Series: Condemned

Title: Book One: Condemn the Free

Summary: The end of the world is coming, and it all started with the disappearance of the United States of America.

Pairings: FrUK, implied RusAme, OC/OC pairings

Rating T, may go up

Warning: Eventual torture, excessive use of OCs

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Sure enough, when Canada and the others arrived at America's apartment, the two officers were not there, no doubt still investigating the explosion that had been taken place in the Supreme Court building. The other three countries were arguing over something trivial; Canada, used to ignoring him focused on his new, unexpected guest.

"Ms. Lucille, if I could take your coat…?"

Lucille looked over at Canada, a slight smile gracing her delicate, olive-toned face, one hand still clutching her son's. "Please, Mr. Williams. Just Lucy is fine. And yes, please."

As Canada took her coat and carefully hung it up in the closet, he said, "Of course, Lucy. Please, call me Matthew."

"What a gentlemen!" Lucy exclaimed, her smile widening. "Yes, of course, Matthew. You know, Alfred told me almost the exact same thing when I first ran into him."

Canada chuckled. It was exactly the sort of thing his brother would say.

"And I do mean ran into him! I was walking down a hallway, and Alfred came out of nowhere, and bam!" She clapped her hands together to emphasize her statement, which made Damian jump. She looked down at him, surprised, and started rubbing his back to comfort him. "Sorry, Dami. But anyway, I was frantic, because I'd just gotten really, really hot coffee all over him, and all of the sugar and cream and biscuits and cra…" Lucy trailed off and glanced down at Damian, who was not paying attention in the slightest, before carefully amending her statement. "Crud. Anyway, it must have been really painful, but he just laughed it off and helped me clean up."

"Alfred's not the type of person who would get angry over an accident he caused." Canada grinned, imagining America at that moment. No doubt his older brother had been at least as sheepish as Lucy had been. "He was asking for it, running all over the place like that."

To Canada's surprise, Lucy let out a bark of laughter. "You two are so alike. When it happened, he said, 'I kinda deserved that, actually. You know, I probably shouldn't've been running around everywhere…"

Canada wasn't quite certain of how to respond to that—while he did admire his brother's tenacity and loyalty, there were other less…commendable traits. A little torn on what to say, he fell back on his standard response—a quick, 'thank you', before quickly turning his attention to the other three countries currently occupying the hallway. They had not made any move to go further inside the house, more intent on bickering than actually getting anything done.

"Why didn't you tell us you were staying nearby, Russia? The detectives could be back any minute! It isn't safe here!"

"I agree with Angleterre on this one, uncouth brute as he is."

"HEY! You watch it, Frog!"

Russia sounded cold, and ever-so-slightly annoyed, which was never a good thing. The large nation's patience hardly ever wore thin. "It may not look it, but Alfred's apartment is practically a fortress. My hotel wasn't nearly as secure. It was also very close to the explosion, and most likely will be evacuated."

Canada knew that things would probably escalate into a fist fight before long, and he'd only just fixed the door from the last time a brawl had happened between France and England in his house. Their poor apartment would never be able to handle the raw strength of Russia. So before France and England could come up with a proper retort—or another childish insult, as per usual when they'd been outmaneuvered, Canada cut in with a quiet, "Please stop clogging up the hallway. Remember what we're here for?"

They shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at each other. The Canadian sighed in annoyance, but knew that a possible fight was no longer a concern. He turned around and ushered Lucille into the living room, knowing that the other countries would get over their embarrassment and come in…eventually. Wouldn't they?

Then, Canada paused, remembering the centuries-old grudge France and England had for each other, and how their pride kept them from talking to each other and rectifying the situation even a little until the First World War. Maybe not.

"Uh…" He rubbed the back of his head, and pointed, embarrassed, towards the hall. "I'm going to go…get them. Heh. Okay?"

Lucille looked up from where she'd been helping her son climb onto the couch. "Yeah, sure."

Canada smiled at her again, and gracefully walked into the front hall. As he moved out of Lucille's sight, his smile faded into a frown and his steps became hurried. He needn't have worried, however, because when he got there, he was met with a somewhat amusing and perhaps a little ominous sight.

Russia was standing directly in front of the door, a small smile on his childish, pale face. However the smile was quite creepy and frigid cold; his aura radiated annoyance and murderous intent. England was leaning against the wall on one side, scowling angrily, arms crossed and pressed deeply into his chest. However there was an air of nervousness about him, as though Russia's attitude was beginning to freak him out. France was standing in his usual elegant posture, arms crossed lightly in front of him as he stared coolly at nothing. However he was also showing signs of being nervous; Russia was getting to him.

It was quite awkward.

Canada cleared his throat, causing France and England to jump, but Russia stayed completely still, observing the Canadian through narrowed purple eyes.

"Lucille is waiting for you all. Now can we all calm down and act like the centuries-old adults we are?"

No one moved for a second, but England was the first one to drop his hands and kick off from the wall. He gave France a glare, treated Russia with a nervous glower, and hurried out of the hall and into the room. After Canada gave the other two an expectant look, France followed him. Russia remained behind, and the younger nation was about to leave him to his own devices when Russia's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder.

"I do not like working with them."

Canada looked at Russia tiredly. "Do you want to help my brother or not? Or are you just here to keep us from finding him?"

"Of course I want to find him." He said honestly, and Canada couldn't help but believe him. The Russian just looked so…honest. "He…is the only one who can compete with my strength. If he were not around, there would be no challenge."

Canada didn't know how to respond to that—wouldn't Russia want to eliminate all threats to him?—but he didn't really care, either way. Russia was a powerful ally to have, and they were going to need someone with resources and skills to find America. The only other person Canada could think of right off the bat was China, and the short Asian country didn't exactly have the best relationship with the American right now. Sure, the debt situation had gotten a little better, but they still got into an argument over it every time they met.

So Canada let him do as he liked. As long as the winter country was on their side. But that didn't mean that Canada trusted him.

Suddenly, the Canadian realized he'd been glaring at Russia for the last couple seconds, so lost in thought he hadn't moved. Strangely enough neither had the Russian; he'd just stared right back, unblinkingly, even though his hand was still clamped down on his shoulder. Canada shook off the hand, and took a step back. "Then we need to work with them. They're already involved, and no matter how much they argue they've got connections, and they're smart. Please Russia, just put up with them. They're like parents to us."

The larger nation blinked quietly, and then moved around Canada towards the living room. Just before he entered, though, he stopped. "If they hinder this at all, I will not hesitate to kill them."

"You know they can't die."

"I will make it happen."

And then Russia left.

Canada stood in the hall for a second later, staring after the Russian tiredly. He didn't like this. He didn't like the stress America's disappearance was causing. The countries were a ticking time bomb, liable to explode at any second. There had been something very…grounding, about America. His naivety kept the other countries sane, in a way—he seemed so young, and Canada knew that the older countries were subconsciously suppressing their violent nature for 'the children'. But now Canada was the only 'child' left.

God, where was that annoying brat Sealand when they needed him?

When he entered, he was immediately startled by the lightness in the room. Lucille was merrily chatting away to the other countries, and Damian was curled up at her side, playing with the end of her shirt. France and England seemed slightly bemused as she talked, but were pretty involved in the conversation. Russia was just sitting there smiling, and only spoke when Lucille addressed him directly, which was actually pretty often. She seemed to be making an attempt to get Russia involved in the conversation beyond monosyllables, and surprisingly enough it was working.

Humans were so…amazing. Canada almost didn't want to interrupt, but he had to be a good host.

"You guys…want anything? I still have some coffee and pancakes…"

They looked up, and as Canada had thought, Lucille responded first.

"Coffee sounds lovely!" Lucille exclaimed happily. "Do you have any milk for Damian?"

"Pancakes." Damian muttered happily, still playing with the end of his mother's shirt.

"Yeah, we have milk." Canada rubbed the back of his head. "How many pancakes do you want?"

"Two will be fine. Do you need any help?"

Touched by her concern, Canada shook his head, and turned to his other guests. It was a merely formality when he asked them, because he automatically knew what they all wanted. "Would you all like anything?"

"If I recall correctly," France said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "Alfred kept some high quality wine in his cellar?"

The Northern America brother nodded slightly, though he was slightly reluctant—because there was a small child in the room, and he had no idea how Lucille would react to exposing her young son to alcohol. When he glanced at her, she was frowning slightly at France, but didn't protest, so Canada didn't really mind.

"I have my own," Russia said, raising his flask up and smiling slightly. Thank God Lucille didn't know what was in there. Canada never understood how Russia wasn't reeking of vodka.

"Tea for me is fine." England said primly, and no one was surprised when he ordered his favorite brew. Sometimes it seemed as though the Brit had more tea than blood in his veins.

Satisfied that with Lucille in the room the three countries wouldn't mutilate each other, Canada smiled slightly and walked into the kitchen.

Back in the room, Lucille was regaling the attentive countries with some tales from her work at the White House.

"You'd be surprised how completely insane some of these guys get—I mean, as cool as working for the president is, it can get awful boring sometimes, and that means we usually have to come up with our own entertainment." Lucille smiled fondly. "You can't exactly get drunk on the job—though it has happened before—and how can you entertain yourself serving a bunch of pompous self-righteous a—" Lucille trailed off, looked at Damien—who caught her gaze innocently—and then amended her statement. "Jerks. But one thing the guys like to do is play strip poker during the breaks. Tis very stress relieving." She smiled mischievously.

"Strip poker?" England asked, entranced by the story—just like the other two. They were all leaning in, eager for the next tidbit.

"Yeah. Once, one of the kitchen boys went to work in only his tie, boxers, and hat. It was so funny…even though he nearly got fired." She got a slightly dreamy look in her eyes, but was snapped out of her musings by Damien tugging on her sleeve.

"Pancake?" He asked quietly.

She smiled down at him. "In a minute, Dami. Just be patient. But another thing we like to do on the job is—"

"How can you be so calm about this?" Canada asked, dropping a plate of pancakes on the desk in front of her. She looked up into his face; it was tight and sad, and tired. Very, very tired. For once, he actually looked his age as he clutched the tea, wine, and coffee in his hands. "D.C. was just bombed—why are you acting like nothing happened?"

"M-Matthew…" She murmured, tightening her arm around Damien, but quickly let go because he was wiggling so much, staring with delight at the pancakes. She sighed, watching her son, and slowly reached up and ran her hand through her hair. "It's not like I don't care, it's just…shit happens. No matter what, something bad always happens. It's how you react to situations like these that make it so bad. Yeah, sure, our capital was bombed…people died…but we'll get over it. It may sound cold, but there's no point crying over spilt milk; the best thing we can do is…react. Figure out who did this, and stop them from ever doing it again. And…

"Be happy that you're alive. Be happy that you have a second chance. At least…you have a tomorrow." Lucille closed her eyes, and put her face in her hands. "I just wish…" She murmured in a muffled voice, the countries straining to hear. "I just wish that Alfred was here. He always seemed to know what to do."

There was dead silence.

Canada sighed, and plopped down onto the couch next to her. "Me too." He said quietly but firmly. "Maybe you can help us find him."

"Of course." Lucille murmured back, and looked up with desperation, and…something else in her eyes. "Anything. I'll do anything to help you find him."

"You love him, don't you."

They all turned to look at France; he smiled sadly at her, somber blue eyes understanding and calm. Then, they looked at her as she stared at the nation of romance, before letting out a half-laugh half-sob. "I…I think I do."

No one was quite sure how to react to that (though they were wondering how on earth America could've gotten such a nice woman to fall in love with him), and grew even more uncomfortable when she barked another laugh-sob. France seemed to be the only person in the room who understood a broken heart, and he rolled his eyes at the unromantic brutes shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

He was about to rise to his feet to comfort her, when she waved them off and rubbed her eyes. "It's okay. I…I want to help you." She took a deep, steadying breath, and began to tell them about the last time she had seen America.

"I wasn't having all that good a day," She looked up as she remembered. "New presidents are always very stressful, and Dami had gotten sick so I was up all night…and I needed to find a baby-sitter for him during the day, because our other one was vacationing in Hawaii. I'd just gotten to work when I found that someone had gotten coffee stains on my uniform, so I had to borrow from someone else—and the only other person who is my size is a complete and total—" She cut off, glanced down at Damien—who was still ripping into the pancakes with gusto—and quickly amended her statement. "Meanie."

"Meanie." Damien echoed cutely, before diving back into his pancakes.

"So I had to make a deal with her about shoes or something, and after that I was running around making sure everything was okay…and then the president wanted drinks and biscuits. Or whatever. And I had to fetch them, which I really didn't want to do, at all. But then I hear Alfred arguing with one of the guards—"

"One of the agents at our house from before." Canada piped in shyly. "He admitted it to me."

"He looked like he was about to scat his pants." Lucille said bluntly, and smiled slightly at their amused expressions. "Actually it was more like Alfred was yelling at the guard, who was cowering in fear. It was pretty obvious he was having a really bad day, because usually he wouldn't do something like that. Even after I rescued the guard, he was really troubled…though it seemed like he'd figured out what he was going to do.

"But Alfred seemed to realize that I had been having a bad day too, because he took my tray from me and told me to run home and get some sleep. And…I haven't seen him since. The only thing I've heard…" Lucille took a deep breath, clenching her fingers in her skirt. "I got a call from Jack—our boss—a day after it happened. He told me that…it wasn't my fault, but not to come back to work under any circumstance. He said my life was in danger, and Damien's. I haven't heard from him since."

There was a brief pause, where everyone sat and just absorbed what they'd heard. Lucille stared at the ground dully, deep in thought; while the other countries mulled over it.

Canada shifted uncomfortably in his seat, nibbling his lip, unsure what to do. From what he had heard, things had gone very bad that day for Alfred…if only he knew what happened!

"He called me…" Canada said quietly, and flinched when they all turned to look at him. He took a steadying breath, and continued. "The day before, he called me—you know, just to catch up and all. But he was complaining about his boss, too—saying how the guy was bad news and all. I didn't think much of it—you know how he got along with…" Canada glanced over at Lucille, who caught his gaze curiously. "Andy."

Andy, of course, being Andrew Jackson—the two had gotten along rather poorly. Poorly as in, Andrew liked to beat America with his cane, and in return the country affectionately called his president a 'fat old coot'.The others laughed slightly and nodded.

"But…for a moment, it seemed like…he was serious. Like he was actually worried about this guy…but its Alfred, you know? When have we ever taken him seriously?" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really wish I had taken him seriously. Then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Matthew…" England said quietly, staring at the young nation sympathetically.

"He's my brother! I should have realized something bad would happen…" Canada pressed his face into his hands and hiccupped quietly. France responded immediately; he rose to his feet and smoothly glided over to the couch, wrapping his arms around the younger nation.

"Shh, mon cher. Alfred would not want you to cry over him."

Canada just let out another sob. "But…every night, I have these dreams! That he's hurt, that he's distressed…and…I…" He buried his head into France's shoulder, crying shakily.

Russia and England glanced at each other darkly, knowing that there was a deeper meaning to these words. It wasn't well known, but Canada and America had a sort of…psychic connection, if that. Even they didn't know what it was, but it was highly likely that if Canada was having nightmares about America in danger, it was highly likely that he was in trouble.

Lucille, of course, didn't get it. She quickly walked over and sat on the other side of Canada, trying to placate him. "They're just dreams, Matthew. Wherever he is, I'm sure your brother is fine."

She really didn't understand why he started crying even harder.

"I don't want this to leave the room, you understand?" The president glanced at the man walking beside him, watching as he nodded quickly. Satisfied that the weasily little man wouldn't betray him—no one was stupid enough to cross him—the president turned away, only to stop dead in his tracks when the man spoke up.

"But sir…" The man flinched as the president whipped around and glared angrily. He nearly took a step back, but gulped and stood his ground. "I do not understand why this is necessary. Surely there is some other way to do this…?" His voice trailed off into a mere whisper.

The president observed him for a few moments, black eyes boring into him, looking for any sign of treachery or disobedience. Deciding that it was just an innocent question, the president rolled his eyes and began to talk. "I can understand why you would be skeptical Mr. Corey, but I can assure you that this is the best way to make the people turn to me. It was desperation that led the people to believe in many very unpopular leaders. If you recreate the circumstance that led to such a thing happening…" The president snapped his fingers.

Feeling a little braver now that he seemed to be having a reasonable conversation with man who was his boss, Mr. Corey ventured to say, "Are you sure you are going to be able to lead them on like that? Get them to believe such a thing?"

"How could they not?" He replied simply. "They will need something to believe in. And we are going to step in and help just when all hope seems lost. Do you understand?"

"I…guess I do." Mr. Corey muttered, though his conscience still niggled in the back of his mind, telling him it was wrong. "But is it the right thing to do? Even if it is for the greater good…"

"The end far outweighs the means." The president responded patiently, though there was a note of annoyance in his voice. The conversation was obviously over. "Just get it done."

Mr. Corey looked at him for a second longer, catching his gaze—before looking back to the ground. He took in a soft breath. "I understand, sir."

The president smiled slightly at him, nodding his head in false gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Corey. None of this could be done without your aid. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go to my office to get ready."

"Good bye, sir." He responded desolately as he watched the president's retreating back, before sighing and turning back down the hall. He did not like this; he didn't want to do this in the slightest. Who knew how many people were going to die? He'd thought that with the other major buildings in D.C. demolished peoples morale's would be bad enough—perhaps this was overkill.

But he couldn't say no, no matter what his conscience said. He had committed fully to this not so long ago, and he believed in what they were trying to do. His family was so deeply intertwined with the cause…he was the boss now, had been the boss for ten years; he was the one who was making it all happen, and he was happy about that…but did the end really justify the means? He wasn't really so sure anymore.

No turning back.

He glanced around, and quickly walked into a nearby closet, heart bouncing and trembling in his chest, afraid of being discovered. He ignored the scuff marks on the door—someone had tried to kick it down recently—and locked it from the inside, before withdrawing his phone from his pocket.

…no signal.

Mr. Corey sighed angrily and put his phone away, suddenly feeling very foolish. No one was here; he shouldn't be worried about being discovered. Completely ridiculous notion. God, all of this crap was making him paranoid. One last job, He thought to himself, closing the door behind him and heading outside. Just one last job. Then I'm retiring.

What seemed to be only seconds later Mr. Corey arrived outside, palming his phone in his pocket. The gardeners had all left several weeks ago, so the once trimmed and beautiful grounds were out of control, the flower beds overrun with weeds.

The phone was in his hand. He stared at it blankly, realizing that with this one last call…he was not only condemning himself to a life of guilt, but also making sure his dream was realized.

No backing out.

He slowly dialed the number.

No second thoughts.

He raised the phone, trembling, to his ear.

Do not look back.

The ringing stopped, but only one word came out.

"Speak."

Mr. Corey hesitated, and then rattled off the password.

The voice instantly became more polite, but still gruff and low. "Is it time, Mr. Corey?"

He could call off the plan, right now. Everything would be okay if he just called them off.

"Yes. It is. Prepare the bombers. Washington D.C. is going to burn."

OOOOOOOO cliffie WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.

I know I posted this chapter a day early, but I decided to be nice [read: impatient]. I left you all with a rather boring filler. This one's not much better, but it's the segue to the BIG big action that's coming up. Yeah I said that last time but OH WELL. This time for real. Because this is the second to last chapter before the finale of part one.

Now on to reviews:

Dragonfire78: Sometimes I feel that I use OCs too much, but then again, it IS my story. Plus, there are so many routes to explore, and I find that really fascinating. Same with the plot-I usually have a final point in mind, but along the way it's all fair game. ANYTHING could happen! Thanks for your input!

urufushinigami: Awwww why thank you! I try hard to make sure my plots boggle the mind. People find it more interesting that way! Thanks so much!

The Rambler: NAAAAH Russia won't be saving him anytime soon ;) I have big plans for dear 'Merica. Hi Prussia. Poland says 'like' back.

OnyxBunneraffe: ERMEGERDI'msomeantomycharacters. Thankyouforrecognizingthis. Ican'teven.

Till next time,

IceEckos12