Alright, I hereby pronounce thee my next chapter. My mind is filled past the brink with inspiration, but I have no time to actually get it out. School and all that comes with it constantly distract me and force me to waste my time as I am supposed to be a responsible human being. Which I am not. It's annoying, but I guess life can't contain only what you want to do but also has to concern what you have to do… which I do not want to, but time and space is a quite big enemy.

Warnings: Future blood etc. but in this chapter nothing of that will happen.

Reviews:

Sigart: Angst will come. In time. Russia ain't just a big, fat enemy. Ville aldrig lave noget så ensidigt. Men nej, har hvad jeg skal bruge til den del af historien – selvom der går lang tid før Danmark får en rolle at spille. Glad for at du stadig gider læse, og håber ikke tiden har fået din interesse til at falme ^^

pengirl100and2: Sadness hasn't even started yet. Things will go worse… and worse…

Happily Austria: Glad you are entertained and even happier that you find it smart. I just hope you can manage how things go and can manage the time that has passed ^^

Yaoi-Mayer: sorry, not gonna answer you :p

Arya May: Thank you for even opening this, then! And even more for liking it. Russia is quite dear to me, in his own, psychotic way. I can't promise you would like him… not in the first part of this, anyway. The amount of time he is even present is small, despite this being a story about him. I hope you will continue reading this ^^

MadsRenai: Russia dropping/losing his heart at random is canon in Hetalia – so why not use it? Besides, Russia is sick enough to use an organ popping out of his chest if it gets him what he wants, I could not doubt that (not to mention the state of his body will be important later in the story). Concerning Austria, he is more present in this chapter. And will be later on as well. Bela will be taken up in the next chapter, or the one after that (most likely in chapter four, though, where her first scene really focused on her will come up). About the length of Germany's scene – false sense of security. It's lovely, though I admit it might have gotten too long. Then there is just three things to say: 1 – you haven't written a review longer than the average of my own. It is about the same length or a bit shorter. 2 – I always go into detail with my stories and especially the characters. Sometimes I go a bit too far with the persons at times, though. And three – I'm happy I got your interest ^^

And then – the chapter. Finding a name for it was a bitch, but I got it, so things are great, da?

Questions

The world was in a state of shock.

A giant attack had been launched and no one had a clue just what had happened and who was to blame. It was estimated that about a thousand planes had been sent to military bases all over the world and only about two hundred had been shot down before reaching their targets. About another hundred of the enemy had been hit afterwards on the way back, but no prisoners had been possible to take. It was a very organized attack going for the biggest military bases with the most equipment and technology. For reasons unknown no country bigger than 500 square kilometres had been spared an attack on at least one base, and the planes had all hit within a time spectrum of an hour no matter where in the world it had happened, making the world know that whoever had caused this attack had planned extremely well. But no one was able to understand why the men behind this had attacked so violently. Why they wanted so many enemies.

As usually theories about who had been behind this sprouted. Unlike usually none claimed to be at fault for this act of terror as though those behind wished to be kept silent. Still theories of Al Qaeda and other Muslim extremists fluttered around in the media, the most well-known terrorists of the world once more getting the immediate blame – especially with the incident at 9/11 in mind, for this was yet another attack from airplanes. Politicians and the surviving military of the harmed countries denied this theory, claiming the Islamic fanatics not to have the finances to get such an operation underway. With the information they had the officials told the journalists that there was no way for those groups to get the amount of planes necessary for causing such damage. And especially not without the secret services around the world knowing.

Actually no one should be able to collect that amount of planes. And no one should be able to do it without anyone knowing. It was surreal.

Yes. The world was in a state of shock.

The UN had decided to make a meeting, trying to find those guilty and find a way for the world to go on and the trust between countries to be kept. The whole world was strained and everyone kept an eye on everyone. Everyone doubted everyone. And following their bosses, their leaders, were the incarnations of the countries. It was with great reluctance that England agreed to host both the meeting of the UN and have the incarnated countries collected within his borders. But one had to sacrifice themselves for the sake of peace and when Germany, the usual one to agree to make that sacrifice, kept so incredibly silent he was the only one gentleman enough to do it.

Unlike usually the room was silent.

America wasn't late, and he sat in his seat silently, sulking slightly and thereby making England certain he had gotten a scolding from his boss.

France was sullen as well, the wineglass in front of his seat empty without even a single trace of red. Beside the Frenchman Spain's face for once had lost its smile and the green orbs shifted between people with only partly hidden mistrust.

The most of the Nordics seemed unaffected with their stony faces, but Denmark and Sweden weren't doing the usual staring contest and Finland, the generally softest of the five, was fidgeting in his chair.

The countries of the Middle East and Arab League sat with expressionless faces of frozen contempt, obviously ready to face the blame again, and Iran sat even further away, being especially stiff with his dark beard and traditional, white clothes.

Japan seemed totally unaffected, sitting straight and ready in his chair, but something in his eyes could not be ignored, and not too far from him China sat with crossed arms. Their Asian family was there as well, and though normally silent they were especially disquieted as well.

The only one sitting with a smile and leaning comfortable back in his chair was Russia, but the sight was so normal no one thought further into it. But his sisters were affected too, the older sitting with eyes red and darkened from lack of sleep, the younger leaning even further towards her brother as if to protect him.

The general mood in the room had never been darker, and with all that mistrust peace had never been more threatened since the height of the Cold War. And above all else, even more frightening than the mood within the meeting room, was the fact that Germany, the strictest nation of anyone's knowledge, was late. The seat at the very end of the large table, reserved especially for him by unwritten rules, stood unoccupied now five minutes into the meeting. Even though few would ever admit it the most had hoped for him to come over and fix everything with his booming voice, cold logic and annoying sharpness. He had been so quiet – he had not offered to host this meeting, and now he was missing as well.

A cold thought sank into England's heart then, so startling, impossible and yet so obvious that he had a moment of feeling seriously stupid – both for thinking this and for not considering it earlier. What if Germany was the one who caused the attack? It required one with his mind, his knowledge of war, his cold attitude, to both figure out the plan and do it. The reasons behind a war were unclear, but they had seen Germany's capability of starting wars without reasons – at least in England's point of view – twice before.

But while it seemed possible it also seemed stupid – for why would a man like he do such a thing? What motives? And wouldn't he know that they would think of him if he never showed up? Not to mention it was too sneaky, too subtle. It seemed more like the German to come out and announce to them that they were at war instead of hiding behind a great attack. And it was unlike him to close the possibilities of allies the way he had now with attacking every nation holding even the slightest threat.

The door burst open with a loud bang before England could finish his conclusion, which went towards the German actually maybe not being the danger, and all eyes snapped towards it. All thinking that Germany would finally arrive and they would finally start. All thinking in vain. It was a German standing in the door, oh yes, but not the one you wished to see if you hoped to get sense out of things. With military boots clacking against the floor the blond's brother went over to the blond's seat and kicked the blond's chair away harshly and then slamming a bunch of documents down upon the table. Everything about the albino showed a deep hostility.

"I didn't think you were much up for diplomacy," a dry voice said, Austria holding a cup of coffee in front of his face as he looked upon his long time enemy. Not two chairs from him Hungary sat, glaring rather darkly at the man. It was very unusual for Prussia to be at a meeting, and when he was it was mostly for fun and giggles and to bother those who were still nations. He and his two friends were the only ones finding it fun, but right now not even Spain or France had many smiles in spare for him. And he didn't have any at all for them.

"This is no time for diplomacy," the Prussian snarled, causing a frown to spread over Austria's face. He could see the difference in the man, and the aristocratic nation had found it especially unsettling that neither of his cousins had had any contact with him after the attack. But the ex-nation wasn't finished yet, his red eyes burning with fury. "This is a time for punishment!" Much like his brother would do to settle the nations down he slammed his hands into the surface of the table, but unlike his brother there were no nations to settle. All were quiet and unnerved.

It was easy to determine that something was wrong with the albino. Hell, something was wrong with every single one of them. The world had gone into a state of fear, searching for someone to punish. But somehow it seemed the albino was especially affected. "Where is Germany?" the Austrian therefore asked, his eyes getting wary though his face attempted to be calm. He knew his cousin. He knew the blond would never allow his brother to come to these meetings alone. Not unless it was crucial and he couldn't come on his own. "What has happen to Ludwig?"

Somehow the question got Prussia to draw back. His eyes were dark as he stood there, a pained look coming over his face. But he had to speak, hadn't he? It was necessary, even if it hurt him to talk of. Germans avoided pain, and if avoidance wasn't possible they treated it with anger. If you showed you hurt you showed weakness, but anger was a tool. "He is in the hospital." The tone was cold and dark. "It is a day ago he stopped retching blood. It is 5 days and 13 hours ago since he got sick." The day of the attack. Actually the same hour, if their calculations were not wrong. The other nations shifted uncomfortably, slowly beginning to realize where it was going.

It was news for the Austrian as well and he felt a clenching around his stomach. "I heard Berlin was hit," he said, putting down his cup with a clack and fixing his jabot when he found his hand twitching nervously and attempted to hide it. Prussia sent him a snarl, a dangerous stillness on his face. As though he was frozen in anger and hate rather than caught up with his own 'awesomeness'. Austria couldn't even call it an improvement. Not as much as it hurt to see while knowing the albino was in pain. "I didn't kno-"

"Of course you didn't know, you sissy prick! You didn't care! None of you cared!" He made a gesture towards them all before he turned his burning gaze to Russia. His eyes narrowed, his teeth got bared, and he punched the table once more as it if would make his words more powerful. All he managed was to look a violent douche, but the Austrian would not waste his breath on commenting. The man wouldn't listen anyway. "You were too busy licking your own wounds to even think of the rest of the world, too busy mistrusting each other that you didn't even fucking consider that some might be fucking hurt!" The man was enraged, that much was obvious. He was furious, and with his brother apparently hurt it was with reason. "Y'know what he asked of me? Already when he just got out of surgery when they had just stopped the bleeding and his mind was still fogged with morphine?" When no one answered and everyone simply looked he snorted. "He asked of me to check who did it. 'Do the research I can't do here', he begged. Actually wanting to find out who the hell hurt you with their psycho-attack!"

Once more his eyes moved to Russia but the Brit stopped him. "Excuse me, Prussia, but are you sure you do not want to sit down for a moment? I must admit that you are-" Scary, but that wasn't what he had been about to say, no, certainly wasn't at all. Stressed out, that was the word, but he didn't get to say that, either.

Prussia was faster and harsher and cared little about interrupting. "You know, 'Brows, I don't fucking care a flying shit about what you want me to do." The most of the nations were getting angry at this point. Though it might not be time for diplomacy it was always time for at least a little politeness – something Prussia hadn't always been good with. Now he was without his usual smirking smile as well, nothing to soften the harshness with that cruel yet charming amusement. "My brother is suffering in a fucking hospital and the only thing he has been talking to me about is whether I have found out who it is so we can find allies to crush the threat in attempt to keep these decades so called 'world peace' and save the lot of you. Don't you fucking say you haven't done anything but glare at neighbours! Don't fucking say you didn't even notice that he was hurt!"

One who felt oddly unbothered by his display of rudeness was Roderich. His mind was occupied with the worry about exactly what had happened to his German neighbour and cousin. He didn't get to ask, though, as another voice came in and interrupted, wanting to actually fix things. "What was the result of your 'research', then?" a female asked, dark and accented. Attention turned to the group from the Middle East, the Muslim countries residing there – to say the exact location it was a female nation cloaked in a full body veil. If Germany wasn't here to get things done then Saudi Arabia might as well, right? The Western countries' strifes had no interest to them – the fact that someone had bombed their military stations had. And they knew all too well that the Westerners could argue a meeting away – it would be a lie, though, if they claimed they weren't much the same.

The albino turned around to glare at the woman who simply looked back at him with levelled, dark eyes – the only part of her free for the world to see. But they were hard and would not agree to resistance. Had he been someone else and less angry he might have backed off and calmed at the sight of those eyes – but he didn't, for he was Prussia and a stubborn man. Not even the stares from the many males around her managed to calm him even the slightest. "Secret Services make it shithard to find out anything because everyone is so damn secretive about it – as if they want us to know nothing of anything! One thing I do know, though; the plane that hit Berlin was an old, outdated military plane from Soviet." All attention moved to Russia then – over to meet his innocent, childish, smiling face. He seemed absolutely unfazed by the accusation, but that wasn't enough to make him guilty. Not with Russia.

And even if it was true it was uncertain what they could do.

Few would doubt Russia able to think up a plan this insane, but how could he go through with it? How could anyone actually succeed? It wasn't really possible. And what could they do to prove it? The Prussian had papers, so shouldn't it be best for him to continue? England was about to mix into things again when Russia decided to voice his defence, sending Prussia an amused look. "Why do you accuse me of doing such things? Russia was hit as well, da. And starting wars like this is suicide." His voice was pleasant and smooth, like a cat just before it pierced the mouse with its claws. The lie passed his lips as easily as he could take a swig of vodka, and he was so trained in his work that his face remained still, no traces of untrue present in the form of twitches. Acting was a skill he had long since learned to perfect.

An unamused snort sounded from the albino and he tapped his hand on the documents he had slammed on the table, fierce hatred shining from his eyes. "I made a list of all the countries that got hit by the airplane. Thanks to your stupid polices I have had to use stupid internet, but awesome as I am I found proof of at least one attack everywhere – or, of course not Russia and some of the tini ones, but the tinies aren't strong, rich or loco enough to make an attack like that." It wasn't that he was fully stupid.

It was just that the evidence he had gathered was thin, unofficial stuff made by a former enemy of the accused, and the accused was Russia. "We have national problems with internet right now," the man simply smiled, his head tilted slightly – innocently. Once more not even Dr. Cal Lightman would be able to find a mistake. "Winterstorm destroyed many cables and thereby destroyed the internet. Because a large area is affected the government decided to cut it off for all of the country and do some revising."

Revising the internet… That stirred another nation able to call a lot of attention. "Revising the internet?!" America called from afar, standing up as if his noisy voice wasn't enough to draw attention. A furious expression settled on Prussia's face when the topic began changing. "What does that mean?! The hell are you doing?! Is it like-?" There was a cruel flash in the Russian's eyes, a cruel smile tainting the false innocence, giving America a look of horror upon his face. Acting really was his specialty. "You can't mean that! That's against the rules! It's against freedom of speech to make censorship!"

That got China up from his chair as well, "you cannot speak of things you have never tried, aru!"

An amused chuckled came from Russia on the side, the act finally unnecessary to be convincing, "what will you do when I say SOPA? Or PIPA? Or ACTA?"

And then the argument was on the way, America and China going at it with the ferocity of China's annoyance with the young nation and Russia sitting with a cruelly amused look on his face. When Prussia began yelling at them that they should get back on track the argument had moved over to money and debt, to 'freedom' against 'order', to poverty and ideology and corruption and simple, personal disdain. Had Prussia been Germany and able to keep some cool it might have been different, but at that point he had been out of his mind.

France and Spain, in the end, had to hold him back from choking both America and Russia. England was standing as well, yelling to his former charge about manners in sentences filled with curse words. Japan was trying to get heard, attempting to tell them that they should calm down and be silent in a voice so calm and silent in itself that his words disappeared in screams and shouts – but he did get an approving glance from the silent Swiss on the side for actually saying a word of his own.

Algeria at some point got so angry that he stood up and began yelling at them in Arabic, telling them to sit down and get things done when they had been bombed, but one wrong comment to him from America about language and culture got the rest of the more ferocious countries in the Arab League to yell as well, leaving Egypt, Oman, Jordan, Tunisia and a few others to sit silently in the midst of a raging crowd. Australia and even Greece got woken up from the usual meeting-slumber, and Austria sat with a palm to his head, grumbling about inefficiency and imbeciles just as Hungary moved to end the struggle with Prussia, frying pan in hand.

The Nordics kept out of it, but only because Norway had taken a hold of Denmark's collar and dragged him back to his chair when he tried to move to help France and Spain in holding back the Prussian. They didn't want the trouble of it, but with the cold, emotionless faces most of them held there was only silence between them. At least when among other people. They had been hit by bombs as well, and left with near no military as a consequence of the sparse military they held even before the attack they wanted to find the culprit and away him or her quickly. When the Prussian actually nearly managed to get the attention back on track and about a tenth on the nations listened to him Belarus stood as well and yelled that her brother couldn't have done this, for she had been hit as well. Ukraine took her side, the belief fierce in their hearts.

And enjoying the show and keeping the argument going with necessary remarks and keeping the tempers high without becoming too suspicious was a smiling Russia, playing the others like a puppeteer with invisible strings. The Baltics could feel that. They had met his temper many times, seen his techniques, knew his tricks and knew his mind. Still, two of them turned to a third, Estonia turning his face towards Toris without letting his eyes move from their old tormentor. "It is him, right?" the middle one asked, holding the Latvian's hand silently. Their smallest member had never been fond of loud noises and fighting, and his years under Russia had done nothing to make that better. The noise was loud, making the three of them able to talk without notice – even though they had to talk loudly.

"Yes." Toris would always be the one of them who knew Russia the best, though it wasn't with his own consent. He could see that beneath the amusement his expression showed there was a satisfaction about the whole situation. "He is starting a war." But beneath the satisfaction, the cruel calculation, there was something darker. The brunette Baltic could see it. To him it seemed a… a wound, bleeding and festering. But it was so well hidden he thought it might just be his worrying that spoke to him, telling him again that Russia wasn't so bad and just needed a tiny, giant bit of help. "He… he's playing his… his games again," he still mumbled to the rest. A collective shiver ran through all of them, making Latvia's trembling that much worse for a moment. When Russia played it was always them who got hurt.

But something had to be done, and after having continued sitting, not bothering to stop what had ended in several small but loud fights all over the room, Estonia moved to stand. "We have to do something." In his own way he had always been the strongest of them. Having his intelligence was a great advantage for him, and less fearful than Latvia and not overly kind as Lithuania he was able to control his emotions with cold logic. Right now he knew they had to stop him before it was too late.

Even though Raivis had reached out to drag him back into his seat again as Eduard halfway stood, about to beg him not to draw attention to them, it wasn't the smallest of the trio who got the other back down on his chair. As though knowing they knew, as if aware they had figured him out, Russia turned in that very moment from the arguments and sent a piercing stare into the heart of the Estonian. For a moment the Baltic froze, unable to move, his heart speeding while his lungs were clogged. He couldn't even sit back in his chair as he stood with bent knees, not even standing up straight before their old master decided to warn his dogs about not disobeying. Then a smile spread, the most sinister, dangerous, deadly smile that childish face could muster, finally getting Estonia out of his freezing fear. Memories filled his mind, memories of years of fear and torment brought back to the surface at the sight of a single expression.

When he hit the chair again a whimper escaped Eduard's mouth and he took his arms up to hug himself, eyes closed in an attempt to hide his tears. He failed, drops silently trickling down his cheeks even if the Russian hadn't even touched him – Russia no longer had to touch to give them pain. Estonia's breathing was labored and Latvia, who of course also noticed the man's mental assault, had begun panicking again, muttering "he's going to take us again, he's going to take us again" through panting, overburdened lungs.

"He… He won't," Lithuania promised the smallest, standing from his chair to get a hand on Latvia's shoulder past Estonia's head. "The rest of the world… they won't let it happen." For a moment the Latvian might even have been improving. He might even show to get his mood a little better. A flicker of hope dared to pass by the bright, blue orbs of the small nation.

It was quickly gone, though, when Estonia said the fact that was simply too true for the three of them. "They won't, and you both know it." And the other two couldn't deny it. Nations that could not protect themselves apparently seemed to suffer – at least if they were Baltic. And the enemy was Russia. Still the Latvian just wanted a… a little bit of good times, a little bit of success, but… "They didn't last time. 'Illegal occupation'. What does that even mean when no one decides to act on it?" His voice was dark as he stared into the table, afraid to even look at the Russian nation, but his tone of voice was in no way submissive.

Of course the Estonian was right, they could not deny it. The world never lifted a hand to rid them of their pain, no matter what they called the act. After a flicker of regret and sadness had passed his blue eyes, though, Lithuania stood and moved behind the Latvian's chair, daring to give the small, shivering nation a hug. "It won't happen again," he said, whispering into the Baltic's ear through the arguments passing by them from nation to nation and group to group. Without Germany they were a bunch of lost, little kids. "He won't take you again. I won't let him, Latvia, I promise you that."

The meeting was finally closed off when the time was up, but the moods were still hot and ready for violence. Russia moved out the door as he would have if he hadn't attacked the other nations, his bottle of vodka in his hand and a hum on his smiling lips. No signs were left of his treacherous act as he moved with the other nations, past doors heavily guarded by soldiers who had not been residing in the great military bases the Russian had more or less destroyed and onto the streets of the capital of the United Kingdom. The nations around him disappeared into their respective cars to their respective hotels, so they could get their respective baggage and go home.

The usual situation was that the nations got a single hotel to live in, and often held their meetings in a room in the hotel they were given to not attract attention from the public eye. It was bad enough when their leaders had to move around or be hidden by the police, but a country getting attacked was a much more dangerous thing that a simple person from that country. Usually the current bosses of each nation would also be in the host country for meetings at those times, meaning there was more than enough for the host to look after already. This was the situation of today, and Russia suspected there would be personal meeting between each country and their boss to find out what the other had experienced. That wouldn't happen to him. His boss had become nothing but a hostage for him.

The smile stayed on as he stepped into the car. It kept there as his driver drove him back towards his own hotel. Even as he moved up the stairs and into his own room was it there for the public eyes to see, for humans not even knowing him to witness and be frightened, the act following him all the way till no eyes could see.

There the act fell. The despair drove him to hit the wall hard enough for the outmost layer to smolder, his eyes brimming with tears. Damn it. Damn it. Germany… Germany shouldn't have been hit. One of the engines of the plane had set afire, that was the last they had heard from the man within the only fighter. But why had the pilot gone for Berlin? Why? He needed the guy up and around, damn it!

The man's mind was a messy cloud, the emotions hard for him to handle. To him emotions always ended with outbursts, for the madness did not want him to feel the pain of the world outside his head. He shivered, his breathing hard and trembling. It was obvious the German had been bad. The things Prussia had described. Russia hadn't known that was where the plane had hit. Would this extinguish all his plans? Would it mean he had made a mistake and this would all be over too soon? That death and destruction would come too soon? The man was needed, he was the only one who could unite the nations, the only one who might keep calm enough to hold an overview, the one that could control the battle…

Actually it was good he hadn't been at the meeting. The thought broke through the clouds in Russia's mind, killing the despair that formerly made the Russian shiver in suppressed, insane rampaging. It was good he hadn't been present and had sent his rowdy brother instead. None would believe the brother, the brother was too rash and not convincing enough in his arguments. Had Germany said the things Prussia had things would have been happening too soon for certain – now it was simply a risk. Had the blond been there to tell them Russia was the cause the other would have listened and Russia would have been caught. That would have destroyed everything.

Germany wasn't dead yet. He might recover. That would be good, if he recovered and awakened Russia's enemies in the way they should be woken. The German would convince them of who the cause was, and he would be right when he blamed Russia. The man would gather the countries and extinguish arguments in the way only Germany and his voice was able to. He could make the other countries forget their feuds and instead work together against Russia.

That was good. That just meant Russia had to make preparations. That he had to act faster than them as well. And that he couldn't follow through with his plan on going to the next meeting as well, when the countries once more found themselves in need of taking care of the threat. It would come, when their tempers had fallen. The idea that the enemy was Russia had been sparked as well, even though the countries felt they missed evidence. Might be he would be caught even without the German there to convince the rest.

It was good Germany had been hit. Otherwise everything would have gone bad.

The smile that the Russian had acted all the way through the meeting, ever since Prussia arrived and spread his news of the blond, German nation, came back. And this time it was no act. Things were going smoothly.

It might even be that Germany's blood had made everything just that much slicker for the smoothness to better.

October 15th, somewhere near Xian, China, 00:23 local time

The night was about as dark as night could be. The moon was gone, only a hair's breadth of silver shown in case one could fly above the close, black clouds. The world seemed black as lead, the darkness impenetrable. The world might have been standing still if not for the wind that whistled in the trees of the small garden. The world was as black as the mood within the house to which the garden belonged. The lone man living in it sat inside his house, staring at the black world and contemplating if the night knew what the world was coming to.

The brown eyes of the incarnation of China were settled on the clouds. The meeting two days ago had been a fiasco, unsurprisingly, but that didn't stop the ancient man from being annoyed. Worry was in his heart as well and he tried to make out the information he had gotten. Sleep wouldn't come to him. The situation of the world had left him with a bad feeling, for his military had gotten heavily damaged, and his dreams were haunted by the memories of the victims who experienced the events at the harmed bases.

Whoever did this did it well. They had destroyed most of his airplanes, a great deal of his fleet and a small amount of tanks and cars. He had even managed to take down many of the enemy, but unfortunately the planes they had shot down had managed to crash close enough to the Chinese bases to wipe out great, military areas when the bombs went off.

That was the reason why China was at this house. The world had become modern and China usually lived as such in the giant buildings within the great cities, where the road to work was close and he could see the vastness of his world and once more growing power. It was great to be big, and it was great to be modern, but in times of trouble and hardships the ancient nation found his longing for the olden times. Back when wars were fought with swords and honor was sacred and you could expect enemies to come from the ground, not the air.

It were these memories that got the man to flee from his giant apartment in Beijing and out into the small, old, traditional house hidden in the mountains near Xi'an. The longing of the old was strong in an old man, and nations got even older. China was 4000 years old and had 4000 years of memories to look back on and long for. It had been simpler times with simpler thoughts and the world hadn't been so big. Travelling was harder, yet easier, and the places you travelled for were far where they now were near. Gain and loss of greatness, good and bitter memories yet both with the romantic feeling time put upon your past.

Back then an attack as this wouldn't happen. Back then the enemy wouldn't be able to hide. Back then the amounts of enemies you could face weren't as many, and a war certainly wouldn't be a risk to destroy the whole world.

The relationship between him and Russia had become closer again in the last few years. The stalking had developed into something like an awkward friendship. They had a common enemy and a shared wish to get attention and power from the young and cocky superpower, America. In the case of an attack China wanted and wished to be able to say that Russia hadn't done it simply because China had been a victim as well. Unfortunately the Russian didn't work like that, and China knew it. With Russia you could never know what was going on or when his opinions changed.

China could take care of himself, he would never doubt that. He was powerful, he had lived longer than any other nation and his economy was growing big enough to make the whole of the world dependent of him. Without him a big amount of the production would be gone – soon the world would be made in China. It wasn't that he was afraid he couldn't manage without support from Russia when facing his enemies. It was just that… as uncomfortable as Russia was and as much as he would want him at a distance… Being powerful and independent was lonely if you had no one to have it with. No matter if the man you spoke to about it was an insane creep or no.

He had no reason to believe Russia had done what the Prussian had accused him to. But he had even fewer reasons to believe the maniac not to have done it. The attack… it was big, it was planned, and behind it laid the need of vast resources and influence. The amount of people, even countries, with that amount of power was few.

China was among those. America as well, but he was ruled out for being… well, stupid America. Germany could, but unless Prussia was a better liar than China expected of him the German had been hurt in the attack. Japan had the technology, but China knew it wouldn't be his way – it was too rash and mindless. It created enemies everywhere, and Japan was clever enough to at least act like they were friends until he stabbed them in the back.

A grimace moved over China's face at that thought and he turned away from the sky and the black clouds, stopping with his musings over the other Asian man. Stopping his musings that caused the insane attack he stood from the seat by his window, going over to his bed with silent steps. There was a chill in the air as he took off his robe again, making a shiver move over his body. Everything felt wrong; he could feel it deeply into his bones. But there was nothing he could do but try to keep what strength he had left and trust his people to regain what was lost.

As he lay down and sleep finally caught him he dreamt. He dreamt of explosions and blood and broken bones, of watchtowers getting blasted to pieces and panic in the minds of the soldiers as they made their last scream. He dreamt of snow dripping blood, of the wail of a small man, of voices united in a single scream and of a forest on fire. He dreamt of violet eyes and a mad smile, but soon the smile left and the eyes shed tears… and the tears became crimson.

When he awoke again he had realized just how naïve and stupid the world had been yet another time.

October 14th, Denver Health Medical Center, Denver, Colorado, U.S.A. 10:23 local time

Usually there would be a smile on his face. Usually he would grin and talk and attract attention to himself. Usually the incarnation of the United States of America would show nothing but happiness to those outside his mind.

It didn't happen today. The initiative was his own, to contact the victims of the attacks one by one. The President was by his side to show the men support. Yeah, it was to show them that the country and government cared, but also to find out personally if anyone, even a single man, had any knowledge about the identity of their enemy. If someone, somewhere, in some state, had heard something.

Private soldiers had been on ground, asleep, at their stations… they hadn't been in contact with the enemy. Only those in the watchtowers and those on surveillance duty might have heard something… but until now the only survivor on that duty, in the state of Alabama, had hit his head so hard in the collapse of that building that his memory of the whole of the day had yet to come back.

They had been to various states at this point. Texas, New Mexico and Arizona just yesterday. Most of the rest of the Bible Belt had been taken before the meeting. It was done rather quickly, but that was both because they did it out of public and… well, there were few survivors. Few people who they could visit. Even fewer to talk to, as many were in coma or too drugged or hurt to speak sense. In Colorado there were sixteen survivors, all in a relatively steady state, but four of the sixteen were kept in coma and four suffered from head injury, resulting in no speech, incoherence or motor problems that troubled the poor doctors. Of the seven remaining they were told two had gotten off with a few broken limbs, three 'only' suffered controlled internal bleeding and were simply kept for monitoring, two had burns covering their body and the last had a broken spine.

It was no worse than the other states. If anything there were more survivors than in some. They had no hope of finding out anymore than they already knew, and America felt somber and sad at the thought of his injured soldiers getting injured for nothing. They had been at a few of the bases and seen the wounded mass of earth and metal, a sore in the surface of Mother Earth. The ruins had still been smoking when he saw them in Florida just two days after the incident – there had been no survivors from there. The fire had trapped them all and the three that got out alive died from burns and smoke inhalation after a night at the hospital.

The only good thing in this was that the assaulter hadn't used nuclear weapons. The damages were still great, but with nuclear power it would be even greater. Then whole states and not only bases would be affected, people would have to be moved, panic would arise… Now they only had a few thousand plus who had died or were wounded. That was better than a whole of a state – or more – glowing with radiation.

The white hall was silent as America moved forward, led by a nurse and accompanied by generals and officials and politicians. The young nation's face was long, but covered, the true fear and worry hiding beneath the surface. Like his country he could show confidence and strength to the rest of the world while the truth was uneasy fear and crumpling uncertainty. For he was his country.

At the door the nurse asked them to split up as to not stress out the patients. The group consisted of nine besides Alfred. It seemed she thought it unnecessary to let the patients see all of the people that had come for them. She seemed to think that as long as the government showed a little attention they would feel a little better.

America disagreed. "I want to see them all." Her attention moved to him and the wonder in her eyes told she had barely noticed him before. And she was not impressed. What she saw was a teenager mixing with important adults, not even decent enough to comb his hair right. The fact that he hadn't dressed in suits for the occasion didn't help him, in his rugged jeans and jacket. But when she looked into his eyes she could see the experience of an old man and the determination only leaders held. Suddenly she didn't dare disagreeing.

The first he met was a man called Alexander Cross. He was the man with the broken spine, lying on the bed with a distant look on his face. He had lost his ability to walk and couldn't feel anything below the waist. The career he had chosen was dead if he could no longer walk. A soldier with no legs was a useless soldier.

Not even the arrival of another made him look to the side. The tug in his heart at the sight of pure hopelessness nearly caused Alfred to cry and he choked a sob, going back into hiding his sadness with a smile. He settled down beside the man on a comfy chair, his eyes sparkling with life and happiness. "Hey, dude. 'Sup?" The man's eyes moved over to him, over to the bright smile, but it could not reach him.

Or maybe it did. The soldier swallowed as if to moister his dry mouth. It was obvious he felt uncomfortable – he couldn't recognize the man. Still he felt some sort of relation to the man sitting by him. Not that he would ever know the two of them were the same, that the man beside him was his country worrying about his health. "Why are you… here?" he asked, his voice and eyes tired.

"Well, me and my boss, the President, are meeting with the victims of the attack. You know it happened other places as well, right?" The teenage nation received a nod, and a look of disbelief. The guy had a hard time believing someone looking so young had any relation with the head of state. America didn't mind it, just grinned at him. "Well, anyway, we wanna tell you that you don't have to worry about money. The economy's shit but we'll make sure you get the best treatment for free – no way I'll let some form of secret, coward enemy destroy the lives of my soldiers." There was a slight spark of life in the soldier's eyes, making America's convincing, false smile become true. "We also want to locate that stupid coward enemy, but we don't have a single clue, so that's kinda shitty."

If England had heard how he spoke he might be annoyed and ready to kill him. To this hopeless soldier it seemed to bring him some form of life, as though facing this brightness from a supposedly young mind proved to him that life was still worth living. "I-I… I was told to be ready to fire… Didn't know much, but…" He blinked, as if going back to the day – or rather night – brought him great discomfort. It didn't stop him, though. He… apparently he wanted to help his country and this kid, unknowing that the two were one and the same. "Captain Jeoffrey then said it was false alarm… he sounded relieved but I got annoyed… I followed orders. Next thing I knew he began screaming to me I should ready to fire again. I began arguing back at him… I was tired and annoyed. I could hear the urgency, though, so I tried to obey… But before I even got to retell the order… the walls began to fall."

America made sure to listen carefully and nodded slowly as the man spoke, but reached the conclusion that the man didn't know anything. That saddened him, but it might be… "Is the Captain still alive?" he asked. It might be that one knew something. Then it might be they were able to find their enemy then. But it wasn't possible.

Alexander made the smallest shake of his head. "No. He was crushed when the tower fell." All air seemed to disappear from America's lungs at the face of yet another disappointment. Yet another no. It seemed to nearly pain the man upon the sickbed and he took in another breath. "I think… Paul… Paul Mason… He was up there as well. I think he survived." Hope sparked in America's eyes again, making a near satisfied smile come upon the formerly so hopeless face. As though Alexander was the reason for the sudden happiness in the teen's eyes.

America stood and reached for his hand, smiling to the poor soldier as he shook it. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll look for him, 'kay? I haf'ta go now, though. Thanks for the chat!"

He turned away to find a nurse, searching for the new name. He quickly stopped, though, when the hand didn't let go of him. He turned back and looked into the eyes of his wounded soldier… and he found them teary. "Thanks…" the man said in a shivering voice. "Thank you for using your time. I-I…"

"You don't have to say anything," America grinned. He got his hand free gently and sent the other a thumbs up, the smile wide but in no way patronizing. "You get better, 'kay?!" And then he turned away and left, feelings deeply settled in his chest. There was warmth in there, near his heart, as he closed his eyes outside for a moment to feel the bliss. This was the feeling he loved. The feeling of doing the right thing, the feeling of being a hero.

Too fast that feeling was gone. The moment he found a nurse he was told that Paul Mason indeed had survived – this made him jump up and down in joy – but that he unfortunately had "problems communicating". When he asked why the woman told him the soldier had lost both eardrums in the explosion, making him unable to hear.

They had put him through surgery, but infection had caught both ears and made the healing go slow – if it would ever happen. They were trying to treat him, but as it was he might never regain his hearing. The man didn't understand sign language and couldn't read lips, and he suffered a constant headache as well, making it hard for his eyes to focus on letters. The first time he awoke he had panicked due to the fact that he was unable to hear his own voice. The childless man had soon grown deep into depression and ignored both his girlfriend – who ended up breaking with him in a fit of anger – his two sisters and his parents.

That left America sad, hurt and disappointed. Still he insisted on meeting the man after being warned that the sight would not be pretty.

In truth the sight was no problem. The man had a broken arm and foot, and bandages covered his head, but it was obvious he was in no danger and didn't seem to suffer from everlasting injuries. His condition was clearly better than Alexander's – at least on what you could see.

It was the mood in the room that wasn't pretty. The eyes that were so hard and empty, staring up into the ceiling as though it was sight and not hearing he had lost. Depression filled the air like fog, floating so thickly the teen nation felt like he was breathing it in, suffocating on sadness. "H-hey…" he said, before realizing how stupid that was. The man heard nothing. Seemed to see nothing. It was as though all care for life had left. It might was well have been a corpse upon those white, pure sheets, and this room could have been a morgue.

A part of America told him to run, flee, put the task on another. Another part felt the need to go closer and get the information he needed, wanted, had to get. The last, and biggest, wanted to save this man. But running was cowardice and cowardice was unfit for heroes. He therefore sat on a chair like the one in Alexander's room and looked upon the man, waiting and begging for some sort or acknowledgement.

When it didn't come America sighed. How could he do this? What could he do? At some point he decided he was thinking too much and therefore stopped. Instead of trying to fix things with his brain he would do it with his actions, for thoughts were nothing. The only way it could help him was if the explosion had given him the ability to hear thoughts, and though Daredevil had done something like that and had become awesome when he lost his sight the American teen dared not hope for it.

So instead of sitting on the chair he stood, moved over to the bed, and sat beside the soldier's hip. No reaction, but the hell that would stop him! His hand moved over the other's body to find the unbroken arm and stroked it, taking the man's hand in his own and clenching it.

Not to hurt him. Not with all the inhuman strength America always forgot he held. But to show the deaf man that he was still here. That the world still wanted him. That he wasn't alone.

Paul's eyes blinked when it happened. Then he frowned. Eyes moved downwards, finding Alfred's blue ones, finding the smile and the glow that had reached for Alexander. Still holding him with one hand Alfred lifted the other and gave the soldier a thumbs up as well. The expression on the soldier's face remains unchanged – a frown, deep and confused, with eyes that only barely seemed to register the nation in front of him.

The man was far away. It was heartbreaking for the American, devastating to see how a man could be broken and empty like this. He didn't let it show, though. He couldn't show that he agreed with those emotions, he shouldn't confirm the man's state of mind. If he did there was no way of pulling him back.

But even more importantly he had to establish contact without speech, without even using sound. The man had to have no idea who the stranger in front of him was, even though the pull between nations and their people had to still affect him. America was raking his mind from chamber to chamber in search of ideas to communicate. And once more, as he found absolutely nothing of help through thinking, he decided just to do.

And so he pouted. His movements were great and overdone to make sure the other realized what he was doing and his lower lip was pushed forward in a childish grimace. The hand clenching the other's limb let go and instead folded over his chest, looking at the man with even more childish judgment.

There was the tiniest positive twitch around Paul's lips.

Something as simple as that made endless joy fill America's heart and his usual smile flashed through, a laugh even escaping the young nation's throat. The soldier raised his eyebrows questioningly, causing America to frown at him – then stick out his tongue. And slowly he forced life into the other's face, the tongue bringing the man to finally smile for real. Making a supposedly sophisticated expression, raising his eyebrows and pushing his lips forward like a duck, America lifted both hand to make a false, polite applause.

This made the other deadpan him with a near murderous look, but America apparently found this amusing. He threw his head back in a laugh, the sound so sincere even the deaf man could hear it. And then the American managed what family and friends had become unable to. He was accepted by the crippled man, and said man opened his mouth shakily, looking up at the ceiling again with a pained grimace. For the first moment America didn't understand. Then it made sense.

Headache. The man had a killer of a headache.

"W-h… who…?"

The word sounded nearly queer, thick and shaking and filled with uncertainty. A new, different grimace moved over the human's face. As if it brought him pain to speak. And maybe it did. Maybe knowing you spoke while no sound reached you did bring you pain. Maybe it was agonizing to produce words without knowing what you said.

Luckily America understood immediately and he produced his card – the one a boss from long ago had forced him to make. Of course it had been updated over time, and it said that America was an important government official with military background and various other things. It took the human a very long time of staring, holding the card with his one hand, before he seemed to understand the letters. Oh, right. Headache.

When he was done, though, he looked at the supposed 'official' with doubt. Seriously? A kid like that, now sitting and grinning victoriously at him, sitting in a high ranking office? The man would deem the kid somewhere around 17-19, and he quite clearly had the mind of a child. But that made the other… was his name Alfred? No less pleasurable. Even if he had an office that seemed higher than his abilities.

The two of them talked for a while. As much as you can talk when one cannot hear. The American did what he could to amuse and brighten the other's day, tried for everything in the world to create smiles, and waited with his question.

By the time Paul was served dinner the American had him sitting up with the smallest smile on his face and the tiniest light beaming from his eyes. The nurse smiled, set down the tray of quite decent food, and then left again. As Paul began eating America did his best to show the most seriously contempt and disgust by the food – once more for Paul's amusement – and in the end, as though they were old comrades, the soldier kicked out at the nation with his healthy foot.

It was comfortable, though odd, to be with a man unable to really communicate. He didn't have much more time, he realized when looking at the clock, for he wanted to meet with the other victims. And so, while the patient ate his food America found a notebook and a pen on the table beside the bed, probably to be used for exactly what he was about to do. Paul watched him with a frown as he wrote down a question.

Do you know who is behind the attack?

Then America passed the note, waiting as Paul took a long time reading it. Waiting as the man grimaced over the letters and his headache. Waiting as the man put the note away, sent the other a small look before turning away, a sad expression settling on his face.

"No?" America asked with a sad expression before once more remembering the man's condition. The wounded soldier turned back to look at him for a moment, looking as though he was in pain.

Then he nodded, answering yes.

The smile that evolved on America's face was bigger than his face could contain and without thinking the young man flew at the soldier and embraced him in a hug, sending food flying over the floor and the sheets. The discomfort and slight fear filling the soldier's face disappeared – probably having grown from him holding back such important information. America didn't care. Finally they could get answers, finally they had their enemy. As he pulled back America tilted his head questioningly, happiness shining out of him.

The man was taken aback by the sudden embrace and yet finding it incredibly comfortable Paul stared at him. And continued. Then he opened his mouth, trying to speak again. "Ru-Ru-" Already then America's face froze, slight fear and great discomfort filling his face. Paul hesitated another them, but the other had already figured it out. Still he finished the answer. "Russia…" That had been the last thing he really heard. His own voice speaking that very word before he was slammed into the wall and the whole building collapsed over him. His arm had been crushed under the stone, his whole body was bruised and his foot hand been twisted as he laid in his little hole under the rubble. But nothing… nothing hurt as much as his head.

His whole life had been ruined in that very moment because of that little word.

He could see the information was bad. That it was one of the worst things the kid could have heard. Still there was little he could do, for the other had wanted the truth.

Finally the frozen expression disappeared from America's face and instead it became gratitude. Cold and fearful, but honest, gratitude. The young nation reached for the notebook again and scribbled down words once more, the human's face filled with confusion. Then the young nation was done and gave the soldier the book before he was up and ran for the door. Then he turned around for a moment and bowed deeply in the way of a Japanese man, standing in the doorway and giving the man this salute.

When he was gone again he found his boss as fast as he could and stopped him. "I know who." Immediately the man's ears perked and he was alert and ready to listen. "It's Russia. It was Russia all along, as we were warned. We have to call for a meeting and tell the rest. It was a soldier, by the way, Paul Mason. We gotta help him, he's a pretty cool guy. Anyway, we have to gather the world, and we should invite Russia as well – might be we can catch him."

The human watched his partner and pain-in-the-ass nation for a moment, wondering how the young and childish man had suddenly gotten so serious. Then he nodded. "I just got a call of a meeting. It was from the office. Someone got before us and has demanded a new meeting. We are going to Poland when we reach the airport."

For a moment America stared. Then he began laughing, the usual, annoying laugh, and all signs of his sudden maturity disappeared. "Poland?! The cross dresser? Are you sure? AHAHAHA! He'd never do that!" Unfortunately his boss was serious. Dead serious. And that dragged America's mood downwards again. "You mean it? Damn. But I can't go yet."
"Al-"

"Na-ah, I can't. Promised to visit all my soldiers. No way a stupid cross dresser is gonna make me neglect my people and my promises! And I'm gonna kill Russia when I meet him again!"

"Alfred-!"

"Bye! See you at the plane in an hour?"

And so, the President of the United States of America sat in Air Force One for three hours, waiting for his stupid nation to arrive as the kid wasted his time cheering up his soldiers.

Thank you, Paul Mason.

Thank you a lot

You don't know how much time and how many lives you just saved by telling me this. You don't know just how much you have done for me, for my people, and for the world. You have no idea how happy you just made me or how big a load you took from my shoulder.

Stay alive. Find happiness. There's still a man inside you, behind your pain and sadness and confusion and fear. A man able to laugh with a stupid, immature, false teen. Your ears are not what decide who you are – only your heart can do that, and your mind.

Stay alive. When the war is done I will look for you. When I find you I expect to see the strong man hiding in your gaze. With or without hearing, your country, your family and America needs you.

I will look for you.

Alfred F. Jones

Tears had fallen on to the paper when Paul Mason finished reading. He shivered, sniffled, and then ripped out the page, missing the sound of the tearing paper. The sheet was folded once. Then twice. Then he put it in his bag, in a special compartment.

Done. Done and done and over with. Long. A little bit too long. It is finished, though. I will warn you that my favorite character, Switzerland, will have a bigger part of the story than first planned. Grudgingly on my part, but that's what he gets for being stubborn. And soon he would wish he'd never done it and just wanted to follow my orders, for damn he has been a pain in the ass -.-' Now I have but one thing to say for you, my dear readers who hopefully still reads this:

Enjoy in joy ^^

Oh, and what did one snowman say to the other snowman?