It was dark, the only audible sound being the old floorboards creaking and moaning under an unknown pressure. In a corner of whatever room he had woken in, collapsed limply against the wall, England opened his eyes.

He could only stare forward at nothing for the first few moments, then some part of his mind told him to move and pain immediately splintered across his body, the largest stab coming from his ankle. With a groan, he began forcing himself to sit up, teeth gritted, supported with what felt oddly like a small chair.

The fact that he could still move at all was a good sign, and England tentatively sent his hands to examine his ankle. He sighed. A sprain, most likely. At least it wasn't broken, especially after that fall…

The fall. Right. He remembered now. He had been half dragged by America and half goaded by France into staying late at W Academy with everyone else. Then there was that earthquake, the floor collapsed and—

England went to his feet, still partly leaning on the chair so that he wouldn't injure his ankle further. He had fallen along with everyone else and the floorboards, that much was clear, so where was he now? With the darkness only giving him a vague impression of his surroundings, he imagined a small tunnel, perhaps an underground part of the school, filled with rubble from the earlier earthquake.

Except, just as this thought crossed his mind, the lights switched on with an almost weary flicker and England realised that he was very, very wrong.

Though lit with a mostly dim glow, he could see that the room before him was large, toppled chairs and small desks in uneven rows and precariously close to the vast spaces that once held floorboards. At the very front of the room, there seemed to be an old chalkboard. Was this supposed to be a classroom, then?

I find it hard to believe that all of this was under the school, England thought, stepping as far away from the holes in the floor as he could while limping forward. The heavy chill in the air and the utter silence besides his own footsteps was beginning to feel a little unnerving; he didn't want to stay there for any longer than he had to.

After noticing a large dismayingly large absence in floorboards that stopped him from reaching the front of the room, England was about to turn and try his luck with the door leading to what seemed to be a hallway when something caught his eye. Someone was sprawled out under the chalkboard on the other side, unconscious.

"France?" It only took a few seconds for England to snap out of his surprise and go forward as much as the lack of floorboards would allow. "France! Hey! Wake up!" he called, but there was no reaction. France's eyes remained closed, his face a little more pale than could be entirely safe.

"That stupid frog…" England muttered, but a very slight tremble had entered his voice. He didn't have much chance of reaching the French nation with the floor as it was—unless he planned on throwing a chair at him, there wasn't really anything he could use, either.

Then England noticed something he was surprised to have missed. On the other end of the room was a doorway, much like the one on his side. If physics decided to act normally for just a little while, then both would lead to the hallway. He could reach France through there. Simple.

The only problem was that the hallway turned out to be much darker than the classroom. He went inside blindly, reaching out in search for a light switch or, at least, the wall, something to let him know where he was idea of falling into one of those holes didn't seem very appealing, especially since he didn't even know how far the drop would be. With the strange way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if they went on forever.

His foot went to a loose floorboard that slipped away under his weight, and with a flash of pain in his ankle England roughly fell to his hands and knees.

"Perfect," he spat. His ankle seemed to be much worse than he had initially thought. Walking around probably wasn't such a good idea, especially on such unstable ground, but he didn't really have much choice on that. He managed to climb back to his feet, carefully limping the rest of the way as he muttered more than a few choice words.

He eventually reached the other side of the classroom, and though he was glad to be in the light again he didn't have time to relax. He hurried over and knelt down at France's side.

"France! Fra—" he stopped, sighed. France was breathing, thankfully, and he at least didn't seem to be dying. He would probably be fine.

And with that thought, England grew angry. Of course the little attention seeker was knocked out. He probably did it on purpose just so he could worry England. Well, it didn't work. England hadn't been worried about him. Not at all.

He lifted France by the shoulders and shook him slightly. "Would you wake up already?" he asked, irritated. "If you think I'm going to carry you out of here then I'm quite happy to inform you that you'll be sorely disappointed."

"Mmm…?" France's eyes fluttered open. He gave England a half-asleep smile. "Ah, Angleterre… I knew you would accept my 'offer' eventually… After all, who could resist— AH!" He cried out as his head hit the floor. England had dropped him.

"Take the time to look around before opening your mouth, frog," England said coldly, France having sat up at this point to rub the back of his head. He complied with this after a few French curses, and as he took in the dilapidated condition of the dark room his expression turned to one of confusion.

"Where… where are we?" he asked, frowning.

"I don't know," England said. "Under W Academy would be a mostly sane answer, but I find it hard to believe that all of this," he gestured to the chairs, the desks, the still intact windows and walls, "could have been underground for God knows how long and still in this state, even if this room is in pretty bad condition. Besides, I can't see anything in the ceiling we could have fallen through."

France climbed unsteadily to his feet and, glancing around the room one last time, went to one of the windows. Nothing could be seen, only darkness and his own puzzled reflection, but raindrops hit the glass at a continuous rhythm from the downpour that must have been outside.

He pulled at the window, then pushed, even tried lifting it—it wouldn't move.

"It won't open," France gasped after a few more futile attempts. There was no visible latch or handle, a trait shared by all the windows in the room. They might as well have been decorations.

England had been examining a few of the desks by this point; all worn and scratched, as if they had been down in this room for years. "What the hell is going on…?"

"This place definitely seems like some sort of school," France said, gesturing to the chalkboard and tables. "Although… Is it just me, or do the desks and chairs here seem a little small?"

"…It's like a primary school." The lights dimmed and flickered, and with a jolt of fear the two nations' eyes met and shared the same look of realisation.

"Une école primaire. An elementary school. You don't think…?"

"Don't tell me you actually think it's that school," England said, attempting to laugh. "Do I even need to say how impossible that would be? Besides, it was supposed to have been torn down years ago…" But just as these words were out in the open, a piece of paper that had been pinned to the wall near the chalkboard fell down and slid towards England's feet. It was almost as if it had been trying to catch his attention, but that couldn't be right.

He picked it up, a little cautiously, and it almost slipped through his fingers the moment his eyes went over the faded words. The blood seemed to drain from his face.

"Wh-what does it say?"

"It says, 'Notice to all students and teachers..." England read, his voice quiet, "Heavenly Hetalia Elementary School.'"

The room's already chilled temperature seemed to drop. Ever since it had opened, there had been a spreading rumour about W Academy: many years ago, there was an elementary school in its place. This wouldn't have been a problem, until the reason why the school was shut down came to light. Over a short period of time, many children and teachers were found dead, all seeming to have been murdered the same way—a slash to their throats. The killer was never found.

All of this was a simple rumour, after all, just a scary story that stopped anyone from sneaking around at night. At least, that was what everyone thought.

"Mon Dieu! What is going on?!" After a suffocating silence, France was the first to cry out. "Where are we?! What is this place?! A-and everyone else, what happened to them?!"

"Stop it!" England snapped, but he was trembling, too, as he stepped towards him. "J-just calm down."

France looked at him, pale faced, eventually offering a sort of apologetic nod.

They were stood together, frozen with fear and uncertainty. The unknown building they found themselves in groaned and creaked as it had many times before—but now it almost sounded like a mocking laughter.

At this point, confusion had taken over and stifled the parts of their minds that would have wondered what they could possible do. They could only hope this was all some sick joke, or a terrifyingly realistic nightmare.

—Chapter end (edited)