Chapter 5

August 14, 2011

"Lithy, like, this is such a bad idea!" Poland groaned, his voice tinny through the speakerphones attached to Lithuania's laptop. "Russia's, like, a freaking monster! I think he has a third eye and a forked tongue and chicken legs! And his heart falls out, Lithy! That just isn't normal!"

Lithuania sighed. He didn't need Poland to tell him any of this. He knew what he was doing was crazy. Were circumstances different, he really wouldn't be going along with it. As it was though… "I told you, Poland, I don't have a choice. He already got Estonia and Latvia and a few other of the old Soviet neighbors to agree. And I'm not leaving my brothers alone with him."

"You're gonna die, Lithy! All sorts of stuff could happen to you!"

Lithuania paused from his current task of packing his suitcase to rub his forehead. "Poland," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately as he faced his friend on the laptop screen. "It's going to be fine. Awkward, I'm sure, but he isn't going to kill me."

"How do you know?!"

"For starters, we're all immortal." He frowned as Poland opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that a year ago, they found proof that they apparently weren't as immortal as they once thought. "Second of all," he continued, before Poland could voice his thoughts, "it's just a sleep over."

"I still think it's a bad idea," Poland grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why did he have to make it tonight? Now we can't have our movie night!"

"I think he's nostalgic. Or lonely. Either way, I think he just wants a lot of people in his house again, even if it's for one night. Apparently he saw how upset China is that his siblings haven't been returning his calls, and I guess it made him want to make sure the same isn't happening to him."

"So, like, his weird sisters are going to be there too?"

Lithuania frowned. "Ukraine is just fine, and Belarus isn't weird! She's quiet! There's a difference! She's very sweet though, and -"

"And she, like, totally broke your fingers the last time you went on a date."

"She only hurts me out of love."

Poland rolled his eyes at the way Lithuania was sighing and blushing. "Like, whatevs. Don't know why you need to bother. You and I can stick this sort of thing out, just like we used to."

Lithuania face was uncharacteristically sober, as he shut the suitcase. "Poland, the Commonwealth is over. We aren't having that sort of thing again. It's fine. Times are different now. Listen, I have to leave now, but I'll call you when the weekend's over. We'll get together and have pancakes or something. How does that sound?"

His friend huffed. "Like, fine. See you then." And, just before the webcam was shut off, he added in an undertone, "Times are different, but we still have to stick together, Lithy."

August 15, 2011

America was jolted from his heroic dreaming when his cell phone started ringing. He spent a few seconds flailing, trying to find Texas and remember where he was. By the time his glasses were back on his face and the room was in focus, he remembered everything - Canada had stepped out for a walk in the woods and never came back, so he was heroically waiting in his brother's house until there was any sign of him.

As he grabbed the phone, America sighed. Canada was starting to worry him. He knew the Nation had a tendency to go unnoticed, but someone should have figured out where he was, even if they didn't know who he was.

"Hello? The always-heroic America speaking!"

"America, yeh bloody git! What took so long for you to answer?"

"England? Is that you?"

A long string of foreign curse words informed him that it was not. "It's me, yeh daft fool! Ireland!"

Oh, right. America recalled something about the UK brothers not liking being mistaken for England. He didn't blame them. "Sorry about that, you just sound so similar over the phone and all -"

"America," said Ireland, "shut up. When was the last time you saw England?"

"England?"

"My brother, you idiot!"

"I know who he is! Why do you need to know that?"

"Because…" Ireland hesitated, and America could hear him muttering, trying to figure out what to say next. "Because I have no idea where he is."

"Well, duh!" said America. "I kind of figured that out when you asked where he was, Iceland."

"It's Ireland," growled the Nation. "And I don't think you understand how worrying that is. Normally, my brothers and I have some idea where we all are. All Nations who are related can. Surely England always knew here to find you, when you were his colony?"

"Sure he did. Crap, that's how he did it? I always thought he was just a weirdo who followed me around everywhere - uh, why are you sighing, Ireland?"

"No reason," Ireland said. "Just…I'm concerned, alright? I'll knock you black and blue if you tell any of my brothers this, but I'm worried about them."

America scratched his head, pondering this. All of the UK brothers had gone missing? But there were…a lot of them! That would be like if Russia lost every single person in his old Commie Land Mansion. "When was the last time you saw any of them?"

"Four days ago. We were all at England's place, annoying him. I went out for milk, and when I came back, they were all gone. Even Sealand was missing!"

Four days ago? America found himself mentally calculating how long ago he'd come over to see Canada. "Couldn't Sealand be with Finland and Sweden?" he asked.

"They called me asking where he was," said Ireland.

"Still, maybe you could try calling again?"

"I can't get through. According to the spirits, all of the Scandinavian countries have disappeared."

"Disappeared? How could one of us just disa - spirits?"

"Yes. Norway's spirits spoke with England's fairies, and neither know what's going on."

"Oh…yeah. Spirits. Fairies. Great." Apparently the delusions about fairies ran in England's family. "Um, which one's Norway, again? Is his house the one that looks like Florida on its side?"

Ireland made a sound like "Grrah!", before speaking more clearly. "Never mind that. Look, just…just call some of your neighbors, okay? Find out if they know anything. And keep that brother of yours in sight."

"Sure will!" said America. He did his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Hey…you think this has anything to do with Prussia going missing?"

"Who knows?" replied Ireland. "I'm going to make a few more calls to some of my brother's former colonies."

America hung up, trying to make sense of what was going on. Nations were disappearing? That was impossible! They were needed to run their houses! Everyone knew that Nations only died or faded away when their house fell, like with Ancient Rome. But the countries of the UK were still going strong. And Canada…

"Hey! Hey, dog-thing!" called America.

Kumajiro poked his head out from under a nearby chair. "Who are you?" he chirped.

"When was the last time you saw Canada?"

"Who?"

"You know, your owner! Quiet guy, likes maple syrup and weed, looks almost as handsome as me?

"Weeeell…" the bear began, thinking hard, "Four days ago."

"You're sure?"

"He got angry because I knocked over his hockey stick collection. Then, he decided to go for a walk in the woods, to calm down."

"What happened after that?"

"You came in."

America thought back. That had been right about when he heard that screaming in the woods…

"Ha ha, you know what? I'm going to call some people!" he shouted, grabbing his cell phone and punching in numbers.

Kumajiro's only response was to crawl back under the chair and snore.

The official micro-nation meeting was far more sober than normal. This was mostly because their leader was not present to lend his usual boundless supply of energy, however there were other reasons.

"Okay, not that I care, but what's going on here?" asked Wy.

The group turned to Kugelmugel, hoping for some sort of leadership. It had been because of him that the meeting had been called in the first place, and they were meeting at his house.

At the moment, though, Kugelmugel didn't seem capable of providing leadership at all. In fact, he didn't even seem capable of saying something that made sense. He had managed to call the micro-nations together for an impromptu meeting and blurted something about Austria not being around, but that was all. When they showed up, he'd been frantically painting someone's portrait.

"It's art. It's art. All of it's art," he muttered, frantically mixing paints for a new color.

"Alright," said Wy, deciding that someone should step up as leader. "Let's think about this. Kugelmugel said something about Austria disappearing. Now, he's crazy. Unless something else happened, Austria going missing probably made him crazy."

"That makes sense," said Hutt River. "But why would he end up like that? Molassia? Serbogia? What do you think?"

Molassia's only response was to give Hutt River the finger and spout some colorful language. Serbogia, who had been admiring Kugelmugel's painting, clapped his hands.

"You all must look at this!" he said. "It looks just like a person!"

"What kind of a stupid-ass thing is that to say?" retorted Molassia, as the group gathered to examine the painting. "It looks nothing like a person!"

"Art, art, art," muttered Kugelmugel, not noticing or caring that his work was now the center of attention.

"It kind of looks like a person," said Hutt River, squinting.

"Yeah," scoffed Wy. "If they were in a gas mask, maybe!"

"Art…Everything is art…"

Wy was just about to remind everyone of their initial question, when her heart skipped a beat. "Hutt," she hissed, grabbing his arm. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The back door opening."

No sooner had Wy whispered those words than silence fell. Everyone stopped talking, save for Kugelmugel's continued whimpers of "Art. It's art. All of it is art."

Without the sounds of their voices, there was nothing to mask the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps.

Wy felt something slip around her shoulders. Looking slightly up, she saw Serbogia pulling Hutt River closer, so the three of them were in a somewhat more protected cluster. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Molassia pulling a gun out of who-knew-where.

There was now a figure standing in the doorway. Man, woman, monster, Wy couldn't tell. A split second after she registered the person, they dropped a canister on the ground.

Just before she and the rest of the micro-nations lost consciousness, Wy had time to realize what Kugelmugel's painting was supposed to be of. As reality drifted away, she managed to make out Kugelmugel's words: "Art stole Austria".

Though he was doing his best to deny it, America was distressed. He punched Mexico's number into his cell for what seemed like the billionth time that hour and tapped his fingers on Canada's kitchen table as he waited for someone to pick up. After several seconds of ringing, there was a click and the sound of a pleasant female voice.

"¡Buen día! Maria Cortez Fernandez!"

"Mexico? It's me, America -"

"I'm not here right now, so please leave your name and number at the beep. If you're calling on behalf of my boss, please press three. If you're my idiot brother, kindly stop calling. Alfred, I understand you don't like the drugs and people from my place sneaking over. You stop hiring them to cook your fast food, and maybe I'll listen to reason."

Crap. He got her answering machine. Again. First Canada, then England, and now Mexico. Maybe it was nothing, but he didn't think so. It normally wasn't so difficult for them to reach each other. And there was this uneasy something in the back of his head, which he couldn't put his finger on…

He shook his head, furiously trying to get back on track. Okay, Mexico looked like a no-go. Molassia's boss said the micro-nation had gone for some meeting near Austria's place, but neither Austria or Molassia were picking up, either. Nor was Hungary, which was disturbing because if there was any Nation he couldn't believe was just not answering out of refusal to talk with him, it was Hungary.

He'd considered calling Germany and asking if he heard from Austria or Hungary lately, but by some chance realized that that after Prussia's vanishing act, asking Germany "Hey, have you heard from your friends? I think they are missing" might not go too well. Instead, he continued down the contacts listing on his cell phone and dialed up Liberia.

To his great relief, she answered on the third ring. "Hello! Ms. Monroe speaking," she chirped.

"Liberia!"

"Oh, Daddy! How are you doing? It's been so long since you've called!"

America laughed, leaning against the wall for support. "Hey hon, I was just wondering…" he paused, trying to figure out how to word what was going on. "I was wondering, have you heard from Canada or Mexico?"

"What? No, not for some time. Why?"

"What about your neighbors? Have you seen many of them? Like, in person?"

He could just picture her forehead creasing as she mused over his words. "Now that you mention it…I haven't. I hadn't really thought about it, but it has been pretty quiet here, for the past few days."

So this was going on in Europe, North America, and apparently in Africa too. "Listen, Liberia, I need you to lay low for a few days. Keep your doors locked, don't go out, do whatever work you can indoors. Keep in contact with your boss a lot, okay?"

"Daddy, what's going on?"

That was a good question, and one which America had no answer for. He felt the urge to warn his daughter that things were really bad, that Nations were disappearing and he didn't know where they were going or if they might be found, or that he could be losing his mind and thinking some worldwide kidnapping was going on.

Instead, he laughed it off. "Oh, nothing much. Will you do this for your dad, though?"

"O-okay." She gave a nervous giggle. "I promise, I'll do all that."

"That's my girl! Now, be good and I'll talk to you soon."

August 16, 2011

The meeting did not take place in the dead of night, in some pitch-black alley. The men involved did not speak in needlessly complex codes, nor did they wear trench coats and fedoras or carry tommyguns.

Instead, they met in a private room in a small restaurant, just early enough to have the lunch special. The waitress assigned to them - a pretty girl who spoke and laughed often, as was the Italian way - took their orders without being any the wiser as to what business was going on in the establishment.

Of course, that was par for the course. The mafia hadn't lasted as long as it did without learning a thing or two about discretion.

Senor Buscetta was not a member of the mafia. Not officially. But he had a few friends, and the men meeting with him today seemed very interested in arranging a deal with them.

So now, he and his men sat across the table from them, waiting for the appetizers to arrive and small talk to begin. "Gentlemen," he said, "to what may I owe this pleasure?"

"We'd like to thank you for meeting with us under such short notice," said the man sitting directly across from Buscetta. The leader of the wily pack, of course. "This...request is of the utmost importance, and we will pay you well for helping us."

Buscetta did his best not to snigger at the man's clumsy Italian. He was American, judging by the accent and, given the blank stares on the faces of his friends, he was the only one in the group who knew any amount of the language. "This is all assuming we take the job," he mildly rebuked, folding his hands on the table. "You have yet to give us details about this very important job."

The man sputtered, and it was all Buscetta could do not to break out into a grin. The idiot was surprised he wasn't going along without question. Hopefully he learned enough Italian to know how to properly argue. "You simply told us there was a person we were to secure for you," he said. "You never told us this person's identity, nor why you wanted them."

"Their name and face we can give you now," said the man. "But as to why, is that so important?"

Senor Buscetta sighed. "Oh my friend, how little do you think of us? We are dogs, tearing apart any game for a pat on the head. We are an organized establishment, and thus need information. Now, this person. This..."

"Boy."

"Boy, then. How is it you need our help for this? There are any number of people who would help you track him down, I'm sure."

"But we need the best," said the man. "He's been somehow eluding us for some time. We've searched everywhere, and yet he has constantly evaded us."

Buscetta found his eyebrows rising. "I see. And why is it that you are so desperate to find this boy?"

The man paused, no doubt combing his mind for the right words to explain the situation. Finally, "He...he is a criminal."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Many crimes against humanity. Many deaths. Him and his entire family and many friends. They are in a group, you see, and we want to put an end to this."

"And why us, sir? Why not cooperate with the police? Surely they would be happy to help you stop such criminals."

The man fixed Buscetta with a steely look. "Surely you know that some things the police will not understand."

Senor Buscetta paused, considering. The price they had offered was more than enough, especially to simply find one boy. No killing, the order had been very specific on this. Still, why such trouble? "Give me the boy's name and picture," he finally said.

The man relaxed. "Then you take the job?" he asked, smiling faintly.

"I will see what we can do. I have a few friends who might know a thing or two. Now, let me have that information."

An envelope was slid across the table. Buscetta opened it to find a packet of photos. All of them featured the same person - a scrawny boy with a constant scowl and reddish-brown hair that had a ridiculous curl. Several pictures seemed to have caught him interacting with another person, who seemed to have a fondness for embracing this boy, but those were torn in half, removing any other subjects.

Besides the photos, there was a piece of paper in the envelope. There were only two words written on it. The hit's name.

"Very well," said Senor Buscetta, calmly replacing the paper and photos. "I will make the necessary arrangements. How shall my friends contact you, to deliver?"

"You will meet us at this address," said the man, handing Buscetta a slip of paper. "We will come alone, tomorrow, at ten o'clock. We wish to be discreet about this all. Also..." he dropped one last bundle on the table. "I believe that is good?"

It was very good, Buscetta noted, as he flipped through the stack of money. Pocketing the tribute along with the envelope and address, he said, "It will be taken care of."

China had not being doing very well, for the past few days.

He was used to his siblings refusing to return his calls. He knew things weren't going so well between his boss and many of theirs. It had been ages since he'd been on speaking terms with Tibet alone, and that wasn't going into how little respect Hong Kong and Taiwan had for him.

Still, the whole thing was depressing. It was pretty much a year to the day since Prussia disappeared, and China had hoped that he could get his siblings together in a show of familial solidarity. At the very least, he'd wanted them to have dinner together without a food fight breaking out. But none of them would call him back. Not even Japan or South Korea, he sobbingly told Russia over the phone, and he'd thought they'd been on good terms lately!

"It...it hurts so much, aru!" he sobbed, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he snuggled Shinitty. "I tried to be a good big brother, really I did! Why do they ignore me?"

"Have they said anything to you lately?" asked Russia. "Was there anything they said about you upsetting them?"

"Nothing in the slightest, aru," China sniffled, wiping his eyes. He hiccuped slightly, trying to calm himself down. "Anyway, thank you for listening, Russia. I think right now, you're the only neighbor I can talk to."

"Ah, do not worry!" Russia cheerfully replied. "We must look out for each other, right? Especially since you and your siblings will become one with me, soon enough."

"What?!"

"That's why you called me, wasn't it? You wanted the advice of Big Brother Russia?"

"Don't make assumptions about my behavior, aru! No one is becoming one with you!"

"Excuse me," said Russia, either not hearing or not caring about what China just said. "My guests have arrived."

"You're having a get-together, aru?"

"Yes, we're having a sleepover. It should be fun, da? Just like the old Soviet days." Russia gave a happy sigh. "Would you like to join us? There's always room for one more to become one with my family."

"Sorry, aru, but no," said China, quickly hanging up. At least Russia seemed to be in his usual form.

China sighed as he put his cellphone away. Whatever it was upsetting his siblings, he hoped they'd bring it up soon. He had a terrible feeling that something was going on. Whatever it was, he knew the best they could do was stick together through it.

In his mansion in Moscow, Russia grinned like a madman. It made him a bit sad that China turned down his offer, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that there would be plenty of his other old friends staying the night. Estonia and Latvia were already there, unpacking in their old bedroom. He could hear the floorboards squeak as the two brothers shook.

He briefly wondered if he should turn up the heat. Those two always seemed to shake when they were in his house, and he hated the thought that his guests would be cold during their little get-together. He ultimately decided against it, though. They'd lived in his house for long enough that they should be used to the cold, and he didn't want to shock them by making things too uncomfortably warm.

Russia smiled as he heard Ukraine humming to herself. She was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for everyone. Belarus...well, he wasn't sure where she was, but as long as she wasn't chasing him around, he didn't much mind what she was up to.

He missed this so much. He missed his house being full of people and sound and life.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention. A few seconds later, he heard Lithuania calling from the front of the house. The last of the Baltic brothers had finally arrived.

"Lithuania!" Russia said, greeting the Nation. "You came!"

"Ah...yes! Yes, I did!" Lithuania gasped. He began to shake as well. Russia made a mental note to ask Ukraine to see if there were any more blankets for the guest bedrooms. "Are my brothers here yet?"

"They are!" said Russia. He gave a huge grin, which oddly seemed to make Lithuania shake more. "Shall we go check on them?"

He clapped a hand on Lithuania's shoulder and felt the Nation buckle under him. It really was just like old times, he mused as he walked Lithuania to his old bedroom. Perhaps, after Ukraine had served dinner, they could even play some vint before bed.

Russia couldn't wait.

Don Gambino was a smart man. He had to be, to stay alive in his profession.

One of the first things he learned in the mafia was that there were certain rules that were always respected. There were some lines that must never be crossed. The consequences for doing so were always dire.

One of those rules - no, the most important rule of all - was that the Family was king. The boss looked out for his men, and all he required in exchange was a little loyalty.

No one hurt the boss. No one hurt the boss's family.

So when Senor Buscetta came into Gambino's office and dropped a packet of pictures on his desk, the don's interest was piqued. As he looked through each of the pictures, his eyebrows traveled closer and closer to his hairline.

Finally, he read the name of the hit.

Lovino Vargas.

Interesting.

"They want him alive," Buscetta told him. "They were specific about that. No police involvement and no questions. They gave us good money for the job."

"So I see." Gambino calmly replaced the pictures and name into the envelope. "Go back to your work. I'll take it from here. Rest assured, we'll remember this."

He waited until Buscetta was out of the room before he got on the phone and dialed a number that he was only to use for extreme emergencies. And this...well, it certainly counted.

Gambino waited patiently as the phone rang. He didn't even blink as the young voice at the other end yelled at him, demanding to know what the God damned hell he was thinking, interrupting him like that. Everyone in the Family knew that that was how he was.

Their capo di tutti i capi was many things, but even-tempered was not one of them.

Without missing a beat, Don Gambino related to the Boss of all Bosses what their latest assignment was. "If these people are looking for Lovino Vargas, it's entirely likely they know something about the disappearances of Feliciano and Marcello Vargas."

"And they set up a definite time and place for you to meet them later?" the Boss growled.

"Yes, sir. What are your orders?"

There was a thud, and Don Gambino could picture the Boss pounding his fist against his desk in fury. "My orders? These are my orders!" shouted Romano. "Capture those men! Interrogate them! Use any means necessary - and I mean any - and get the location of my brothers!"

A/N - Surprise! I updated! Imagine that! :D

Liberia, for those who don't know, is an African nation originally founded by American slaves. The settlement was helped along by President James Monroe, who the capital was named after (hence Liberia's human last name here).

I apologize if I screwed up how the Italian mafia works, in its inclusion here. To my defense, the Italian mafia of the Hetalia-verse doesn't seem to be 100% accurate to the real life one, soooo... fictional version ahoy! :D

On that note, the idea of including Romano's connection to the mafia was inspired by Blue Wallpaper!

Hope you all enjoy, and see you for the next chapter!