Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. This much should be obvious.

Note: This story isn't intended to contain yaoi or romance, but I don't have any power to stop you from seeing it that way.


Canada flipped the pancake once, watching the circular piece of dough soar through the air before landing back in the pan with a satisfying sizzle. Giving a cautious sniff, he proceeded to slip the mouth watering creation onto a stack of twenty four others. Carefully, he turned off the stove and handed the enormous pile of pancakes to the small white bear that sat eagerly at his feet.

"Here you go, Kumagorou. Put it on the table and add half the bottle of light maple syrup."

"Who?" The bear asked, taking the plate in his furry paws as he gazed up at him with solemn eyes.

"I'm Canada." The nation in question replied automatically, long used the inquiry, before proceeding to place the cooking utensils in the sink. The polar bear made a mental note of his owner's name for perhaps the fifty millionth time and lumbered off.

This week, he had been blessed with the good fortune of not being mistaken for America a single time, therefore the reason why he was allowing himself such a large treat. Any week that he wasn't beaten up for America's blunders was a good week to him.

Unfortunately for Canada, as he sat down in front of the more or less dripping pancakes (beside Kumajirou who was making a mess of himself), he truly believed that today would be a peaceful day.

And, again unfortunately, Canada was wrong. So very wrong.

Just as he was about to begin with the first of fifteen pancakes (Kumajirou had helped himself to ten), the familiar tune of his national anthem trickled into his ears.

Oh Canada, our home and native land…

Canada frowned, his first bite of pancake hovering a few centimetres away from his mouth. For a moment he contemplated over what was more important: eating or answering his cell.

A glance at the screen informed him that it was his brother calling. Canada gave an inward groan. If he didn't answer, America would most likely continue to call him over and over again a minimum of fifteen times before eventually showing up at his doorstep an hour later. The only choice he really had was to give a small, resentful sigh before reaching into his pocket and pressing the device to his ear.



Oh joy.

'Mattie' gave a groan and jerked his head away from the phone sharply to avoid having his right eardrum blast out of the left side of his head.

"You don't have to yell, Alfred. I can hear you."

Canada replied, his voice about a tenth the volume of his brother's. The phone was still being held a foot away from his ear, and although the northern nation wasn't completely sure whether or not his southern counterpart could hear him, he definitely wasn't going to risk getting closer and going deaf because of it.

America either couldn't hear his comment or chose to ignore it, because Canada immediately was on the receiving end of an astonishingly undisrupted stream of words that must have been uttered at around a mile a minute, all in the same volume as before. This feat was only made more remarkable by the fact that Alfred sounded as if a pillow had been shoved into his mouth. Sure sign #1 that he was stuffing himself sick (if that was even possible) with hamburgers. How the blonde never got a stomach ache was a mystery Canada had yet to solve.

"M'tt! Egh uatt? 'Is 'eely 'ool 'orror 'oovy 'ust 'ame aou on ee vee ee! Io 'ee ehdin o'er in a 'ew 'inuts o 'ee an auch ih oeher! 'ehare a oh horn!"

As quickly as it had come, the voice on the other end ceased and Matthew was left with silence.

The northern nation spared a moment to look absolutely deadpanned before feeling his internal "Alfred translator" to kick. A few minutes of thought were required, and eventually, he decided it was safe to assume that his brother's almost indecipherable message had been: "Matt! Guess what? This really cool horror movie just came out on DVD! I'll be heading over in a few minutes so we can watch it together! Prepare the popcorn!"

Decades of listening to his southern neighbour talk with his mouth full had provided Matthew with the experience to understand what most other nations could not, and so it was with a heavy sigh and a downcast glance at his pancakes that he rose from his chair, heading away from his beloved pancakes.

He walked past Kumajirou (who was still gorging himself silly) and headed to the cupboard to pull out the popcorn. Canada always kept at least fifteen bags of America's favourite movie snack, not only because his brother could usually demolish it all in one sitting, but also because Alfred never gave him much of a warning before barging over, bringing with him an entire evening of cheesy acting, laughable costumes and all in all, a pretty pathetic excuse of a movie.

As Canada placed the popcorn in the microwave, he dimly recalled the first time his brother had decided to pull this stunt. It turned out, since Alfred was scared to death by cheesy horror movies for ten year olds and yet stubbornly insisted on watching them, the most powerful country in the world came to the conclusion that if he watched them with someone else, the scariness would be cut in half. This usually meant that he would head over to the nearest unfortunate country whenever some new thriller came out. And sadly, that nearest unfortunate country was Canada.

Well, he supposed that there was Mexico too. Not that it really made the situation any more positive.

With a sigh, Matthew remembered how he had attempted to avoid the situation the first time by calling back with the intent to explain that the heads up had simply been too abrupt to follow through. He had received only another stream of unintelligible garble on the other end of the phone before Alfred showed up thirty minutes later anyways, with no memory of Matthew's earlier call. When America wanted something to happen, it usually happened. This was something Canada had learned the hard way.

When all fifteen bags of popcorn were popped and the couch flooded in bowls of the unhealthy snack, Matthew ran to his phone to dial his army. Knowing America, the nation would be heading over in a fighter jet to save time.

Canada had bad memories of the first time this happened. Not expecting his brother's method of travel, Alfred had been shot at a total of 36 times before he had the sense to call Matthew and inform him of the situation so that the military wouldn't turn both him and his precious plane into a patch of black soot on Canadian soil. Ever since, Canada always made sure to immediately inform the army of Alfred's abrupt visits. America's country definitely wouldn't be happy if they heard that their northern neighbour had shot down the physical embodiment of the United States, regardless of whose fault it was.

Once the army was informed of Alfred's visit and had provided their assurance that they would not shoot the man down, Canada ran back to the kitchen to scarf down his pancakes. They were now cold and thoroughly soaked, but he scarcely cared. America could move quite fast when he wanted to, and when it was for the sake of movie night, he moved pretty darned fast.

When everything was set (the DVD running, the pillows fluffed up, Kumajirou cleaned and his inhaler ready to use in case his asthma acted up from one of Alfred's death hugs), all that was left to do was wait. He knew he had little time before America arrived and all hell broke loose for the whole evening, therefore he decided to dedicate the few minutes he had left to curl up on the couch for some peace and quiet, knowing that there would no chance of anything that could be classified as anywhere near "peaceful" once a certain brother of his made his presence known.

For forty minutes he absorbed himself in his books, Kumajirou dozing on his lap and a novel in his hand. A glance at his watch informed him of how much time had passed, but he shrugged it off, knowing Alfred's lack of punctuality. This wasn't the first time it had happened after all.

After an hour, Canada frowned and put down his edition of A Study in Scarlet. He strolled over to the window to have a look outside, expecting to see a familiar blonde nation strolling down the sidewalk with a bag of burgers in one arm and a pile of movies in the other. He was somewhat surprised when he was met with empty, snow covered pavement. He gave a puzzled glance at the thickening layer of white and the flakes that fell from the sky, noting that it hadn't been there the last time he checked. Winter really came early this year.

Two hours later and he felt himself wondering just what could be holding up Alfred for so long. Pacing around the room, Canada was compelled to scrunch his eyebrows and take out his cell. One phone call later left him with no answers, as the device informed him that the receiver wasn't picking up. Frowning, the nation dismissed the small spark of anxiety dancing in his mind. This was America he was thinking about. Nothing could have possibly happened to the United States, right?

Four hours passed by before Canada was officially worried. America was late quite often, but this seemed to be going a little too far. Alfred had taken a fighter jet after all. He should've touched down in around 20 minutes! What on earth was America doing? The line at McDonalds couldn't be that long, could it?

Six hours later saw Canada nearly climbing the walls in panic. He moved around his house like a blur, looking out of all the windows in case Alfred was approaching from a different direction in an attempt to surprise him. Contrary to popular belief, Matthew could be just as hyperactive as his brother when he wanted to. It just never quite kicked in until he became very worried.

At last, six hours and twenty minutes after he'd finished preparations, Matthew couldn't take it any more. Something was definitely off now. Even if America had decided to pull a prank on him, he wouldn't have kept Canada in the dark for such a long time. The longest it had ever taken for Alfred to arrive at his house was two hours, and even then it was due to the fact that he had somehow managed to break his leg while walking on flat ground.

In short, something was amiss.

No, don't say that! Canada reprimanded himself, clenching his hair as he half paced, half ran around his living room. What am I think? He's America! The nation with the mind of a rock and the strength of a tank! It's not like anyone aside from Russia would think of doing something devious to him, right?

But this wasn't true at all, Canada knew in spite of his attempt at optimism. His gaze darkened as he remembered the day of the September 11 attacks, the event that had pried open the world's eyes to the fact that America, while strong and powerful, was not invincible. He could be injured, he could be caught off guard, and provided the proper conditions were met, he could be killed.

Shuddering at the thought, the point was that even America could be in trouble right now, a risk Canada wasn't willing to take. He in no way doubted the strength of his brother, but he wasn't ready to get too confident about it. Something fishy was definitely going on, and he'd be darned if he didn't get to the bottom of it.

"Kumasanrou!" Canada called out to his pet, who was watching him worriedly from the couch with small, beady eyes. At the sound of his owner's voice, the polar bear got to his paws and made his way over to the blonde, who was already putting on his coat as fast as he could. He then sat at the nation's feet, continuing to look up at the sight of his master frantically slipping on his gloves and reaching for his hat, nearly knocking off his glasses in the process.

When all articles of clothing were on the right parts of his body, Canada scooped up his waiting pet and all but charged out of his house into the snow. A freezing sensation in his foot informed him that he'd forgotten to put one of his boots on and he cursed as he ran back inside to retrieve the aforementioned piece of footwear.

Making sure he hadn't forgotten anything this time, the country fumbled with his keys for a moment before locking the front door. He then turned around and checked the surrounding area carefully, half expecting his brother to pop out of no where and shout "BOO!" in his face.

That tiny fragment of hope shattered instantly as he observed that the snow was undisturbed except for his own footprints and the surroundings were completely Alfred-less, leaving him with no choice but to go out and look for his missing sibling.

Pulling up his scarf to protect himself from the harsh climate of the Canadian winter (which had arrived abnormally early this year), Canada started up his car and began the drive to Pearson Airport.

The entire way, he kept a careful eye on the streets, just in case he spotted a familiar American skipping down the streets, possibly with a broken leg or two. The thickening blizzard was of no help. Sadly, he was met with no results, and thirty minutes later, he pulled in to a specially reserved spot into the airport parking lot.

Canada practically burst through the doors (both his panicked expression and pet polar bear earning him a few odd looks) and headed immediately to the west side of the enormous building. He slipped through the crowd and occasionally muttered apologies to anyone he accidentally came in contact with before reaching a certain door near the D-E registration area.

This door was rather plain in appearance, its colour a simple shade of silver and its surface completely smooth, absent of any particularly distinguishing features. There was no sign on, above or beside it, therefore presenting no interest to the average passerby. The only vaguely remarkable thing about it was the highly advanced-looking security card scanner that was located to its left, a few feet away from the drinking fountain.

People of all ages and ethnicities walked past it without a second glance, their hands occupied with suitcases and luggage carts. Not one presented the slightest bit of attention to the simple, unnoticeable door, embedded in the wall.

No one, that is, except for Canada.

With a glance in both directions to make sure there were no eyes on him (then again, he wasn't noticed 90% of the time anyways), the nation held Kumajirou in one arm while fumbling through one of the many pockets on the inside of the winter coat. After finding the right compartment, he proceeded to hastily pull out a security card, its appearance as simple as the door that stood about a foot away, save for the single corner that was coloured red.

He took a step towards the security card scanner and huddled close to shield his actions from the many gazes wandering around the area. Discreetly, he tapped the red corner against the screen three times and whispered the words, "Request for entry." into a dark patch near the top of the scanner.

Immediately, the screen was lit up with blinking lights before the message "Authorization for entry granted." was displayed. At once, a small click was heard from inside the door and the country was able to push it open and slip behind it, away from the eyes of the general public that walked from just metres away.

The sight of a narrow corridor presented itself to Canada as he closed the door shut behind him. Once again, he set off at a brisk pace, the clacks of his boots against the spotless ground echoing throughout the otherwise silent passage way. At the end was yet another door, this one coloured completely white save for the maple leaf painted neatly in the middle of the blank space.

Canada removed one of his winter gloves, careful not to drop Kumajirou, before pressing his left index finger against the topmost point of the large maple leaf.

At once, a crease appeared in the middle of the door and the two halves slid into their respective walls. Now in front of his eyes lay a first class waiting room, complete with armchairs, desks, tables, a snack counter, a widescreen T.V. and a fancy looking computer with high-speed internet.

The moment Canada took his first step into the room, a woman with glasses and a clipboard appeared from a door in the left wall. She tipped her head respectively before walking towards him and pulling a pen from her shirt pocket.

"Good evening, Mr. Williams. For what purpose are you here today?"

Canada gave her a polite smile before sitting down on one of the armchairs, struggling to hide his anxiety and impatience.

"I apologize for my abrupt appearance. The United States of America informed me that he would be coming over for a visit. He most likely arrived in a fighter jet. Do you have any record of this?"

The woman shifted her glasses slightly before flipping through some of the pages on her clipboard. For a moment her eyes narrowed as she scanned the lists before, trying to locate the impromptu arrival of Alfred F. Jones, personification of the U.S. Then, apparently finding it, she looked back up with a smile.

"Yes, Mr. Jones' flight arrived today at approximately 2:07 p.m. It was rather… unexpected."

The woman paused and a slight grimace entered her features. Canada couldn't blame her. America gave headaches to practically everyone he knew, as well as all those unlucky enough to come across him.

Well, now he knew that Alfred had definitely touched down on Toronto soil. At the very the least, the plane hadn't crashed. The only problem now that remained would be his exact whereabouts.

"Thank you for the information. Now then, is there any record of where he went after his arrival?"

The woman frowned slightly and shook her head.

"Not on hand at the least. If it is necessary though, we can check the security footage."

Canada nodded once.

"Then please do. It may be of high importance."

The woman nodded slightly before exiting through the same door she had entered. Left alone in the lavish room, Canada could hide his worry no longer. An expression of great anxiety came over his facial features as he began pacing the room, his eyes dark with concern. His hands gripped Kumajirou tightly as he grappled with his fearful thoughts, trying to dismiss what he hoped to be unnecessary terror.

"Ok, calm down," he muttered to himself, his gaze staring into space. "I'm getting fretful over nothing. This is Alfred we're talking about. No doubt, he'll probably show in a few minutes with another broken leg…"

If that really was the case, then Canada swore that he just might give the American another broken leg for making him worry so much. And maybe a broken arm too for good measure. God, why did that brother of his have to cause so much trouble wherever he went?

Five minutes later, the woman re-entered the room. Canada broke out of his musings and stood up expectantly, waiting for the news.

"Our security cameras showed Mr. Jones leaving the building by taxi through the west wing. He was last seen departing the airport by car."

"Please prepare my private jet."

The statement must have surprised her, for she gave him a very odd glance. In all honesty, it surprised himself as well. The request had simply slipped out of his mouth, with a sort of authority and determination that his voice rarely ever contained. His lips were set in a straight line, his violet eyes hardened into amethysts, and his expression incited no room for argument.

"But sir, what for?"

"I must head to Washington D.C. right now."

For a moment, the woman looked ready to protest against his extremely abrupt request, but it died down as she saw the firm expression planted onto his face. She proceeded to stare uncertainly at him for a few seconds, eventually giving a small nod before turning her heels and exiting the room once more.

Matthew couldn't blame the woman for being so surprised. It had been quite unexpected after all.

However, no one other than a country would be able to understand Canada's reasons. For after all, Matthew Williams was not an ordinary person. He was a nation, and as a nation, deep down, he knew for a fact that Alfred was definitely not in his country.

It most certainly would seem strange and rather mind bending to the average human. After all, only a select few people were truly aware of the personification of countries, such as the political leaders and governments of the world. But anyone who could understand the notion of living nations would be able to understand that right now, Canada simply could not feel his brother's presence in his home.

The nation in question sank slowly down into one of the armchairs again, his eyes closed and his mind deep in thought. That's right, hours ago, he was certain he had felt Alfred's footsteps upon his home soil. But that wasn't the issue right now. The biggest problem right now was that, just as the woman had informed him of America's departure by taxi, he had felt Alfred leave.

And that, thought Canada, was what worried him the most.

When Alfred was in his home, Matthew could always feel him. And although this sixth sense of his couldn't tell him exactly where his brother was or what his brother was doing, Canada could always, at the very least, tell that he was here.

Which brought him to his current issue. Right now, Alfred wasn't in Canada – that he knew for sure.

But if he's not here, then where the maple hockey could he be? The blonde thought, his eyebrows furrowing together in thought. Alfred had done many strange things before, but this was definitely a first. Matthew never quite remembered an instance where his brother had ecstatically informed him that he would be coming over, only to arrive in the country and leave a few hours later without ever meeting him or even informing him as to why he had to go. True enough, it seemed just like the sort of thing that Alfred might do, but it didn't change the fact that something terrible could have happened to him, and that wasn't a chance Matthew was willing to take.

What if something happened in his own country?

The thought struck Canada like a bolt from the blue, an expression which in this instance meant something along the lines of "shocked the nation so much he nearly toppled off his luxurious armchair". He recovered quickly, swiftly pulling the piece of furniture forward to prevent any damage while adjusting the glasses that threatened to fall off his face. With both hands occupied, Kumajirou toppled off his lap with a surprised yelp, landing headfirst on the ground. The bear proceeded to look up resentfully at his owner, resent that quickly disappeared upon noticing the fearful expression on Matthew's face.

"Pass me the remote control quickly, Kumajirou." The nation ordered while steadying the chair on the carpet. The bear complied immediately, sensing the need to be urgent. His owner had just remembered his name, something that happened only when Matthew's memory happened to be particularly good that day or when he was being 100% serious. Kumajirou took it to be the latter and reached for the device, holding it up with both paws up when the nation was finally steadied.

Without a word, Matthew took the remote control and opened up the T.V., his heart pounding in his chest and terrible memories of the 911 attacks flashing through his mind. His eyes gazed at the screen with wild anxiety as images emerged, images that presented a horrifying sight to his terrified gaze as an earth shattering sound entered his ears…

Whooooooo lives in a pineapple under the sea?



Matthew covered his eyes with a groan and flipped the channel as swiftly as possible. Oh god, of all the things he needed, the last would be that ghastly cartoon and its annoying as all hell theme song. While many of the children living in his country seemed to love its titular character, he had never managed to understand why. Well, Alfred absolutely loved the show, and Matthew could only be grateful that at the least his brother never made him watch that. Cartoons could be weird and all, but still…

Talking sponges. And square pants. And grouchy squids that play the clarinet. Really? And why on earth was YTV the first channel that came up when he opened the television?

He momentarily considered whether or not he should consult the staff on their choice of a default channel, but decided against it. There were more important issues at hand. Quickly, he flipped to CP24, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he frantically awaited the latest news. If there was a crisis in America, it would definitely be all over the media.

Nothing out of the ordinary greeted him though. For a moment, he continued to stare with his shoulders tensed as the woman onscreen reported the unusually early arrival of snow this year. Then he relaxed and gave a sigh of relief before slumping back into the chair. He'd been really nervous for a second there.

True, he still didn't know where Alfred was, but now he knew that his brother wasn't in dire peril.

At least he hoped that was the case.

Matthew perked up as he heard the woman enter the room for the third time. She still appeared slightly puzzled, but most of the confusion she felt seemed to have been discarded in a professional manner. Neat and orderly once again, she straightened up and began to speak.

"Your flight is ready sir. Please follow me."

Matthew complied silently, scooping up Kumajirou as he rose from his chair. This time, instead of walking back through the door from where she came, she headed toward a passageway to the right of the entrance Matthew had arrived from initially. The nation followed without a word, too immersed in his thoughts to speak.

The woman led him down a single corridor that seemed to stretch for miles, and Matthew had to struggle to stay at a human pace. He was frantic to get going. Nonetheless, he forced himself to stay behind the lady, despite knowing the place as well as the palm of his hand. It was important that he stayed calm after all. If he became excited (like he had at the 2010 Olympics), then he would become just like America, a side of him that he'd rather not reveal at the moment.

At last, they arrived at a security check with a man sitting behind a desk. Matthew flashed his ID card and stepped through the scanner that stayed silently as he passed, confirming that he was not carrying any dangerous items on his person (except for maybe the polar bear cub).

The man had a look at his passport and, noting nothing objectionable, returned it to him and granted him access to the door. He thanked both of them before heading down yet another corridor, one that no doubt would take him to his flight.

The ride to Washington D.C. seemed like hell. Yes, the plane was equipped with snacks, drinks, technology, entertainment, several soft chairs, a bed and a polar bear pen, but despite the luxuries, Matthew couldn't quite get himself to relax. For the most part of the flight, he sat next to the window, his eyes gazing out into the setting sun and his thoughts in utter turmoil as his mind struggled to dispense the fear that haunted him so.

All the time, he continued to muse over the curious situation. There were so many questions that needed to be answered, it felt like his brain was ready to overload. Where was Alfred? Why had he left Canada so soon after touching down? How come he didn't so much as mention a single thing to Matthew before just vanishing without a word? It was behaviour from Alfred that he had never seen before, and while his brother could be unpredictable, Matthew knew him well enough that he wouldn't ever cancel movie night for any reason short of World War III.

With hardly any clues whatsoever, the only thing left for him to do was to head to the heart of America, Washington D.C.

He had tried calling his brother's cell several more times, only to receive the same robotic default voice message over and over again. Only god knew what could stop Alfred from answering his phone. That brother of his more or less never failed to answer the darned device. The only time Matthew could ever recall America not picking up the phone was when he had somehow pissed off England enough to the point of the latter removing all the bones in his arm.

An hour later, the private jet finally landed in Washington D.C., and Canada was none the wiser. Impatiently, he exited the flight, whizzed through the additional security checks (which were frustratingly tight due to his status as a nation) and was at last allowed to exit through the departure area, Kumajirou in one arm and his cell in the other.

One last time, Matthew scrolled through his contacts and picked out America's name. He prayed, as he hit the call button, that this time his brother would finally respond.



Canada's heart pounded faster in excitement and relief.

"Alfred? Oh thank maple syrup heavens, you finally picked up! What took you so long-"





Your call has been interrupted, please…

An emotionless pre-programmed voice droned out of the cell, effectively cutting off the conversation.

For several moments, Matthew could only freeze, his face stretched into an expression of sheer shock and complete horror as he numbly continued to stare at the unsympathetic screen.

Then he vehemently resisted the urge to swear and struggled not to crush the expensive device into gravel. A young couple and their children were standing a few feet away, and the last thing he needed was the U.S. government complaining to his boss that the representative of Canada had introduced some rather colourful words to the minds of two 5-7 year old children.

Whatever effort he had made previously to push back his fears had now disintegrated entirely as he re-pocketed the phone. It was official. Something was definitely wrong with his brother.

Canada closed his eyes and took a deep breath, planting his feet firmly against the ground and placed Kumajirou at his side.

Seconds later, he was rocketing through the streets of America's capital, faster than the eye could see and the mind could process. Canada usually didn't like moving at this pace unless he could help it, but as a nation, he was granted not so humanly powers, and super speed was one of them. Now seemed like one of times it came in handy. His velocity was so ludicrous that his country would surely be ashamed of him if he was caught doing this. The speed limit must have been passed by at least 1000 km.

Minutes was all it took for him to arrive in front of Alfred's house, or mansion rather, hands on his knees and panting like an exhausted dog. Kumajirou lay sprawled across the pavement in a similar state, having been forced to run in order to keep up with his master. Across the street, an elderly woman stared at him with her mouth wide open before rubbing her eyes and muttering "Goodness, my age is really catching up to me," before limping off, walking stick in hand.

When he was able to stand properly without seeing little hockey wielding birds fluttering around his head, Matthew took a deep breath and opened the gate.

Ignoring the fancy bushes and elaborate lawn decorations around him, carefully maintained by workers, Canada strolled around the massive fountain and up the polished stone stairs. Pinned above it was the flag of the United States of America, complete with the words "LAND OF THE FREE" in gold letters.

Standing in front of the magnificent wooden door, Canada raised his fist and was just about to rap his knuckles against the oak when something caught his eye.

Atop the welcome mat was a white envelope with no postage stamps whatsoever. It lay innocently between his feet, as if prompting him to pick it up and open it.

Compelled to momentarily forget about his task at hand, Matthew bent down and lifted up the envelope with two fingers. It was simple in design, no stamps or logos, just the words "To the United States of America" scrawled neatly across the back.

Matthew narrowed his eyes and glanced over to the left where the mailbox was. Why had the postman left a letter here on the welcome mat rather than place it in its rightful place, where any partially functional human being would've understand to put it?

Yet it didn't seem like a professional document or something that that would be sent to America. More or less all of Alfred's letters had some fancy seal or another placed upon it just to signify its importance. This envelope had nothing. Just some scribbled words, not even an address. It had to have been hand delivered.

But by who? No one that knew of Alfred's status as a nation would deliver a letter in person. Coupled with the clue of the envelope's curious location, along with the mysterious response to his last phone call, Matthew felt a suddenly dread as another possibility occurred to him. Removing his gloves and mentally scolding himself for looking through mail addressed to Alfred, he neatly ripped away the top and removed the letter inside.

The message was short. But nonetheless one that made his blood run cold.

We have your brother. Go to the next world meeting.



Even anger.

Any one of those emotions could have hit him at that moment like a raging bull. He was honestly too shocked to even know. All he could register was some emotion beginning to burn inside of him, pounding against his sides like crashing waves…


As he continued to gape blankly at the slip of paper in dumb shock, he vaguely registered a vibrating sensation in one of his many coat pockets. Numbly and automatically, as if he simply an operating robot, he pulled out his phone and flipped it open.

"MATHEIU! Are you there? Are you alright? Mon Dieu, please, answer your papa! Oh, heaven forbid my darling ex-colony has been captured and held captive in some dark unbeautiful place where evil are about to do the most dreadful things-


A loud exhale of relief was heard from the other side and Canada, despite his current predicament, felt a little touched that his former caretaker had remembered him for once and was actually concerned for his well being.

"Oh, thank heavens! At least mon petit Canada is not in danger! At least you have not been taken as well! I must admit, I was quite worried when I found that strange envelope outside ma maison, but never mind that! Thank the lord that you are safe!"

A part of France's joyful speech struck him as a little odd, and Canada furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Wait, Francis, what do you mean by 'as well'? What happened?"

A long, sorrowful sigh was heard from the other side. Then after a short pause, France began to speak in a low, serious voice that Canada rarely ever heard him use, delivering a message that plunged his heart in dread.

"Listen carefully, Mathieu. We have unofficially entered a state of international emergency. Several countries have vanished mysteriously with no apparent cause whatsoever. Come to Angleterre, we are holding a world meeting to discuss the crisis at once."

End Chapter 1

So yeah, my first fanfiction. I think that you can tell from the lack of writing experience in my work above.

Some things I want to point out:

I got the idea of Canada running at super sonic speed from the one Hetalia episode when he's late for a meeting and just whooshes past one of the employees. I thought it made sense that as a nation, he should be able to travel at superhuman speeds. If any of you want to know why he didn't just run to Washington D.C., I thought that it might be breaking the law for him to just walk over into another country.

I'm ashamed to admit that although I'm Canadian, I really suck at French, therefore I didn't dare to add much more French dialogue when France was speaking to Canada. So if I somehow managed to mess up the minute amount of the language that I did add, please point it out.

I also haven't decided if I want to make Canada the older or younger brother, or if just to make him and America twins. If any one who reads this story has any particular preference, feel free to point it out before I post the next chapter.

I'm also not sure where the Spongebob Squarepants reference came from. It kinda just struck me as an idea, although I must admit that I rather dislike the show. I apologize if I insulted any fans, but to me, it just seemed like something America would like and Canada would hate.

Finally, I don't own Spongebob, A Study in Scarlet, or any other elements in this story that are copyrighted.

Sorry for long Author's note. Reviews aren't necessary, but would be appreciated. I request you don't flame, but I can't stop you from doing so, therefore you can write whatever you want and I'll read it anyways.

Sherlockdetective99, signing out.