Disclaimer: I can't draw anime or manga and I don't know Japanese. Do you think I own Hetalia?

Chapter 4

Canada was back at the Swiss United Nations building searching room after room for America. He had alerted the authorities about America's predicament and they had traced it to Balderik Gamma, a man who had a history of sexual assault.

He had coldly commanded other nations to search the building, cutting their party short. The other nations were guilty and somber.

He had been disgusted when he had discovered that the others had made assumptions about America and had done nothing. That had pretty much washed out his good opinion of everyone.

In hopes of covering more ground, they had spilt into groups. Germany had unwittingly recruited Italy and Japan. The Baltics quickly formed a group in hopes of avoiding Russia. Hungary and Austria reluctantly entered in a group with Prussia. China, unfortunately, was stuck in a group with Russia and South Korea, who was unfazed about the zealous Russian.

He had been stuck in a group with England and France. He would have preferred working alone. England and France, still in guilt stupors, would just slow him down. Besides, he doubted that if he found America that the American would be too happy to see them.

Luckily, he had sent England and France to explore other rooms. It gave him time to think to himself.

He had texted and called America multiple times to no avail. He had decided to try again and was now pacing back and forth anxiously in the conference room.

"Pick up, America," He whispered as he listened to the sound of the phone ringing. "Please."

The phone kept ringing as he continued to pace. However, he was again met with the familiar sound of the voice tone.

"Hey, Alfred here! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. I'm probably too busy dealing with crap from Iggy."

In the background, he could hear England's sound of protest and France's laughter followed by a number insults and sounds of a fight.

"He claims he's not annoying. Anyways, leave your name and I'll call you back as soon as I can! Bye!"

"Hey, Alfred, it's me Matthew," He said. "I was just calling to see if you're okay. So… um, please call me back. Okay. I'm just really worried for you right now."

He hung up the phone and let out a frustrated scream.

He had never had issues reaching America. If anything, he had trouble getting America to stop calling him. As his brother, America felt like he had an obligation to keep an eye up on him twenty-four seven, something he found both endearing and annoying.

He pocketed his phone and decided to leave the room. It was useless. There was no sign of America here.

Out in the hallway, he leaned against the wall and sighed.

He had no idea where his younger brother was.

"Come on, Mattie," Alfred's voice spoke to him. "You're my big bro! Shouldn't you have some sort of brotherly super powers of something?"

He could almost see America poking his ribs teasingly, trying to get him to laugh.

"Mon Dieu, l'Amérique. Où êtes-vous?" He wondered aloud.

He let his hand reach into his pocket and toy with his phone. It was an odd habit he had gained over the years. It was a good stress reliever. It was a terrible practice, but it was a way to calm down.

XXXoooXXX

America opened his eyes and blinked, his eyes adjusting to the harsh light shining in his face.

He was dry and there was no trace of him ever being in a water tank. He was instead wearing an entirely white suit and sitting in a chair.

He got up and surveyed the room. It was dark, save the solitary light shining on him. And from what he could tell, he was alone.

"Hello?" He whispered hesitantly.

An unadulterated sense of fear rose within him. He was alone, oh so alone. First, he was overwhelmed by the sight of so many nations, so many so called friends. Now, there was not enough people, there no one.

Then from out of nowhere, England appeared. He was dressed in formal tails and a top hat, looking dashing and handsome. He flashed a smile at America, his green eyes gleaming with mirth.

"Hello, love," England said to him. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, Iggy?" He asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm sorry," The Briton said again simply.

England revealed a knife from his pocket. His eyes met America's and sent an apologetic smile his way before he took the knife to his stomach. Blood blossomed around the wound, staining his dark blazer. He still had his sad smile as his face began to pale.

"No!" America screamed. "England!"

Tears began to pour from his eyes and he began to gasp for air. He lurched forward as England did as if he could feel the knife being shoved into England's stomach.

"It's okay, 'Merica," England murmured as he crumpled to the ground.

America wanted nothing more than to run to the Brit and hold him. But, he couldn't move. It was as if his feet were glued to floor.

He watched as England's chest rose up and down in a frantic struggle for breath. The Briton's breaths were becoming shallow and labored.

Not being able to move to England, America curled up into a ball on the floor, hugging his knees. It was his fault, all his fault. God, if only…

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry," He repeated over and over again as the words began to blend together into a blur of senseless gibberish.

He let the anguish and sorrow wash over him and bring him into oblivion.

XXXoooXXX

England had kicked France out of the room he was searching to have some privacy.

He slammed the door shut and kicked the wall in frustration. How could he have been so daft? Why did he jump to conclusions? Why did he throw away the one thing he cared about most?

"Why?" He asked himself.

He had been an idiot and Canada had been right to scorn him.

'Where could America be?' He wondered to himself.

He had called and texted America multiple times to no avail. He had expected to be ignored by America, it wasn't unexpected. He knew that what he had done was unforgivable.

A pounding came from the conference door. He didn't want to answer and honestly he didn't give a crap about who was at the door.

"What?" He yelled irritably.

"Angleterre, Canada has some news for us," A voice said.

France, that bloody frog.

He reluctantly opened the door, revealing the Frenchman. France appeared disheveled and fatigued, with shadows underneath his eyes and his normally well-kept hair frizzy and out of sorts.

"Yes, France," He said, sounding rather tired. "What does Canada want?"

"Mathieu wants us all in Conference Room A. Apparently, he has some new information that could help us find Amérique."

'No way in hell I'm coming. Not when I could be looking for America.'

England nodded, "Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He had expected France to walk off to the conference room. Instead, the Frenchman leaned against the doorframe, standing there expectantly.

"What?" England asked, a brow arched in surprise.

"I know what you are thinking, mon ami," France stated grimly. "I know what you're planning to do and it's ridiculous. You have to go this gathering."

"I'm not going," he reiterated. "I'm sorry if I didn't get that point across the first time."

He tried to get past France, but was blocked each time. The Frenchman merely smirked at his attempt of escape.

So, France grabbed his arm and smiled.

"You're going to that meeting."

England scowled.

"Damn you."

And so he let himself be dragged off to the meeting, unsure of what was up next for him.

XXoooXX

God, that sucked. But in my defense I'm trying my best to keep my grades up so please don't hate me too much. I hate myself right now. Any who, I hope you like this chapter despite its size and quality. I also think Iggy's too OOC. I had so much trouble writing him! Anyways ignore that! :)

Thanks!

R&R