He could feel the fever stealing over his skin, hot and clammy and sending waves of heat and cold over his body in unwelcome intervals. It was totally unawesome, and something he hadn't really experienced since he was a true Nation. In the strange state of existence he'd adopted to survive, there had been many things Prussia hadn't missed. Suffering fevers and illness when his country suffered was one of those things he was happy he didn't have to deal with anymore. True, he hated watching his little brother deal with it all… but who in their right mind enjoyed being sick?

It didn't matter that some people liked to say he was crazy, Prussia knew better. They confused his overwhelming awesome with madness, poor deluded fools.

Right now though… right now he felt like maybe he was the delusional one. He could barely breathe, and if he wasn't careful he knew his swimming cloudy vision could probably turn to hallucinations easily enough. Perhaps some lesser Nations or humans would fall for it, but not him! He'd stayed strong this long… he'd tough it out as long as he had to. He was fucking Prussia after all! Unbreakable, those assholes had no idea!

They had been taking more and more blood transfusions from him, however, and Prussia knew that had to be why he was so damn weak right now. He seriously felt like nothing more than a husk, sandpaper stretched over brittle bones topped with strings for hair. Every beat of his heart felt like it shook and rattled his ribs and chest, painful yet so very necessary. He wouldn't moan though, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't whimper or beg or anything disgraceful as that. He was beyond and better than that, and he was probably blowing all sorts of fucking world records and shit. If… there were world records for… whatever was being done to him.

"Damn it… pull it together…" He grit his teeth together, his gums feeling sore and almost itchy. Still, it provided enough distraction for the ex-Nation to focus with. His lungs scraped in grabs of air as he scowled up at the white sterile world that'd plagued his senses for over a year. Focusing his bleary mind as well as he could, Prussia tried to focus on what he'd felt the other day (week, month? Shit, he didn't know the passage of time anymore!). It'd been faint, maybe because of distance or maybe because Prussia was slightly off his game (not weak! Just… ya know… not quite as awesome as usual), but he'd swear he'd felt another Nation nearby recently.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to pinpoint which one it'd been exactly… but he was sure he'd felt someone else. He would have shouted to them, if he'd thought his voice would carry. But still, as fucking awesome as he was, if he could sense them in the state he was in… then it stood to reason that they had to have noticed him easily! Unless they were someone stupid and dense and unobservant like America or something.

The thought rolled around in Prussia's head for a moment, before he let out a sigh. "Well hell… that might explain why they didn't come in here to get us…" Prussia might not be the most popular (ex)Nation around… but surely no one wanted him to just disappear, right? No one would know he was missing and then just not come to investigate if they felt his presence, right? Surely it had to be a case of someone being too dense to realize it was Prussia in here, right?

Right?

Hell Italy was in here too! Even if Prussia was awesomely happy to be alone, people should have been flocking to help North Italy out!

Straining against the fixtures that bound him, the albino tried to get a look at his roommate. They'd been drawing so much blood from Prussia lately that the silvered haired man was hoping that maybe… just maybe… Veneziano might wake up some time. 'Of course… do I actually want him to?' The company would be nice… but the location sucked. This whole situation sucked. Feeling fatigued and dizzy from the simple effort of looking up and raising his head, Prussia leaned back again.

The pressure behind his eyes seemed to burn so he closed them, inwardly fighting away doubts he was too awesome to be having.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"You know… it's really not the same…" France let out a sigh, swirling the contents of his wine glass absently as he leaned gracefully against the bar. At his side, Spain barely seemed to respond to his words, staring forlornly into his own glass of alcohol. The two weren't the only patrons in the bar, yet the establishment was far from crowded, affording them an easy sort of privacy. The bartender kept to the other end, an eye on the 'men' in case they needed refills, but staying out of the conversation.

When Spain didn't deign to respond, France shook his head lightly, a mirthless chuckle passing his lips. Blue eyes dimmed and gazed into a distant nothing, brows pinching in some unspoken pain. It was a minor blessing that no other Nations had disappeared since America… and yet… France felt as if he could see the world starting to unravel. The first thread had come loose when Prussia had disappeared… it'd been worked looser with North Italy's loss… and then as ever, America had to go and give it a mighty yank by vanishing.

Hanging his head for a moment, France tried to ignore the ache that seemed to persist in his chest of late. Losing Prussia had been a terrible blow. Though their friendship through the centuries was certainly… odd… and… not always something he'd brag over… it had persisted. Just like his not always desirable friendship with Spain… they were a trio. They'd remained friends despite the fates and follies that had befallen their countries… and it'd made their weird brotherhood unbreakable. Or so he'd thought. Yet somehow Prussia had finally been lost to them. Something worse than becoming an ex-Nation had befallen him… if such a thing could exist… and he was left now in a duo.

It might not have hit him as it had Italy Romano… and by association Spain, but France had lost a precious little brother as well in the disappearance of Italy Veneziano. The bright artistic bundle of energy had always captured part of France's heart, and his more lecherous desires aside, he'd always tried to watch out for the Nation. Even when on opposite sides of a war… France had understood it was politics. North Italy was precious to him in a way different than he was to Germany, but it was yet another piece of France gouged out when he'd vanished as well.

America disappearing… truly, was some cosmic force mocking him? He was loathe to admit much affection for that Nation, considering the way he'd been repaid for his help in his Revolution over the years! Granted, he didn't expect the young Nation to pay him particular favors, but it was irksome that America seemed to be so attached at the hip to England after everything was said and done. It was an exasperated fondness, like staring at a younger brother that annoyed you to no end yet you found you loved anyway. How in the world had that idiot disappeared? With the racket he made doing virtually anything, you would have thought his vanishing would have been the most publicized and a media stunt.

Yet it wasn't, and like some sort of horrendous chain reaction… France was now forced to deal with an England who was falling into a frustrated pit of despair. The efforts to locate America were going just as Italy had predicted at the meeting: they were a failure thus far. The clock was ticking and not a clue had shown up. England was distraught, Canada as well, though France was extremely proud to see the Canadian stepping up and offering as much assistance as he could to the President of the United States during this crisis. Canada was holding up strong, and France couldn't help but think America would be proud (if he didn't get too caught up in complaining about Canada 'messing up his country' while he was away).

But England…

France sighed, and cast a pensive glance to Spain. Well, now was as good a time as any to bring it up. "I've been thinking… you know…"

Spain turned his tired gaze to France, showing he was listening even if the sunshine robbed Nation didn't speak. France offered him a smile and rushed through the words.

"I was thinking I'd invite him to drink with us…"

Spain stared at France for longer than was necessary, arching his brows and donning a smile that was neither happy nor oblivious. "Inviting? Who?"

"… England."

Spain slapped a hand down on the bar, shooting him a dark look. "France! I come here to try to forget about my worries for a bit! Why would I want to sit around with him? Even if he wasn't such a horrible drunk I wouldn't want to… I don't have the energy to be so nice to him… not anymore…"

France cringed inwardly, having expected such a reaction. He knew it was unfair to Spain to even suggest this… yet… France needed to do something to drag England away from a search the Frenchman had secretly deemed pointless. Drinking was not, of course, a productive alternative, nor was it a vice England should be encouraged to… but to France even shameful drunken binges were better than isolating yourself on a dead end mission. England wasn't about to collapse, his country standing strong and the Nation remaining attentive to his own duties. All the same, France knew he needed to break England's fixation on his search. Telling him to give up would be futile, but England needed to rest before he burned himself out. Or... before he became a target of whatever disaster was plaguing them all. Call if selfish, but France simply could not handle the loss of someone else close to him, not even his less English rival.

"Please Spain… he will destroy himself like this. You… you should understand. You have seen how Italy is now… the loss of Veneziano would have broken him surely if you'd not been there? It is unlikely England will suffer my company for any reason but to drink… as my friend, can you not allow me this? At least once or twice? He is hurting… he has lost his little brother."

"Again," Spain stated, more weary than bitter or angry. France's smile didn't hit his eyes.

"Yes, again."

The Spaniard raked his hands over his hair, shaking his head and letting out a sigh. He tossed a lopsided grin France's way, nodding his head in a resigned manner. "Fine fine, I'm ok with it. Right now we should all be helping each other anyway… though if Romano gets angry about it then it's off! He's… still sort upset with him."

"Thank you, Spain," France offered sincerely, and the brunette Nation just waved it off.

"Maybe if England gets away from the search for a bit it'll do some good, and if that good leads us to the missing Nations… well… then it'll be worth it."

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"Awesome! You did it!" Alfred lifted the tiny child Nation high in the air, beaming at him and showering him with a dazzling smile of praise. High up in his arms, laughing and smiling with dimpled cheeks, the auburn haired little one held his triumph high in chubby little fingers. America lowered him and moved to look at the little one's accomplishment, namely the perfect rendition of the alphabet he'd taught him, all written out in upper and lowercase with crayon. Though they'd been dabbling with simple words as well already, the fact that the kid had mastered the alphabet was a cause for celebration!

"Are you happy?" The little one asked, needlessly if you looked at America's proud smile, but hungry to please as most children were. America ruffled the child's hair, nodding vigorously and enjoying the sound of English coming off the tyke's lips. He'd been told to take care of the kid and… not having a clue what the scientists were looking for him to do specifically, America had decided to take care of the kid as he saw fit. Passing on his language, teaching him to write and read… it was thrilling. Sure, America had sat with the children of his citizens before, taught normal human kids these same lessons…

… but it couldn't compare to this. There was something powerful in this exchange, in offering up vital parts of his culture to this child and watching them being accepted and absorbed. It was as if with each thing the child learned from him, a tiny thread was being tightened around his heart. The bond between them strengthened with each letter, word, and simple sentence constructed.

The only thing still missing from the bond growing between the two of them… was the little one's name. Even giving him words and sounds and syllables and tones, the child hadn't been able to accurately convey his name. He'd tried, and America had really tried to figure it out… yet in the end… somehow… it always came back to one thing. The child would point to the circle drawn on his shirt, would point to it as if that was the answer to his name. America had asked (stupidly but hey! No such thing as stupid questions, right?) if his name was circle, or the letter O, or round, but the child had said no to all of that.

Round seemed like a silly name for a country, but America had been berated about not knowing his world geography so often that he wouldn't count anything out anymore!

"We really need a name for you though," he mused out loud, and the red eyed child moved to sit in his lap, eyes wide and waiting as he looked expectantly at his older brother figure. America thought for a bit, then grinned. "And if we can't figure out your Nation name… then let's pick your human one then! I mean, Iggy picked mine, so that means I get to pick yours, right?"

"Iggy…?"

"Yeah, my big bro! Or he… well he… ya see…" He faltered, a whole world of doubt suddenly swimming up to hit him. His chest constricted, for thoughts of England could only remind him that… perhaps someday… he might lose his connection to this little kid. He hadn't spent nearly the time England had spent raising him… and already America knew the pain would be awful. 'But I did tell Iggy that… if the roles were reversed… I'd be proud of the kid for striking off Independent…' He was determined to stick to his guns on that.

"America?" The soft uncertain voice snagged his attention back, and America was all grins and good moods again.

"Ok! So… so we know your real name has some sort of circle connection… so how about giving you a human name that starts with an 'o'? What do you think of Oscar? Oliver? Uh… are there other names that start with 'o'? Uh… Orlando? Orson?" He arched his brows at the kid, twinkling ruby orbs locked to his blue ones in thought.

"Oliver…?" It was tentative, but America smiled.

"Ok! Oliver it is! I'll wait to pick a last name for ya until I know what your Nation is… just in case the name won't match at all or something." The little child grinned, apparently pleased to have a name to call his own. America wrapped him up in a hug, savoring the moment.

Still, as wonderful as he was feeling, and as much as his attention was so constantly absorbed by the child Nation locked away with him… America couldn't forget he was a prisoner. The fact gnawed at his soul, reinforced every time the child was taken away for whatever reason. Reinforced every moment he wandered his cell and found it too thick for even his strength to break through.

More than anything though, he felt it in the strangely disjointed and weightless feeling that seemed to drag across his senses some days. On those days it was only Bill's faint presence somewhere near that kept him grounded at all, that kept his mind and body from going into a panic. His land and people, there were days they felt distant to him… too distant. On those days he felt weak, and America feared what would happen when those days became too common. He worried what might happen if Bill were to be taken farther away.

He didn't know how long he'd been stuck here, but he hadn't lost sight of his goal. Escape. Take the kid with him. Rescue North Italy and Prussia… rescue his citizens and the other hostages….

Just your typical hero work. He just… needed his heroic plan to come together.

A/N:

I lost most of my inspiration for this story for a while, but I think I might have some of it back now. It's weird writing such a sad Spain, but while this isn't how I normally would portray him or anything… with the tone of the story, happy go lucky oblivious Spain wouldn't make sense.

Anyhow, hope this chapter was alright. Thanks for reading~