I don't own Hetalia, or any of the characters I use. That right belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I also don't own the picture for this story- this right belongs to someone I don't know. If this picture is yours, I'll give you personal credit!

Recap: Punk, 16-year-old-looking England.

America wanted to jump out and cry in Arthur's shoulder, but he forced himself crouch on the side of the house, out of sight, and think things through. He couldn't just take Arthur away from his adopted parents without teling them; that would be kidnapping and that would be illegal. Heroes don't do illegal. But at that moment, America wanted to foget about being a hero and just go to his former boss.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself much longer, so he came up with a plan; he would call Germany, get back-up, and explain the situation to England's adopted parents. Worst case scenario, they were forced to wait until Arthur was 18 until they did the spell.

He watched, barely able to control himself, as the black SUV containing England pulled out of the drive-way and left, driving down the road and turning a corner. He pulled out his phone and called Germany. He answered on the first ring.

"Ja?"

"Germany?" America sucked in a tight breath. "I found him. England."

Germany paused, obviously hearing the strain in America's voice. "Vou did good contacting me before making a move. Vhere are vou?"

"1740 Mage's Staff Drive." America ground out through gritted teeth.

"Okay. Ve vill be there as zoon as possible. But, America..."

"What?" he snapped.

"I vunderstand vhat zis means to vou. I... I vould veel ze same vay if Italy vere to go missing. But vou can not act rashly. If vou do somevhing, even someving as small as letting Arthur see vou-"

"It's England. His name is not Arthur." America growled.

"...Okay, letting England zee vou, vou could und probaly vould do more harm zhan good. Do NOTmakea move until I get zhere." he hung up.

America felt pressure build up in him. He was the one that cared the most, by far. When England had left, he couldn't sleep for weeks. The other countries eventually had to fight him, trying to put a sedative in him so his body wouldn't give out. He was creaming them; the only reason they had won was because he was weakened and he didn't see Canada sneak up on him. He punched the ground, creating an arm-sized hole in said ground. As if on cue, the skies decided to let rain fall freely then, drenching America in a matter of seconds; the weather was tied to his mood, after all. Lightning and thunder rolled louder than ever before, pounding in America's ears, leaving ringing afterwords.

He managed to control himself, bottling everything up like usual. He forced a grin, as he had been doing since England left, and sat down on the porch of Arthur's house. He laughed, but it was in pity for himself rather than joy.

He was looking at the drive-way's pavement, when all of a sudden, a black SUV pulled in. 'Shit!' America thought, then rolled over into the bushes in the garden right in front of the house. It was the only hiding spot he could get to without getting caught. Someone stepped out of the car and walked quickly to the door. Said person opened the door to the house and walked in, not bothering to shut it.

The person had blonde/pink hair and eyebrows like England's, as well as oddly vibrant eyes and clothes, both of which consisted of the colors blue and pink. America thought about it for a second, that person seeming so familliar, then felt fear roll into his stomach when he finally realized who it was.

It was Oliver, England's 2p.

While Oliver was in the house, America chose to disobey Germany, getting up and sprinting to the door. He got in, shut the dor, and locked it- having neighbors interfere wouldn't be good.

He took two steps from the door, pulled his gun from his jacket, and guarded the door, waiting for Oliver to come back so they could discuss England's custody. If worst came to worst, he needed protection from the blood-thirsty killer.

While he was thinking about how he would win if he went up against Oliver, he was completely oblivious to said man coming around the bend in the room next to him and freezing, then dropping his stuff and whiping a knife, at least seven inches long, out of nowhere. "What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.

America jumped, not expecting him, and fired off a shot by accident. The bullet hit the floor, and Oliver used America's surprise to knock the gun from his hand, sending it flying to the other side of the room. America quickly snapped out of it, though, and whipped around- only to come within centimeters of a long, jagged knife. America slowly raised his hands into the universal 'I-surrender' sign.

"Dude, put the knife away. I came to talk peacefully with you. It's important."

"With a gun?" he asked, as casually as if he was asking the time.

"You're dangerous." America chuckled, but his face showed no emotion. Unless un-amusement was an expression.

"So true. Yet you trespassed onto my property, anyway. Why is that?"

America paused. "I came to discuss something of up-most importance, but I must ask you to get rid of the knife."

"That isn't happening, poppet."

"Then will you at least move it? I don't want to talk feeling like you're going to jab me through."

Oliver kept the point trained on America's throat, seeming to have no intention of moving it anytime soon. He was about to answer, when all of a sudden, "Oliver?"

It was Arthur.

Arthur watched, patiently waiting, as Oliver got out of the car and went in to get his forgotten wallet. They were going to go eat, but, as stated earlier, Oliver forgot his wallet. He looked down for a moment, and looked back up as it started raining. He stared at the rain for a moment, then occupied himself with texting one of his friends. When he glanced out the window to see if Oliver was back, he saw something much more interesing: a blurry silhouette walking into his house, shutting the door. He hadn't seen the details, because it was raining, and the figure was speed-walking in shadow, but he knew something was up.

He ignored it in favor of continuing to text his friend, but soon after a gun shot echoed through his ears. He told the friend that he needed to go, then pulled out the gun secretly located in a secret compartment on the car door. Oliver had showed it to him when he was 13. He loaded the gun, then switched the safety off. He got out of the car, slowly walking up the driveway. When he reached the door, he began turning the knob, finding it locked.

He pulled out his key and unlocked it quietly, but only pushed the door open so that he could see a crack through it. He could spy his living room, but no one was there; 'They must be behind the door, in front of the stairs.' he concluded. But before he could push the door open all the way, he heard an intersting conversation, or at least part of one:

"That isn't happening, poppet." Oliver's voice.

"Then will you at least move it? I don't want to talk feeling like you're going to jab me through."

"Oliver?" he called out, still not fully opening the door.

Hi! Those of you that decide to be awesome like Prussia and comment get virtual huggles! Unless I know you in real life. Those of you that I know in real life get actual huggles. Unless you're Hetalia_ChibiAmerica, in which case you don't let me hug you. (Talking about the tent.) So you get none! But still comment.

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