I didn't take that much time to update this time, right? :D

Thanks to all the reviewers for reviewing and to Himaruya Hidekazu for creating Hetalia (which I obviously DO NOT own)

Iceland struggled to open his eyes. He was still too scared, too scared of what had happened, too scared it had been real. The boy couldn't remember everything quite well yet, but something told him he didn't want to. The half asleep half comatose state he was in, though being very empty and dull, could only be better than what awaited him in the real world… or so his heart seemed to say. His brain was too exhausted to spare a single thought and everything only seemed to be dictated by his raw feelings, that is to say fear, sadness and stress.
All he wanted was to give up.

However, a stroke of heat warmed him up. He was surrounded by warmth, a comfortable bed that nursed his mind back to stability. Gradually, his thoughts and memories became clearer, until he remembered he could not stay down.
He had things to do and – despite feeling extremely stupid and American while thinking so – a world to save.

So Iceland woke up… To Romania's face.

The shock was so brutal Iceland froze for a moment, his mind refusing to process whatsoever information. It wasn't just the unexpected familiar face that surprised him, it was everything: the fact he was already in the plane, that his body still hurt, that he seemed unable to move… Why couldn't he move?

Two big arms were holding Iceland still, forcing his back against his captor's chest. A big lump was pressing against the Nordic's head, forcing it to look forward, in the grinning vampire-like nation that sat at his left. Was he… being kidnapped? The idea seemed ridiculous. For one, Romania looked as if he did nothing wrong (though that wasn't always a good sign, the man was a vampire wannabe for God's sake!), then there was the fact that his captor's breathing pace indicated he had just fallen asleep on Iceland and finally, he was on the plane he was supposed to be in. There weren't two planes going from Oslo to Ulaanbaatar the same week.

"When did I fall asleep?" Iceland whispered, avoiding moving too much as to maintain his neighbour's sleep.

Romania smirked "Just when you arrived in the airport… It was pretty funny since you collapsed in the middle of the crowd. You should have seen their face when a teenager fell face down in tattered clothes and covered in dirt! Some even thought you came from a homeless shelter. I thought I'd lend you my coat since we're trying NOT to attract any attention"

Iceland tried to shake off his embarrassment by asking further questions "Why are we doing this in secret? Can't we just tell everyone?"

"How young and innocent you are, Iceland." Romania teased "What has happened to Irene is something only a monster is capable of doing. There is absolutely no way the 'criminal' will allow us to visit his country, which means we're infiltrating a country. As you probably know, a country infiltrating another can be seen as a declaration of war to many, because it means we're not respecting the other's power over his territory. No country is mad enough to help with this operation, the risk is too high."

"The risk is too high?" Iceland hissed "Irene might blow up the world with all that black magic of hers! I think the risk is worth it!"

Romania sighed "A fourteen year old girl who's from a world where magic absolutely does not exist was stuffed with dark magic centuries ago, when she, or anyone in her family that lived long enough to know her, was not born yet. Oh yeah, and that magic threatens our lives. Plus, England just happens to summon her from any of the seven billion humans in her world."

"Fine." Iceland grumbled "I get it, no one would believe us."

The nation on his shoulder stirred, groaning in his sleep about something to do with pillows and bed sheets. Iceland, whose ear was next to the other's mouth, recognized the voice.

"… Why is he here?" he asked.

"We needed more stupid and reckless people."Romania shrugged.

"… He can't use magic." Iceland continued.

"Now that," Romania answered "is wrong. He just doesn't display as much as we do. When you think about it, with all his superstitions, religions and the upbringing he suffered from, it would be pretty surprising if he couldn't."

"But Norway would never hang around a person like him! He's exactly why Denmark's neck is red from strangling!" Iceland exclaimed.

"Speaking about Norway, what happened? Why were you alone and a wreck at the airport?" Romania asked, redirecting the conversation where Iceland didn't want it to go.

He had tried to push it back to the depth of his mind, where he wouldn't have to retrieve it from until he was ready to face the facts, but such an incident wasn't something that could be ignored. Not by others or him. Especially not when his whole body still hurt from it.
Every detail was fresh in his memory, and the guilt was just as intense.

"We- We got in a car crash…" Iceland dared, avoiding the older nation's gaze "Norway was completely impaled…"

No. It was too hard, both nausea and tears were threatening him.

Romania's eyes widened, first in shock, then in fear and finally in worry.
So, he did the natural thing. He stripped Iceland.

"Eh? S-Stop that! What are you doing?" Iceland fought.

"Did you get hurt?" Romania asked in a rush, ignoring the disapproving glares of the other passengers.

"Of course, but since I'm a-" Iceland started, catching himself when he noticed a few humans' attention on them "uhm… Very healthy, I'll heal! Lukas's injuries are much worse." The Nordic gripped his shirt tightly to make sure Romania would not renew his attempts at a possible rape.

But all Romania did was frown more "Don't you get it? This dark magic in the air makes it impossible for us to heal like we usually do! It probably just makes things worse… Not to mention General Winter is roaming around more powerful than usual. That guy is killing everything that crosses his path, and he's particularly powerful recently, especially in your countries. It would have been easy for him to seep some black magic into your body!"

While Iceland nodded in understanding at Romania's words, Iceland's brain decided to look for what else they implied.

"If I can't heal… Then what about Norway?"

And suddenly, he was a child again. Afraid of what the grownups will say about his blunders, afraid his parents would scold him, afraid his big brother wouldn't be there anymore.
The island felt his past loneliness come back. He looked expectantly at Romania but didn't dare hope, and sure enough, he was right not to. The older nation just looked at him, at loss of words. Romania had never been good at handling kids, and as he fell face to one, he didn't know whether white lies or the truth were the best treat. Emil couldn't blame him either; both were so poisonous after all.

"Don't insult Norway." The other nation growled, getting up from his slumber.

He was just like always, his golden hair slightly messy, especially for a stray cowlick, his blue eyes full of life and energy, his glasses slightly tilted from his nap and his clothes as casual as clothes could get: Spiderman jumper and grey joggings.

"He's not weak enough to die from something like that!" America continued, flashing his thunderbolt smile "I mean, come on dude! Did you see his troll? Never did either but I did see what it was capable of! I don't think that conference wall was ever repaired! Plus do you really think he'd die without getting you to say 'onii-san'? Think twice before saying absurd crap like that Ice! And I thought you were smart." America ruffled the younger nation's head "Now get your act together before you get us killed soldier! This is a man's world so don't cower out."

Iceland didn't feel like America was so useless anymore. He was tactless and annoying, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. And anyway, the idiot was right; Norway would kill him if he knew how underestimated he had been. There was so much left to do before kissing the world good bye; taming Iceland, killing Denmark, getting Hanatamago to like him instead of biting him, finally getting England to cook something decent – or at least edible…

Romania sighed in relief "Get ready, we're landing."

After having slept for ten hours straight in the first inn they could find, the group of three decided to hasten their search as to catch up on the wasted time.

Though their watches indicated four in the morning Norway time, the sun that approached its peak was saying otherwise: it was eleven o'clock in Ulaanbaatar and as cold as ice cubes. They gathered strength to wander around the city nonetheless, praying for good fortune… or at least a clue as to where to start searching. Like most capitals, this one was bustling with life and that made the task so much harder. Moreover, the handicap of speaking a different language was hard to ignore after they had spent two hours trying to order breakfast. Coming unprepared did not seem like such a good idea anymore.

After hours of walking around, they decided to stop on a random bench in a small area where nature fought for its survival amongst the many battered buildings and new towers. America finally took the great initiative of checking his phone, finding a bunch of new text messages and missed calls, most of which belonged to 'mom'.

"Duuuuudes!" he called, grabbing the two others' attention "England's tried to contact me!"

"What does he want?" Romania asked, suddenly taking interest in something else than his drink (they still had no idea what it was, getting something was enough of a miracle already).

"It's about Iceland." America continued, glancing at the younger nation who awaited the rest eagerly "It looks like they think you tried to kill your brother and Denmark. A meeting has been called tomorrow at ten, Norway time, to decide your sentence… Everyone needs to be there."

"Wha- But – But I didn't try to, to… to kill Norway!" Iceland stuttered looking horrified "Why would anyone think that I-?" Iceland bit his lips. Even saying it was getting hard.

"Check your phone." Romania suddenly ordered, before Iceland could panic any more. "Seeing as you're concerned, it's best to see if you haven't got anyone who tried to contact you."

The weight that had been dropped on Iceland's shoulder had gotten him desperate for an exit, desperate for indication. He complied without as much as listening to the vampire-like nation's reasons. Sure enough, Finland, Hong Kong, England and Irene had tried to reach him.
He opened every text and read them aloud, making sure America and Romania could understand what to make out of them. He himself doubted he could read without just staring at the words on the screen.

"Ice! Where are you? We're worried about you! Kiddie England came to our house to ask about your whereabouts, he's determined to arrest you and get the truth. Be careful!

We believe in you,

Fin, Sve and Sea-kun"

"I don't know when your magic got so strong but for God's sake you better know what you have done! Cursing Norway and Denmark like this is the same as killing them; I hope your conscience will stay fully aware of this.

Cultivate guilt you murderer,

England."

"Dammit Iceland, what kind of mess have you gotten in this time?
YOU IDIOT!
I only saw your missed call today, please call me back.

HK, your FRIEND (AKA don't you dare keep things from me!)."

As he read all these messages, Iceland's heart tightened. How did he get involved in so much? One second he's just the small island next to Norway and Hong Kong's friend, the next he's a mastermind criminal on the run. All the countries seemed to be running around in a frantic search for him while he was just sitting and drinking some surprisingly good drink.
Yet out of all the messages, only Irene's brought him something he wasn't expecting: hope and relief.

It was longer than the others and by the time he had started it, his voice had stopped reading aloud.

"Hey Iceland!

I must admit I was kind of surprised to hear about the accident. Yes, I'm aware that's probably the last thing you wanna talk about, especially since you've been framed for it (Those idiots think you could outsmart your brother magic-wise *facepalm*) but that's pretty much why I need to talk to you about it.
I'm guessing that you're blaming yourself. Not sure what really happened, for all I know you weren't even there when it happened, but what I am sure of is that no matter who died or how, as long as they're close to you, you'll blame yourself. Well don't. Unless you're M, in which case I shall respect your choices.
Also, I'd like to add that you're not alone. There's like me, your family, Russia (yes, he believes in your innocence just as much as you chose to believe in his sanity) and most importantly, Hong Kong! That stupid island hasn't been able to sleep since you've gone MIA… I bet he's gay for you. *hem hem* Probable romantic feelings aside, we'll do anything to clear your name, so just relax and go hit on chicks wherever you are, we'll keep you updated!

Norway'll kill you if you don't come back with your usual inexpressive face~
(No but seriously, Europe's in enough deficit without having to finance your funeral)

Irene :3"

Iceland smiled a bit. Then, he abruptly stood up and threw his bag on his back in a sudden urge to continue his quest. Irene's reckless words had somehow helped him come up with a reckless idea : "We have to go infiltrate Mongolia's house."

"Are you crazy?" Romania asked, coughing after a badly time seep of his drink "Coming here was already bad enough but going to his house? That's insane!"

"Hey! I like how you think Icey!" America grinned, also jumping to his feet.

Romania just looked at them as if they had grown an extra arm.

"Come on Romania!" Iceland insisted "If there really is a meeting tomorrow, do you really think he'd still be here? A flight to Norway would take more than twelve hours from here! He's at the airport or in the plane already. And anyway, the magic is the Golden Horde's, no? Where else do you want to find information on the guy? At a bus stop?"

"No!" Romania exclaimed "At a library or at a museum!"

"…Where we'll totally find books in English." Iceland sarcastically finished "We're not looking about something that was written down in History, we're looking about information on the Golden Horde, the man, not the country."

"There's a difference?" America asked before Romania could reply.

"And a pretty big one at that." Iceland finished.

"You're already a wanted criminal Iceland!" Romania continued "If we're caught, there will be no escaping the death penalty for you!"

"It's like you said," Iceland answered "I'm already screwed. Might as well bring down someone with me. Also, call me Emil will you? I'm not doing this for my country."

America let out a long hearty laugh before grabbing Emil's hand "Alfred, nice to meet you, badass-Emil."

Romania sighed and buried his face in his hands before standing up too and raising both hands in the air to surrender. "Vladimir and fuck you."

To no one's surprise, Mongolia's house wasn't top of security, the only device to keep intruders out being a misspelled 'Welcome' mat that might have made England's eyes bleed at best. Picking the lock hadn't been a great challenged either, though Emil and Alfred decided not to ask Vladimir what he usually used that skill for, as for the real obstacle; it was nothing less than Mongolia's laziness.

There was stuff everywhere, enough to drive Germany to the brink of suicide. The furniture, the windows, the fridge, the TV, everything was covered in random pieces of clothes and food that might as well have been cooked during Ancient Rome's pinnacle. It was more than a miracle to even see a square meter of floor. Moreover, the lack of light that passed through the curtains and the unbearable smell of soiled socks and worn sweaters made the house impossible to breathe in. However, they had to survive the suffocation if they were to find anything.

And so they rummaged and rummaged, occasionally finding a picture of an old Golden Horde teaching a young Mongolia to hunt or suspicious traditional item that none dared to question. Emil was less and less confident with his idea by the second, especially when he found a bunch of handwritten diaries… written in old Mongolian.
There really was no hope.

Before the teenager could collapse on the couch they had managed to dig out, Vladimir gave in to the temptation of rest. The Romanian slumped on the comfortable sofa and looked upwards in exhaustion…

"WOAH!" he exclaimed "Check the ceiling!"

And so they did.

The ceiling wasn't really a ceiling anymore, it was one huge painting that soared over the inhabitants of this house like a constant reminder. The strokes were raw and brutal, filled with anger as the artist had slashed the ceiling with paint. However, despite the imprecise pictures, it wasn't hard to figure out what exactly it was depicting: a battlefield.

The three men remained paralyzed at the sight they were offered. The size of the painting, the intensity of the colours, the way every character looked straight in the eyes of the bystander… It was a new sky they were looking at, souls of the dead that haunted the painting, strong emotions that had been plastered on the ceiling.
They weren't just admiring some product of an artistic mind anymore, they were on the battlefield, seeing, hearing and smelling what the soldiers could.

The Golden Horde was the first they managed to locate. He was standing tall in the middle, a smile etched on his face and his warm clothes shining golden. All the nearby soldiers were bowing at him as if they were trying to lick his shoes. His sword was raised in the air in a final sign of victory but his left arm remained low, tightly holding on to a key.

Surrounding him were heaps of corps wearing different uniforms, all of which were faceless. Actually, it was near impossible to tell a corps apart from another as they all merged into a nauseating sea of red waters and skin-coloured waves.

Nonetheless, another area stood out, one that was painted in a discreet corner of the ceiling where few would let their eyes wander to.
A woman was kneeling, dressed in a pure white gown and wrapped in her pure white clothes. She was stained with blood from head to toe but kept a sad smile on her face while clutching her bump of a stomach. In her hands was a broken lock.
Behind her stood a boy and a man, chained together by another lock. The older of the two somehow looked like a ghost as his cloak seemed to be made of black mist that encircled the younger.

"This is…" Vladimir wanted to say, but failed to find the right words.

"Who are they?" Emil wondered.

"The old man is General Winter, so I guess it's safe to assume that kid is Russia." Alfred said.

"You sure?" Vladimir asked sceptically.

"I've fought with Russia enough to recognize that pet of his." Alfred sighed, biting back unsaid insults "He was definitely fiercer than Russia… Actually, now that I think about it, I rarely got to fight Russia in person with General Winter around."

"And it would make sense since the Golden Horde wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with his mom, Kievan Rus." Emil added "As a matter of fact, that woman probably is Kievan Rus! Her soldier's clothes match with her culture. But why – Prussia!"

"No, it's Russia." Vladimir corrected.

"That's not what I meant!" Emil sighed "Before the crash, Norway was about to tell me something about Prussia! Look over there!"

And as Emil pointed into another direction, the two others noticed a last kievan soldier that stood far from any main focus of the painting. His eyes were red and his hair was white; he held his sword in front of his chest, allowing it to shape a cross: The teutonic order's cross.

"I guess we have our next destination then!" Alfred smiled "And if we leave now, we I can get to the meeting, a bit late, but we can be there. Prussia'll probably be there too."