So. It was America then. In the haze of exhaustion that Prussia's world had become, his mind could do little else but acknowledge that it'd been America who was here, too. He tried very hard to actually do something with the knowledge. Anytime he'd try to make the fact mean something fatigue or some phantom ghostly pain would wash forward to distract him. His head was dizzy and light, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to make the gears in his mind spin. He closed his eyes tightly, squeezing them as hard as he could as he tried to fight off the persistent ache that rested behind them.

America was here.

The heaviness of his limbs seemed to drag him down, the cold of the table biting against skin that couldn't produce enough heat to warm the metal it rested on.

America was here... they'd looked each other in the eye.

He really thought this should all mean something. Or... no... it didn't have to mean something... he just needed to do something with the information. Make a plan, use this new information to... to...

"Shit..." He snapped his eyes open, wincing at the sting of air against the over dried orbs. He let out a sharp rasp of air from lungs that felt paper thin and empty, and the blackness that crowded the edge of his vision threatened to knock him out. His ears began to ring sharply, veins all but pounding throughout the whole of his body. Prussia fought against it, fought to remain awake and aware and damn it all America was here! Even if that fact wasn't significant, even if it didn't mean anything, Prussia would make it mean something! All he needed to do was focus. He just needed to be able to forget his pain and exhaustion and that stupid little voice in the back of his mind telling him it was alright to sleep now. He'd been a good Nation. An awesome Nation. But he wasn't needed anymore... it was ok now. It was alright to just... let...

"No..." His hands trembled, and he didn't know if it was emotion, from despair, or if maybe he'd become so weak his body just sort of trembled through spasms all the time now. He tried to curl his fingers into fists, and it seemed as if the digits had petrified. Damn. It. All.

So America was here... well... big fucking deal. That brat couldn't do anything on his own... he always needed someone to whip him into shape. Prussia had helped make America a force to be reckoned with once... he knew how to make the kid useful. He just needed to figure out how to make America useful now, because hell if the kid had the smarts to make himself useful. Looks like the awesome Prussia was needed once again.

It took the ex-Nation a moment to realize it, but eventually he heard it. The sound of his own laughter, dizzy and unsteady and delirious and fuck... maybe a little mad. He didn't care, though. He laughed more, louder now, ignoring the way it sapped his strength and hurt atrophying stomach muscles. He laughed as loud as he could, defying the situation and, to his mind, spitting in the faces of those who thought they could break him.

No, he wouldn't break.

He'd laugh, and he'd grin, and he'd win. His eyes took on a new life, his face a mask reminiscent of who he'd been. He laughed to the room and to the medical equipment and to the lights. He laughed and laughed and turned his head, ready to share his rekindled spirit with Italy. It was as he looked over, and laughed loud and long, that he found a pair of too long closed eyes watching him. North Italy was awake... and it nearly stopped his laughter. The captives stared at each other, a shadow of silence catching the room. The moment didn't last long, Italy's eyelids falling shut again. But it'd been enough, and Prussia's laugh echoed out again.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

"Fratello..." Italy Romano rubbed at his chest, a sudden tightness and an arrhythmic beating of his heart stealing his breath away. No one else at the table seemed to notice, all eyes on England as he tossed pamphlet and paper after paper down, rattling off branch after branch of the radical group. Italy's voice had been quiet, and for once he was glad to just sit back in his chair, eyes off of him and focused on the blond. There was pain in his chest, a weird dizziness in his mind, but somehow... for just a moment... he could have sworn he felt right again. He could have sworn he'd felt Veneziano.

"Then there's 'En värld för frihet' in Sweden..." England muttered, tossing another sheet down onto the table, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and narrowed his green eyes at those assembled. It wasn't a world meeting, despite all the information gathering they'd been doing. They'd discreetly pointed many of the Nations towards examining these radical groups, but they were still a bit wary about officially going after these groups. Other Nations were watching the branches festering in their countries, and that was good enough for now.

The small group assembled here hadn't explained why these groups were important or that they were connected yet, but the other Nations weren't fools. They'd learn on their own in time. They weren't trying to keep it a secret really, because the scope of this all was truly worldwide it seemed, it was a coup that could harm the whole of the world. Responsibly, they should be giving the other Nations as much time to stop this as possible. But... any rash action might lead to the deaths of the captives, and England wouldn't risk it. Italy didn't agree that it would be quite so dire. Romano thought it over cautious, and wished he was surprised that Germany seconded his opinion.

The Italian chanced a glance over at the ice-eyed blond, the Potato Bastard looking as rigid as ever. He shivered though, because he couldn't shake the feeling that the German was hiding something. Ever since they'd had that meeting at the bar, when they'd finally grasped a bit of hope in finding Veneziano and even that bastard Prussia and stupid America... well, Germany had become aggressive. He was insatiable and unrelenting in his insistence that they apprehend their suspect in the kidnapping.

Today though... today he seemed in control. He was still critical of any delay in action, yet he wasn't barking demands as he'd been in their few meetings prior to this one. Italy sat back in his seat, hand moving absently from rubbing his chest to fingering the reassuring weight of the firearm he had tucked within his suit jacket. Romano was dying to take action as well, American political fallout be damned. Hell, it seemed like Americans were always complaining about conspiracies or corrupt police work and such anyway (from as much as Romano kept up with American news anyway)... they could deal with a kidnapping.

It was in their best interest, after all. No matter how much Canada and England were stepping in to help regulate and stabilize the country, it couldn't be denied that the country was starting to slip without its actual Nation there. It wasn't full scale economic decline and anarchist chaos or anything, the United States of America wasn't about to just fall off the map. It wasn't anything so devastating, and that was a good thing for the missing Nation at any rate, showed he was probably alive somewhere.

However... without the Nation the American government was becoming more sluggish than many criticized it to be, function and initiative grinding to a halt. It was as if a giant cloud of hesitation had fallen over the country, doubt, fear and uncertainty prevailing. Things could persist in this state for a while, and other Nations could help somewhat, try to nudge things with the help of their governments... but they needed to find America to lift this limbo. Find him or... well... the other option wouldn't be pretty.

"We've nearly found one of their bases..." England continued, his speech something Italy had been somewhat ignoring. "As we haven't been able to locate anything of note on the record of our suspect, we may need to attempt following another member back to the base."

"No," Germany interrupted sharply, not a shout but a firm tone of voice. Those assembled... Italy... England... France... Spain... shifted in their seats. The video conferencing software that connected Canada to this meeting showed the blond had gone somewhat still as well, curious as he hugged that weird bear of his tight. "We have a solid clear lead... we have a lead we could utilize now rather than waiting to see if you're correct in finding a new base. I have people who are ready to apprehend our suspect immediately."

He turned a steely gaze to England and even to Canada, as if daring them to challenge him over this. England spluttered a few indignant words about causing a bloody international incident (and perhaps he meant literal blood spill), but didn't outright make any demands that the German back off. Romano smirked, because he knew that giant eyebrowed bastard was just itching to find an excuse to go after their target, crippled by political interests he had to dance around nicely.

"I have been patient... I have gambled my brother's life on your slow time frame. I have gambled North Italy's life." The German turned to stare at Romano, and for once in his life, he felt like giving that potato bastard a hug. After what he'd just felt... Romano just knew that acting now was right. He had his own people ready to go, his own resources lurking about America, both legal and otherwise. Germany wasn't waiting anymore, well, neither would Italy. If the American government was stupid enough to let capturing this citizen lead to some big possibly violent outburst, then fuck it. Romano would bring it, and that stupid potato bastard surely would as well.

"Let's go," he sneered, challenging everyone else at the table to oppose them. Looks were cast about before everyone stood, Canada hiding a small smile before he closed off the connection.

x 0 x 0 x 0 x

There had been a time when America had quite honestly not known what it was to get sick. He hadn't known what feeling ill was, and in this odd naivety, had assumed his favorite food could solve any problems. Just eat a few burgers, pop one on your forehead even, and you were good to go! Ok yeah, he'd call it pretty stupid, looking back on it now, but that was just how he'd been. He'd learned in time what it was to be ill, oh yes he'd learned. He'd come to understand the unpleasant physical responsibility a Nation had to its country.

That was how he was able to smile at Oliver, as the little one played and drew on paper and told America stories that were slight modifications to the tales America had shared. It was how he knew that the dizziness he felt from all the blood they'd drawn from him was a picnic compared to how the two Nations he'd seen in that lab must be feeling. If... if they could feel anything at all. America had been taken down a few more times, more blood drawn than he wanted to consider, and each time North Italy and Prussia had been little more than slumbering corpses.

Apparently little Oliver's health was more tenuous than America could have imagined, all those times they'd been separated likely due to the need for transfusions. America could guess at the reason for it... though it didn't make him happy. Land... citizens... did Oliver even have any? Even that brat Sealand had his tiny rusting hunk of territory, and his citizens were fiercely determined to maintain their independence. Sealand was small, but he was healthy in that regard.

What... so what did Oliver have? If what America suspected was true... and he'd been crafted from North Italy and Prussia... then the little one had nothing. South Italy had taken control of the whole of that country, and Prussia... Prussia had nothing to put it bluntly. Which confused America, because why would you try to replace a country that wasn't a country? If... that was Oliver's purpose. The fact that the tiny guy couldn't articulate his Nation name bothered America, especially combined with those horrible messages played to the kidnapped people when he'd first arrived.

Oliver had no 'citizens' yet... but would he in time? But where... where would they live? They had to have land... and no Nation was going to let some be taken away just like this.

"Look look! Is this it? Is this a buffalo?" America shook his head, shaking off the haze as much as he could before blinking at the picture. It... well... it uh. For a child that'd never seen a buffalo, you couldn't fault the art.

"Yeah! That's the most awesome buffalo ever!" He flashed a smile and a thumbs up, which earned him a radiant grin and a hug. America wrapped his arms about the kid, purposely not thinking about how little he felt like he had to hold back. Hollow and disjointed and weak... not too much, but he could guess he'd get there if he let things continue like this. He needed to find just the right balance... a moment after a transfusion so Oliver would be strong enough for an escape... but he wouldn't be too drained from giving blood to get everyone out. He'd been using his way amazing acting skills to make it seem like he was cooperating, but he doubted that'd earn him much freedom.

The little one in his arms snuggled in closer, yawning and looking up into the blue eyes of America. It was probably nap time... and that actually sounded pretty nice to America. It was disconcerting to be lacking his boundless energy, but that was reality for now. The heat from the child he held was lulling him into a restive state anyway, and he sat back on the bed, letting Oliver cuddle to a more comfortable position.

"Am I going to get to see a buffalo someday?" The tiny tired voice made America smile, and he nodded his head, taking off Texas and setting the glasses carefully aside yet within quick reach.

"Of course!" He guaranteed quickly, even if buffalo weren't numerous like they'd been back in the past. Guilty as America felt over that, they weren't extinct at the very least, and he knew where he'd take Oliver to see them. He'd take this little one everywhere and anywhere he wanted to go once they got out, and that was a strong motivator to get moving. As if he needed any more motivations than he already had.

"Sing me a lullaby?" Oliver asked sweetly, turning those adorable little red eyes up to America hopefully. The Nation choked down the memory, the phantom face of Prussia rising up for a moment. 'I'm working on it!' He promised to the memory, and seriously he was. But for now he really did need to rest, and so he turned his mind to thinking up the proper lullaby. He'd sung quite a few to Oliver already, so it was a stretch to pick out a new one he'd like. As he dug through the caverns of his mind, a tune he'd almost forgotten bubbled up, and his voice dipped as he started to sing it without really thinking.

"Flare up and burn it down, from corner to corner with that hellfire... don't leave a single trace, burn down even their souls ..."

He trailed off, eyes going just as wide as Oliver's were. "Whoa whoa... never mind! Forget that one!" Oliver quickly started nodding his head, apparently happy to have that particular song stop. America went quickly to a repeat for now, anything to wash away the creepy vibe he'd just created. It took him a moment, but of course such a tune had to have come from England. Stupid stupid creepy England and his freaky fake magic and eerie chanting singing voice. God, had he really sung that to get America to go to sleep?

Stupid England. Stupid England who he really... really... really wished was here right now.

A/N:

I feel bad that, by and large, Canada is stuck in North America playing 'let's balance two countries!' for most of the heroics. But... well... so it goes. His efforts have been absolutely essential, and he'll have lots of good bro moments later!

Sorry about the 'lullaby'... sometimes it amuses me to think of big bro England sharing his love of magic accidentally. No wonder you're so scared of ghosts and refuse to believe in magic America!

This feels like it took a long time to update. My free time is like a roller coaster. Just not as fun.