shutting the gate behind himself.
"Oh, Matthew," the girl said. "Canada . . ." Canada froze at his proper name.
"Yeah?" he asked slowly, turning around.
"You can call me South," the girl said in her soothing southern drawl. Canada blinked but smiled softly and nodded.
"Alright, South," he said. "I'll see you later." He turned back around and continued his way back to the rental car, only hindered by Kumajirou trying to twist around in his arms.
"Oil well in Canada!" Kumajirou shouted at Smokey.
"Bear trap on your noggin to kill what's left!" the black bear retorted.
"I'll set a moose trap on you!"
"KUMA!"
Details not important.
A/N: What did you think?
This actually turned out to be an interesting chapter to edit. I love the way it turned it. The way it was before, all over the place, annoyed me. And I hated America's obnoxious attitude. I wish he wasn't so annoying in the beginning. :P Well, I best get off to work. See you in the next chapter!