The Art of Insanity

It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.

Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme Excellency; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting. "The Art of War" by Satbaton

It takes a true man to admit that he is sick; that he needs help and that he needs companionship. It takes a true man to admit that he is lost and that he must ask others for help. A true man admits his deepest fears and embraces the darkness like an old foe. Wine need not be his drink as the sweat shed from victories would suffice. A true man is an honest man and an honest man is lost.

There are two infinite things in the universe: The Universe and Human stupidity. However, I'm not too sure about the Universe. - Albert Einstein.

{xxXX{III}XXxx}

Kiku looked at the set of keys resting in his palm, his normally emotionless face drawn tight due to unease that had come at the hands of the keys. After a few moments of tense silence, he dragged the keys away from his face; fingers clenching tightly over the metal as if to hide it away from view.

"This is not good," He mumbled. "Oh so very not good..." In his concentration, Japan had begun to turn away from everyone without a half-assed explanation before Heracles grabbed his arm and tugged him back into a dim reality. The Asian looked at his friend's concerned look before concentrating on Rossi's displeased glare. He gave only a small frown and another bow of sincere apology as his answer.

"P...Please forgive me. I do not know what came over me."

He knew exactly what came over him and he knew Rossi knew too. It was fear; the shattering of a glass doll. The ropes that had bound their secrets were starting to come undone.

Rossi looked at Japan with a near-like sneer on his face. Kiku was a stranger so the care David had for him was on a minimal level, but seeing Japan react so oddly had been an interesting sight to see. Japan reacted so different from his 'normal' self in the presence of those keys. Those keys, Japan clutched so powerfully in his tiny fist, were what Rossi really cared about. They were important. Very important.

"Those keys are for evidence."

Kiku's mask cracked slightly.
"These keys are none of your concern."

"What doors do they open?"

Another crack; it was like watching a porcelain doll fall from the shelf in slow motion.
"Nothing."
"So they're for decoration."

A moment of consideration and attempts to fix the cracks.
"Yes. America-san enjoys fooling everyone."

"I don't believe you."

The mask cracked again and for a moment, Rossi thought he saw vulnerability spread over Japan's face like a wave of emotion. But it was gone before he could reach out and grasp it as Japan had begun steeling himself back up again.
"No one ever said you had to."

There was a turn in the environment. It had begun to feel like the air was slowly being sucked out of the atmosphere and was leaving a putrid stale air in its wake; its revolting claws scratching at their throats, wishing with futile hopes that it would one day become breathable oxygen. The putrid air was screaming to be heard, but if the silent screams were ever heard by anyone, it would not be known for Japan only sneered; the ugly gesture foreign on his emotionless face.

In his eyes, there were no lost soldiers or an endless loneliness – only a small burning fire, burning slowly and tauntingly. The flames were growing higher as the environment started to grow more stale. The eyes were warning of what were to come if the imaginary boundary lines were to be crossed. They were warning that it was not in their best interest to cross that line.

"These keys pertain no interest to you. They are by no means 'evidence' in your search for America-san, but only a set of keys that holds the key to Alfred's most precious memories."

The fire went out and the sneer disappeared and the mask returned with no cracks in sight. Japan had once more sealed himself away to the public; beginning once more to be a prisoner in his lonely world.

"They are the key to the Room of Memories." He whispered and uncurled his fist, looking at the keys with a sad meaning.

"Room of Memories?"

"The Room of Memories is an accursed place, some would say. But some could also object and call it a sacred place. To me, it is both but not neither. It traps those who enter its threshold in an endless, tormenting waltz through the past. Welcome the room of lasts but fear the room of firsts. It is a room of firsts and a room of lasts for those stupid enough to cross its borders without being aware of its dangers."

Japan pocketed the set of keys before bowing to the team. "Greece-san and I must take our leave now. I trust you to be able to handle this all by yourselves?"

"We're not children," J.J. added in. "We've been in worse situations."

Japan nodded. "This is understandable, given your profession and life styles. Well then, it has been a pleasure meeting you all. Alfred-kun is so lucky to have such kind people to go looking for him." Japan had meant that. He had meant it was a sort of bitterness though as if he was jealous of America's people. He probably was. The Asian then looked towards them again. "I must warn you though – Time moves differently in this house. Sometimes, it is right on track. Sometimes, it is not. What may happen to one may never be experienced by another. Sometimes one thing will show up in one place when it has already been in the hands of others. Sayanora."

Japan then bowed and then left the room quickly, leaving Greece behind in his wake. The European blinked slowly at his friend's departure and looked to Rossi in apology.

"He normally doesn't...act like this. It must be the...stress." Greece gave a sleepy nod before he too, disappeared quickly.

They were alone then, the six of them. Rossi, Reid, Jennifer, David, Derek, Emily and Hotchner. Hotchner's eyes followed the departing Greek, nodded his good-bye and spoke in his solemn voice.
"It is probably best to split up. How many floors are there?"

"I counted three." Emily answered. "This house is old as well, so he probably has a small crawlspace or a root cellar. No basement."

"I saw the entrance to the Root cellar outback." Derek said. "It appeared to have been locked for quite some time. I don't think we'll need to be going in there."

"There are also a lot of woods. Perhaps the kidnapper dragged him out through the forest?" Reid wondered.

Hotchner looked to the team, wondering how this was going to done the most successfully. "Possibly, but there is only six of us and the clock is ticking. One of us is going to be going into those woods and another is going to be partner-less. Who volunteers?"

Surprisingly, it was Jennifer who had raised her hand. Her experience with the woods has never really ended all that well, but she supposed she could give it another chance. Perhaps this time, there would not be rabid dogs and psychotic prepubescent redheads running muck inside those woods. Maybe she would get lucky this time. "I'll go."

Reid looked to his friend and then to Hotchner and Rossi. "Would...err, it be...quite all right with you all if I went alone?"

"To where?" Rossi replied in Aaron's stead. This was curious, Rossi found himself musing. Reid may have been the odd one out of the bunch but he never seemed to wonder off by himself. What brought this sudden change of doing things on? Was it the air? There was something, something within this house that was affecting their thought processes. Perhaps, just maybe, it was two worlds meeting one; the collaboration of the human world and the nation world.

"The Attic."

An odd place to go, but the request was appreciated. No one most likely wanted to make the two trips up those deadly curved stairs situated in Alfred's living room, let alone just going up one. Those stairs were creaky, narrow and small and looked like they could collapse at any moment.

"Then, Prentiss and I will take the second floor." Hotchner decided. "And Agent Rossi and Derek can have the first floor. After all, we don't want David to hurt himself going up those stairs."

Rossi was going to reply and was severely tempted to make a comment about Hotchner's own growing age, but he didn't and just clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Very well. We'll meet back here, in say, two hours time? Report back then with whatever you have found – if you find anything at all."

The members of the team nodded and began to depart the room for the exception of David and Derek, who didn't exactly seem comfortable with the house at all. None of the other teams did either. The house gave an eerie feeling; as if it was watching them. It probably was watching them. Such an ability to spy on the members within the house seemed fitting for a house that belonged to a superpower after all.

"This house gives me the creeps."

"I know."

"There's something more here than memories isn't it?"

Agent Rossi looked to Derek with an odd frown. "We're profilers, not ghost-hunters. Now, are you man enough to look through the living room with me or is the prospect of there being ghosts around scare too much?"

The violent glare pointed back at him could have melted glaciers and possibly a human ice shield. "Hilarious. Let's just do this and get it over with."

"Whatever you say."

{xxXX{III}XXxx}

He ran his fingers together nervously, shaking slightly. This was a very poor idea. It seemed that Russia never seemed to think anything out any-more. Ever since his collapse...All rationality seemed to have gone with it.

They weren't supposed to be here. At least, not this house. This house was bad memories. This house was Alfred's childhood house. He only used it for business meetings now. New York was where they should of gone. It would have given Russia time to find him.

He can't believe it had been done though. Estonia had been right.

Lithuania shivered and nervously pulled at his fingers again.

This was a bad idea.

With a groan, Lithuania dropped the keys in the hole in the floor and awaited his doom.

{xxXX{III}XXxx}

While Derek and Rossi settled their differences in the trashed office of one of the world's most powerful superpowers, Prentiss, Reid and Hotchner were attempting to climb up the stairs without much noise or trouble. The stairs were thin, narrow and creaked with each step. With slow movements, all three trained FBI agents made it onto the second floor without much trouble and the two of the three agents were met with a cosy sort of den with a grey carpet and knotted walls with a fireplace and pictures covered the walls.

For Reid, unfortunately, he was met with another set of staircases which looked even more deadly than the last pressed up against the wall to their right.

"...I think I'm going to wait a bit." He told the others. Besides, it just didn't feel like the right time yet to make the trip up those stairs.

"How does this guy live?" Emily asked, checking her hand for splinters. "Those stairs could kill."

Once his own hand was free of splinters, Hotchner looked to Reid and then shook his head. "Attempt it anyway. There might be something up there. Papers, documents, files, photos – something that might lead us to whoever might actually want to harm Mr. Jones." He was treating Alfred a human, he knew that. It was desperate moments like this where they had to see him a human. They had to feel like he did, breathe like he does and see what he does from day to day. Perhaps, just perhaps, that the person who had taken him from his home was not a terrorist country come to wreak havoc and upset the country but perhaps someone else.

Someone with a grudge.

With a displeased face, Reid wiped his hands on his pants and started to go up the narrow, creaking flight of steps to the attic.

"All right. We have little time and perhaps a lot of ground to cover." Emily started, picking the last of splinters out of her hand. "There are five doors and a hallway leading around something but no door on this side, meaning there is a sixth door somewhere."

"The one on the far edge of the room seems to lead to a balcony and the door oppisite to the stairs has been left open slightly."

"Should we start there?"

"We should go down that hallway there. I think it's odd that the door isn't on this side with the rest of them. There's room for on either side of the staircase."

And that's what they did. The two agents stepped away from the open staircase and started down the hallway which was lined with odd memorabilia. There were black and white photos and Marilyn Monroe and Mr. Jones, a discoloured picture of a Dukes of Hazard car with Mr. Jones lazing about on the hood, Mr. Jones obnoxiously hugging a very disturbed looking John Lennon, an old picture of a sober Johnny Cash and Mr. Jones in a recording studio, Mr. Jones in a spacesuit grinning and giving an obnoxious thumbs-up, John Kennedy and Mr. Jones in the Oval Office, and the oddest one yet – Mr. Jones in a cowboy outfit riding a large bucking bull. The picture had been snapped so precisely so the moment of Mr. Jones being nearly flipped off the bull's broad back had been forever caught in time.

"Do you think these are all real?" Emily wondered. She reached out her hand to touch Alfred's smiling face in the Astronaut suit but something pulled her back and the agent dropped her hand.

"Yes." Hotchner looked at Jones lying about on the Dukes of Hazard's hood and looked to the front seat. Someone was there, sitting in the front seat and honking the horn furiously. For a moment, he thought it was just a trick of the light but someone was there, sitting in that front seat. In the discoloured photo, he picked out Arthur Kirkland – honking furiously from within the cab of the car to get Alfred off the hood of the orange car. Alfred, obviously, was not listening. "Yes, they are all real. Everything...Everything here is real."

"He seems to be very proud of his past."

"Historically or literally?"

"I guess...both. Makes me wonder though. Do all the nations care for their past? Do past wars with other nations influence their relationships with others? There's so much unknown about these...nations."

Aaron remembered how Rossi hold him within the almost darkness of the other's office that how France and England had acted with one another. England and France had always been known as the old couple of Europe; always fighting, always bickering, always yelling at one another and attempting to tell one another what to do. England and France had always fought – ever since the dawn of man. Whether it be with the celts or the Guals, the Angles or the Franks, the Queen's men or the King's children – the two people of England and France had always been fighting.

David had told Aaron that they had quite frankly – well, had acted like children. Even in the presence of others, they had both dropped their suave gentlemen ways and acted like little children and were moments away from biting and pulling at one another's hair. They had also been calling each other names.

"I think it does, but I think it also doesn't. Look at Alfred in this picture. That's England in the front seat. I think it all depends on who they are."

Emily nodded. "Good point. But we should keep going on."

"We should."

They both continued down the hall and turned left down the next hall and were met with an even odder sight. On the left side of the hall, there was a large portrait of two people on either side of the door. One was George Washington on the left side of the door and on the right was a far away shot of a beautiful Native American woman with a braid and a flower in her long jaded obsidian hair. On the right wall were two flags. Not hanging separately they were, instead they were torn in half and stitched together horribly. It was a United Kingdom flag and an American flag. They were both old, both torn in half and sown together with a thick, knotty black thread.

"That's odd." Emily said, stepping forward. "Really odd."

But Aaron was not paying attention to the odd two flags, even though it did demand attention; he was more interested in the door. A steel, metal door that looked like it had seen better days. Even though it appeared to have a horrible outlook, it looked impenetrable.

All was silent for a moment before Hotchner looked to his partner. "Do you think...?"

Emily looked at the door, her dark eyes being silent for her. "But it couldn't be...?"

"It has to be."

The Room of Memories.

This had to be the place. There was no where else, they both knew that. It looked like a place where Alfred kept his most sacred things and it was in the perfect place – settled right in-between the memories of Alfred's life. It had to be it, this had to be the room of which they had all been banned to go. Japan's warning rang in his ears.

'Welcome the room of lasts but fear the room of firsts. It is a room of firsts and a room of lasts for those stupid enough to cross its borders without being aware of its dangers.'

Emily tried the doorknob, jiggling it and sighed. "Japan has the keys. We can't get in."

"And we definitely can't kick this door in...It looks like someone has tried before us." He pointed to a thick indent just centimetres below the doorknob.

"Oh shoot it, or punch it, or blow it up, or burn it...Is that the imprint of a face?"

Hotchner leaned over and peered at what Emily was pointing at. It was. On the metal door, was the imprint of someone's face. As if they had head-butted it too hard or their face had been shoved into hard. The agent stood up and frowned. "We should keep going."

"But we've found the door..."

"And what would we open it with? Who is to say this is even the door? We're in the house of a nation. For all we know, beyond this door is a room full of American secrets even the government has not seen. Maybe that is why it is so beaten up. Someone has been attempting to get at the secrets more than once. There's a chance it isn't the Room at all."

Emily looked to the door and then to Hotch with a nod. "You're right. Come on, let's go. We've wasted enough time as it is."

They left behind the torn flags and the steal down and turned left again and went down another hallway. This hallway was bare. Completely and utterly bare. Nothing covered the walls, all except for a large, circular crack in the bare right wall. Like someone's head had been slammed into the wall with the force of six men.

"This hallway's empty." Aaron noted and then spotted the crack. "What do you think that's from?"

"I have no clue." Emily answered and found herself starting forward towards the crack. "There's something off about it. I know that much..."

Emily was used to odd things happening. It was something she really did get used to after becoming a profiler. But being in this house, being in its presence...It gave her an odd feeling. This feeling was more than a feeling of fear, for sometimes it felt like she was...safe. That she was safe in this house of mystery and history. The House of America would not collapse upon her and do its best to protect her.

"Emily, what are you doing?"

"I know what I'm doing..."

Prentiss stepped in front of the crack and for a moment, wondered what she really was doing. It was a hunch, and even though hunches in situations like this never went well, she was still going to go through with it. On a moment of brief bravery, the Agent reached out and touched the hole where someone's head had made contact.

And immediately regretted it.

"Prentiss!"

Jennifer knew she hated the woods for the reason.

There were often creepy things within them.

But this time, it was only herself in these woods. She was alone in the woods and a victim to her own mind now. It was slightly scary, but she was an adult.

Jennifer didn't know what brought her to the woods. It was something that just drew her here, like something had definitely drawn Reid to the Attic. There was something in this house, in this situation, that was affecting them all. Something was drawing them all to these places for some reason. Some reason she did not know and knew that she would never find out.

She sighed and took a breath of fresh air. Maybe she should have brought someone with her. The woods freaked her out. Maybe she was just paranoid. Maybe she was just that and only that. There was no something that drew her there, there was no 'magical' aura surrounding the house and land. There was only an old house with an immortal man living within.

Jennifer stopped in her tracks and sighed. She had a half of a mind to just turn around and go back to the house now, saying that there was nothing in these woods and that they were just that. Woods.

Halfway in turning around, something called out to her. She had barely a moment to turn around before she noticed what was coming straight at her.

A wild, snarling, foaming, seething with rage dog.

She hit the ground before the scream could even leave her mouth.

{xxXX{III}XXxx}

Emily felt like she was being dragged onto a bad acid trip.

The world was spinning around her, but her fingers stayed firm on the crack. The wall it was attached it was not spinning. It seemed like everything around her was spinning rapidly or just melting around her while it switched colours. It alternated from Red to blue, orange to green, to a suave blue and a grinning grey, before turning an ecstatic pink and a frowning purple, before finally settling on a poorly coloured version of reality. It was like she had stepped into a coloured television show from the early-eighties.

Or had taken an extremely powerful and long hit of Salvia.

She had begun to hear voices. At first, they sounded like the chattering voices of disturbed bats or even bugs trapped in a jar. The voices were much like static in both her ears and it was impossible to hear herself think. Emily could not even process the situation because it had gotten so bad.

And then, much like someone, tuning into a radio – the voices had begun to get clearer.

Fragments, she could pull out slowly from the static. It was still terrible, but the voices were getting clearer and clearer with each moment. With each word spoken, there was an impressible amount of buzzing static that was lost.

"You stup–AaafurriiiitchZZZZZ–how could you–accchSSSSSTIIIII–were you even think–"

"–Zcccccchsaaaitsssss how can such a idiot as you–suuuuuuushCAAAAAAAHURRR - thinking?"

"I can–Stchaschaztchzzzz–think! You know very well that I–hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrdurrrrrrrrr."

"Stupid American, you–bzzzzzzcccccccch–why are you always ruining my plans?"

"Because SHAAAAAstiiiiich a communist! Stupid communinist!"

"I hate craaahsssssh so much. Why do you exist?"

"I exist to make sure zzzztch don't run the planet!"

"Bite me, Amer durrrrssssh don't care for you games!"

"Games, Ivan? What Games?" Ivan. Ivan? She had heard that name before. Where had she heard that before? The name swirled around in her brain; attempting to find a place where it fit most. That name was common, but this person with this name was important. Very important. Important to this case, this place...

"Your silly mind games! You think you can defeat me, little fredka? I am the King."

"King? King of aaaaabzzz more like it!"

Emily was almost completely tuned in when she could feel the presence of two people finally come into sight. She turned her head the best she could to see who they were and were surprised to the see the one named Alfred and a tall, towering man wearing a reversed Soviet Union coat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Alfred grunted and shoved the other and nearly slammed the man against the wall.

"You're so stupid!"

"Am I really?" Ivan countered; voice scarily calm as he regained his footing. "Are you sure you are not mistaking me for yourself, lapushka. After all, I expect nothing less of the creature who cannot even tell the difference between himself and his own brother."

Alfred said nothing, but instead glared furiously at the other. The other tilted his head with the innocence of a child. But he was not innocent. Those violet eyes spoke of terrors that no person could have escaped without some sort of scar. He smiled, the gesture spreading across his face slowly like a poison. His smile was poison, which was all Emily could describe it as. "Poor, little idiot. I feel sorry for your brother – to be stuck with such a person as you. How can you even live with yourself, knowing far well that this war in Vietnam will never work? Your brother has lost so much due to you. But it isn't like he had much to begin with."

"You shut up about Mattie right now, you communistic bag of scum!"

"Why should I shush my mouth? I speak no lies, why would I do that? I live to tell the truth, isn't that the role of all the nations? We must guide our people to better days! Drag our broken bodies through mud and blood to spread the so called word of our Lord and almighty God! Who cares if this God has caused the destruction of so many people? So many religions? Oh, the sorrow I feel for your brother. I wonder whenever he looks in the mirror – does he see you instead of himself?"

Emily could see the fire burn within Alfred's normally placid blue eyes. He clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his glasses in the front pocket of his bomber's jacket – the very same one that was sitting back at the BAU.

"Take that back."

Ivan smiled his lethal smile again. "Why should I?"

"I said, take it back."

"Make me."

Alfred made a move to move and pounce on Ivan but he only stopped and glared at the Russian. "You aren't worth my time."

"Oh really? I seem to have been for the last thirty years. Isn't that right?"

"My government wanted to keep an eye on you." Alfred sneered. "They were right. You're nothing but a danger to the world around us and to yourself. You should have fallen with the Romanov's. They were the last true Russians of the Russian world. Not those Bolshevik liars you associated yourself with. They spread dirty lies and are nothing but liars. You should have fallen with your precious Anyastasia."

Emily gasped. She knew who this was. This, this was the man that everyone feared. The one who had broken into Rossi's office demanding that Alfred be returned and the one who had supposedly stolen Alfred himself. This man was none other than Ivan Braginsky, the so-called personification of the Russian Federation.

The crack must have brought her back in time. Not literally. She was witnessing what had occurred to have caused this mighty crack within the piny wall. Her fingers were still glued to it.

"You have a crossed a line."

"You crossed that same line when you brought up Canada." Alfred snapped back.

Ivan was visibly shaking and he looked angry. His violet eyes were flaring with hatred and his lethal smile had been replaced with an even deadlier frown. When he spoke, his voice was nothing but a whisper. "You shall pay for that, lapushka."

"With what?" Alfred let forth a booming, obnoxious laugh. "My life? Ivan, Ivan, silly little Ivan. You know as well as I do that a bullet straight through my brain won't kill me. And you cannot touch my government or my economy? What are you going to do? Rape me like you rape Toris?"

Emily expected Ivan to let loose his rage and completely go apeshit on America, but instead he lifted from his head from his scarf (where he had dropped it when Alfred had laughed) and stared at Alfred. With a shiver, she realised that he was staring right through Alfred.

"I'll tell."

"Tell what?"

"That you're hiding him?"

"Hiding who?"

Anger returned to the purple eyes. "Do not play dumb. I know that you are extremely good at it, but you do know what I'm talking about. I will tell."

"You promised."

"I also promised no biological warfare too."

"Bastard! Tony didn't do anything!"

Ivan sneered at America in response, and clasped his arms behind his broad back. "Stupid American. He deserves to go back to that Area 51 of yours. Of course, if you're not careful – it might just end up in my hands~"

"You aren't getting him!"

The Russian tilted his head innocently. "And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?"

Suddenly, with the agility of a cat, Ivan dodged around Alfred and dove towards the hallway with the metal door. Was that where he was heading? He almost got far before Alfred reached out and grabbed his billowing scarf and pulled back with a mighty tug. The scarf snapped straight and Ivan lost his footing and fell onto his back. Alfred jumped on top of him, end of scarf in hand, and attempted to bind Russia's hands.

But the other would not have this and head-butted the other and knocked America flat on his back. Russia jumped up and attempted to bring down his boot, but was stopped before it could make impact. America pushed away the bloody boot and rolled over and jumped up. Ivan, expecting an attack, braced himself for impact.

"Must we really fight like children?" Ivan asked wearily.

"Yep." With sudden movement, Alfred bounced forward and grabbed Ivan's arm. The Russian attempted to pull away but was slammed onto his back; shaking the entire ground with the impact. Ivan grabbed Alfred's leg with his free arm and brought the American tumbling down upon him. He pushed Alfred off of him and scrambled back to his feet, pressing his back against the wall connecting the two hallways.

"Come on, Russia." Alfred cooed. "Fight like a man."

"I am. You're the one who has stolen the porcelain doll's techniques. Tell me, does he have burns?"

America growled and went to attack again. Ivan blocked and knocked Alfred back onto the floor. "You did not answer."

"That's none of your business." Alfred went for the scarf again, and Ivan attempted to block and Alfred's knee went up. The attack hit home and Ivan stumbled. The American shoved him down the hallway and knocked him down onto the ground with a fist to the face.

Emily strained her neck to see what was going on and stretched out as far as she could go without tugging on her fingers attached to the wall. She frowned and attempted to move closer, tugging on her trapped hand to allow herself. A finger came lose – the thumb – and she was stunned. The situation must be losing its power.

Ivan had been knocked down onto the floor in front of the two sown together flags. They must have been ripped far before this time.

"He has burns." Alfred answered. "And leukaemia. He's still dying, but he won't tell me. I found out from China."

"Shame." Russia answered with mock sympathy. "He was always so weak."

"He's not weak! He kicked your ass!"

"But drained his resources in the process." The Russian answered coolly. "We are all not without faults, dorogoy. All wars cost money."

"Not ours." America smirked. "Actually, I find myself becoming quite rich off of this."

"Bite me." Russia answered and pulled down the stitched together flags. They fell on top of America and the superpower and flailed and punched, attempting to get out of the situation. Ivan took this moment and grabbed America, running with him in arms and shoving him into the wall Emily was on.

Another finger came lose, this time the pinkie. Three to go.

America yelled and flung the flag off of him and head-butted Russia. The Slavic nation fell back, clutching his head and America shoved him towards Emily.

"It's hero time!" He yelled dramatically before charging at Russia like a bull. Russia was hit by the impact before he could even see it.

Ring finger. Two fingers left.

Russia bounced back though and shoved America back just as hard. Alfred stumbled and nearly fell before catching himself. He pulled out a gun, but Ivan knocked it out of his hand and shoved him face first against the wall opposite to Emily.

"I bet you like this." The Slavic whispered venomously. "You like to feel pain, to feel violated by others? The Revolutionary War, lapuska. I bet you just lovethis."

"You know, when I suspected to have a Russian speak dirty to me – I at least expect them to be a woman!"

Index finger. One middle left.

"Oh you are so funny." Russia gripped Alfred's hair and pulled back his head, bearing the pale neck to the world. "So hilarious..."

"I crack myself up." Alfred told the other, slyly attempting to manoeuvre his hands from underneath the hand holding them down. Emily could see what would happen. Alfred would slip his hands out from underneath Ivan's and elbow him and knock him back some.

"Tell me Alfred," Ivan whispered. "Why do you think we feel sorrow? Why do you think we feel pain, love, joy and hate? What differences up from being human?"

"We have flesh and blood, but we do not die." America answered monotonously.

Ivan smiled and brought his lips down to Alfred's neck. "Shame, that really is. That no matter what we do to ourselves, we cannot die from it. I think it would be great to die. But not even a bullet can stop up. We are...how you say...invincible. But you did not answer my question. You never answer my question."

"I think...we're human. Everyone is human to a point – expect animals. Even murderers, and cannibals, they're human too. It's just people who think they have the right whether to say we are human or not. The human race hates itself."

"This is true." Ivan kissed Alfred's neck and Emily felt momentarily creeped out. It was like watching a bad porno. "But silly Alfred, everyone hates everyone. It is natural."

"Makes me wonder why we all just can't be nice."

"It just doesn't work out that way."

"Oh well!"

And as Emily predicted, Alfred slipped his hands away from underneath Russia's large skinny one and elbowed the nation in the solar plexus. Ivan fell back with a groan and turned away from America. The super nation took this as an invitation and jumped on Russia's back. Ivan let loose a curse in Russian and stumbled from both in pain and the weight of the other resting on his back.

Emily begun to attempt to pull her hand away from the wall in a moment of anguish. She didn't know how astral projection worked, but she had a feeling she really didn't want to be there when Mr. Jones' slammed Ivan's head into the wood. Russia stumbled towards her blindly, too busy with trying to get Alfred not to strangle him with his own scarf.

At last, she ripped away her last finger and the world begun to slightly twist and fade again. It did not change colours, but she could feel herself fading away; as if she was almost dying. Her eyes grew heavy and she grew woozy, swaying from side to side with the slowly twisting room. She could hear voices but they were not the obnoxious voice of America and the eerie purr of Russia.

"How long has she been out?"

"Five minutes?"

"Oh dear, oh dear! England needs to stop leaving up wards!"

"What happened?"

"It doesn't – She's coming to!"

"Prentiss? Prentiss, can you hear me?"

The last she saw before the normal world returned was Alfred jumping off of Russia and wrapping an arm around Russia's neck. He had gripped the soft platinum locks with the other hand. He let loose another obnoxious laugh before pushing Russia's head forward and sending it straight into the wood.

The laugh stuck with her the entire time.

"Aaaaaaaaahahaaaaaha!"

{xxXX{III}XXxx}

And as quickly as it had happened, the dog was ripped away from her with an agonizing wail. A quiet voice that she could barely make out over the whistling of the trees around her had begun to tsk in annoyance and snipe at the dog in low, sweet French.

Jennifer sat up in a daze, looking to the dog in confusion and then to the owner in a state of even more befuddlement. The dog was an overweight Golden Retriever with bright blue eyes, a spiked collar that had a pink leash attached to it and the boldest shade of gold fur she had ever seen. It rivalled the colour of sunflowers easily. The owner though was less noticeable though. He was small in size, but from how he was kneeling, Jennifer could tell that he was at least five-eight, maybe five-seven. His hair was the colour of woven wax and shined in the dull light that was peeking in through the tops of the trees. A stray curl jutted out in front of his face, landing evenly in the middle of his lilac eyes which were trapped behind a pair of oval-rounded glasses.

The eyes shaded that careful colour of lavender looked to her into confusion and the small mouth below it managed a small smile. "Sorry," The man offered in such a quiet voice that Jennifer had to strain to hear. "You okay?
He was asking how she was. Jennifer looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was going to pop out of the woods behind her before looking over the other before her with slight suspicion. His outerwear was not suitable for that of Virginia. He wore an Arctic Explorer coat with a furry hood, snow boots, tan gloves and ski goggles around his neck and he looked too much like…–

"Alfred F. Jones?"

What was he doing here of all places? Wasn't he missing? Wasn't his 'disappearance' the whole reason they were here and she was bumbling around in the woods in the first place? Why in the name of a God she barely believes in would he be skulking around his woods with his beast of a dog like an unruly creep in the first place? It wasn't like–

"Alfred" gave a long sigh that broke her concentration and dropped his head in soulful defeat and gave a low whine in an act of depression. He lifted his head and glared at the agent, shouting as long as he could in his quiet voice. "I'm not Alfred! I'm Can– Mathieu. Mathieu Williams."

"If you're not Alfred, then…Who the hell are you?"

"His brother." Mathieu stood up then and brushed off his soaked knees. "And this is his dog, Hero. Who of which is very sorry that she attacked you–isn't that right Hero?" The dog named Hero gave an obnoxious bark and wagged her thick tail. Jennifer still felt very wary, even thought the dog reeked of naïve stupidity. She had a feeling that the dog had a lot in common with its master.

"Alfred doesn't have a brother."

"Who told you that?"

She wasn't going to draw Arthur into this – no matter how much of an asshole he was. J.J. drew herself to her feet and looked to Mathieu with a stern frown. "Why should I tell you?"

"Well…" Mathieu attempted an awkward half-smile which looked lopsided on his pretty face. Jennifer felt a slight pang of jealously for a moment, but then shook the ridiculously of it away. "Is he short, blond, and has thick eyebrows? Is his name Arthur and does he act like a jerk but manages to still seem protective? Does he happen to adore tea?"

The agent pursed her lips, but did not speak.

"Does he…happen to be the personification of the United Kingdom?"

She gasped slightly before stealing herself back up again. "I'm not telling you, sir, as it is none of your business. Now, what are you doing here? This is a crime scene. Please leave the area at once."

"It's okay," Mathieu smiled and brought his gloved hands holding the pink leash to his small chest. "I'm one too, you know."

"...A nation?"

"Yes." Mathieu leaned over and petted the dog softly on the head. "Do you know which one I am?"

Jennifer wondered if the man was just insane, or playing coy. There were over one hundred fifty nations in the world and she only knew six. The man had to be playing with her. Was he a spy for another country? He looked too...innocent. That was probably a lie though; a well thought out disguise. In reality – he was probably a cruel motherfucker.

Sighing, she looked to the facts she had now. He was Alfred's brother (or so he said he was) and he spoke French. He looked French too – what with those eyes and honey woven hair. What nations with blond hair and violet-blue eyes spoke French? Not France – apparently France was much louder and far more obnoxious. It looked natural so all former French territories of Asia and Africa were out. He also knows Arthur, but how...?"

The answer came to her silently; suddenly.
"Canada. You're Canada."

A large smile broke clear onto Mathieu's face.

Author's Notes:

FUCK IT.

You guys are getting a four-shot.

SEVEN THOUSAND WORDS

SEVEN

THOUSAND.

The last one was seven thousand words too. But I'M NOT EVEN DONE WITH THIS PART. THEY HAVEN'T MET RUSSIA YET /lesobu

Tiem to split it up bros and hoes. Wait another two weeks for the last part kay?

Maybe. I have regents. AT LEAST I'M WORKING ON IT.

Mistakes are mine. Could care less right now. /derp

Lapushka – little paw
dorogoy – dear