The next day, at one of many World Meeting halls located around the globe, most of the world assembled. Almost everyone had gone not just for their 'duty-as-a-nation' sake, but to see what could possibly make Germany call them out there.

"It must be important," they all thought. "He looks horrible!"

It was true; the hair that was strayed from its slicked-back position was popping up in random tufts, forgotten by worry. Ludwig and Antonio both had dark bags under their eyes, and their clothes were rather unkept as well.

Something must REALLY be wrong, for the German neat-freak to have his tie half-done, and for the country of passion to not be spacing out.

Indeed, Spain was staring everyone down, checking for give-aways on a culprit.

"Danke shon for coming, everyone. I know you vud rather be zumplace else, but..." Germany faltered, not sure how to continue.

Spain slammed his palms down on the table, making all save for Ivan and Belarus jump.

England hadn't seen Spain use that look since they had been pirates. The brit shivered.

"Roma and Feli are missing. Confess now and your pain will be short."

The gathered nations blinked in surprise, before chaos (as usual) enfolded.

"Duuuuuuuude! Didja check the mafia?"

"What do you mean, kidnapped?"

"This is horrible, aru!"

"Kidnapping originated in Korea, da-ze! But I did not do it!"

"If I find them, will you become one with me as reward?"

"I agree with America-san."

On and on it went, each country offering their (mostly useless) advice. After ten minutes, the noise quieted itself, when everyone felt something was missing.

Germany didn't yell for quiet. He just sat there, face hidden in his arms, lying on the table. Spain was still giving the rest of the nations the stink-eye, watching for nervous ticks and other give-aways.

Prussia crept over to his brother and gave him a gentle rub on the back, knowing how badly the youngest Beilschmidt was missing his boyfriend.

Ludwig looked up slowly at the touch, his eyes slightly red. No one spoke, unsure of how to mentally process the weakness that the usually hardened nation was now displaying.

-0-

Canada thought about the information slowly, a part of his brain nagging him to make connections. He looked around at the rest of the world, trying to remember what was bugging him.

Reaching the section where the nordics sat, Matthew spotted an empty chair, set aside for Skogurland.

Alvi.

Suddenly, the conversation he had with Tor came to mind. "Alvi is close, he is settling guests".

Guests. Maybe he-

Sliding out of the room unnoticed (or so he thought) Canada pulled out his cell phone and pressed the speed-dial for the Skogurian phoneline.

After two rings, he heard someone pick up, though the line was rather fuzzy. After a minute though, the signal cleared, and he could hear Tor, as well as other people in the background, yelling in what sounded like...Italian?

"Tor? You mentioned Alvi had guests over- Who are they?"

"They are two men, their hair is...how say undarlegt?"

"Undarlegt? Um...can I talk to them?"

"Nak. They are training."

"Ah. Are their eyes brown?"

"What is brown?"

"Brown is...The colour of tree trunks. Like dirt."

"Ahhhhhh! Yes."

Matthew started to ask another question, but the phone was taken over by Alvi.

"Matteh-oo? Why you calling? Is something wrong? What happened at meeting?"

"N-nothing! I've got to go- bye!"

Hanging up quickly, Canada turned around to see Germany glaring down at him.

"I vill say zhis only once, America."

"I'm not Ame-"

"Where. Is. Italy?"

(A/N oooooooh! the s***'s about to hit teh fan!)