Alfred stopped the truck on the driveway and got out, leaving behind everything else for a moment, just like he had left Arthur alone in the city . . . He shook his head, told himself to get over it, and opened the front door.

"Hey, you guys here?"

"In here, Alfie," Charles responded from the living area.

Alfred followed his voice, asking himself repeatedly why Arthur had ever suspected Charles of shooting Allen or doing anything malicious at all, but all questions and thoughts were halted when he saw the ex-confederate with an arm wrapped around Amelia, who seemed to be quietly balling her eyes out as she leant into him, tissue clutched in one hand and legs pulled in tight to make a protective ball for herself.

"What's happened?" Alfred asked warily, as he walked into the space and assessed what was going on a second time over.

"Allen seems to have vanished," Alex answered. He came into the room holding a hot cup of tea, Alfred assumed, which he set down on the coffee table for Amelia.

"What? When?"

"Within the last two hours," Charles quietly responded as Amelia shakily tried to sit up straight and wipe her eyes. "Amy and I were in the house and then Alex came inside, and when Allen didn't come back too after about fifteen minutes, Alex went back out to look for him but there was no sign of him anywhere."

"Outside?" He didn't like asking so many questions, but he found it bizarre that any of the others would be out of the house, especially since he hadn't been there for safety.

"It was my idea," Amelia said through guilty sniffles and red eyes. "I a-asked if he wanted to go for a walk because l-last time we never got to fi-inish, but- It's my fault he's gone!"

"Hey hey hey, it's OK," Alfred softly spake, crouching down and holding her hands to try and reassure her and calm her down. "It's not your fault, it's mine. I shouldn't have left you guys . . ."

"Where's Arthur, by the way?" Charles asked out of curiosity. Problem Number Two had to be dealt with at some point, too, after all. "I didn't hear or see him come in."

With a flush of guilt, Alfred elected to avoid the question and said: "Allen's my priority right now," and he gave Amelia a little smile before standing up and looking to Alex. "Where have you checked?"

"Basically everywhere close by, and even in the house," he replied. "I covered the first five-hundred metre radius around this spot and there was literally nothing. I called out, I searched high and low . . . He wasn't there . . ."

"Right . . . Do you fancy coming back out? Two of us can cover more ground and stretch out further," Alfred stated with the determination that he was not going to lose Allen.

And then the realisation that perhaps, if Allen had truly gone missing and not just gotten lost, someone had decided to finish the job they had started earlier in the week struck Alfred hard. It meant that Allen could be in grave danger, or his fate could be even worse if he wasn't found soon. Charles. Arthur had accused Charles of shooting Allen, though, and if Alfred was correct about the whole 'finish the job' disappearance of the auburn American, that meant that Charles couldn't possibly be the culprit because he had stayed inside with Amelia the whole time. Of course. And he shook his head free of further thoughts once more, because now he was decided: Arthur had been lying to him.

"Definitely," Alex affirmed. "I couldn't agree more."

"Great. It's gotten much more dark out now, so I'll just grab two flashlights and we can head out through the back," the original American responded, and he wasted no time in heading to the kitchen.

Alex and Charles glanced at each other as Alfred left and as Amelia seemed entirely distracted. Alex gave a brief but bright smile to the other blonde male before glancing at the Amelia, then the cup, and then back at Charles and winking. He then promptly followed after Alfred with the neutral, concerned mask back on and ready for the second act. It was funny, Charles thought, how some people were capable of having multiple faces like that, but then, he was one of those people, too. It was a skill, though, and it had treated him well thus far, so much so that now he was sure he could pull it off. The scheme. The plan. He could do it and finally, America would be the country it was supposed to be . . .

In the kitchen, Alfred grabbed two torches from one of the drawers and checked they worked, before handing one to a patiently waiting Alex. He couldn't believe this was happening while he was meant to be protecting all of them. He felt guilty, more so than he had some half an hour ago, and he was scared. There was no denying it. He was scared for Allen and everyone else in the house, and Alfred hated being scared. Outside, the blonde duo decided to start formulating a plan.

"Should we split? We'll cover more ground in less time," Alex suggested. "There'll be a better chance for us finding him."

"Yeah, but if someone's out there looking for trouble still, we're easier to pick off alone," Alfred countered. He and Alex were the only defence of those in the house now, and he didn't want to risk it.

"But maybe there's no one out there . . ." the other American offered. "I could just as easily have been 'picked off' on the way back to the house earlier, but I wasn't."

"It would've been easier to get Allen though. He wasn't moving, I assume-"

"That's right, he was waiting for Amelia to come back out and meet him, but when she did, he was gone," Alex confirmed with a quick nod.

"So therefore, he was an easy target. Isolated and away from the house," Alfred said.

He wondered why Allen would stay alone in the growing dark, especially after he had been attacked before, and why he had clearly felt the need to talk to Amelia away from Alex and Charles. Charles. Poor, misunderstood Charlie . . .

<><><>

"Appreciate the lift, thanks again, boys," Arthur said to the two Russians in front of the SUV, who simply and silently nodded in response, and the Brit put the phone against his ear for the final time. "And thank you, too, Ivan . . . But I fear this won't be the last time we speak about this matter."

"Hm, I have to agree, but you must look at the positives. Pull this off and you might finally get a chance."

"A . . . Chance?"

"With Alfred, da?" Ivan said.

"W-What makes you think that that's even a thing?!" England retaliated, turning away from the vehicle so as not to give the Russian's agents any satisfaction. "I told you, this isn't about him, it's about doing what's right and getting rid of the-"

"The thorn in your side?" Russia offered, smirking quietly from his study. "Don't worry, I won't share your little secret. It is not mine to give, after all, and I would hate it if you and I fell out over this phase of yours."

"What do you mean, 'phase'? I'm not some hormonal teen who has an addiction to all things heavy metal!" Arthur defended.

He felt his face getting redder by the second, and decided that he had to get out of that conversation as quickly as possible. But why was he even getting embarrassed over it? What was there to make him so suddenly flustered? He was an adult, and like hell was he going to let himself stoop and become so pathetic and sentimental. He was England! A small but powerful nation with a glorious, formidable and unique history in all sorts of things, and he wasn't going to be defeated by mere feelings!

"Whatever you say. I have other things to do now, so this is where I leave you," Ivan continued through the silence. "I wish you luck. You'll probably need it."

"Uhuh, I'll bear that in mind," the Brit responded incredulously, and after a little pause he let out a little sigh. "Can I ask one final favour of you?"

"Anything for you~"

Arthur held back a grimace. "If I don't call or message you within the next two hours . . . Call Romania or Norway and tell them they have to finish their work now and get over here. And then call Canada, let him know what's happened and tell him to come, too."

"In case the shit has gone down?"

"Precisely," England responded, and he bade a quick farewell and was ready to end the call, but he was halted by Ivan for one more moment. "What now?"

Ivan gave a little laugh. "Go get your idiot," he said, "and when you see him, give him a slap from me, da?"

"It would be my pleasure," and with a beep, the phone call came to a close and Arthur started along the driveway as the sound of the black, shiny SUV pulling away came from behind and disappeared down the lane.

It took a few minutes to walk along the dirt drive, the darkness a huge hinderance (thank God he had the phone to provide light). While he understood the principle of having the house tucked away from the main road (or, you know, the bloody country lane), Arthur still complained to himself about the inconvenience of it at the present moment. But it also gave him some time to reflect. He was on his own now. Alfred hadn't taken his word for truth. He had abandoned him and humiliated him, and had even sworn at him! When did he ever do that?! But, at that moment, there was only one thing that mattered to Arthur and that was confrontation against the Problem; to make Alfred finally see what was happening under his nose and get justice for them all.

When he arrived at the front door in the faint light of inside, he was momentarily surprised to see that it was slightly ajar. He assumed that it was Alfred's doing, though not purposeful, and with a light sigh, the Brit opened the door further and entered the quiet build.

"Hello? Anyone home?" he cautiously called out as he closed the door properly behind him.

"Through here," a voice replied.

'Fuck, I didnt even think about him being down here,' Arthur frowned to himself, but, putting on his best neutral act, he moved into the living room to see only two Americans present. "Charles, Amelia," he greeted. "Do you know where Alfred is?"

"Outside with Alex," Charles responded, rubbing the right side of his forehead gently. "They're looking for Allen. He's gone missing."

"Missing?" Arthur repeated as if the word was foreign to him. "When? How?"

"Over an hour ago, we think. Basically," Charles examined as the Brit took an oblivious seat, the shock clearly overriding any previous thoughts, "he was waiting outside for Amelia, and when she went out to meet him, he wasn't where she had left him some . . . Ten minutes before, or something like that."

Arthur glanced to Amelia, who seemed half-asleep and as though she were going to drop the cup in her hands any second. "Did he say anything to you before you left him, Amelia? Anything . . . Odd?"

"Like what?" the ex-confederate queried with a slight frown. Perhaps, he thought, Problem Number Two was an even bigger problem that he had originally thought.

"Let Amelia answer, please," Arthur said, shooting a brief but warning glance at Charles before looking back to the other American.

She shook her head slowly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling quietly. "Nothing . . . H-He said there was something he wanted to say to me, but I was called inside before he could . . ." she shyly stated. "He was going to tell me w-when I came back out, but when I did . . ."

"Hey, it's OK," Charles gently reassured her. She leant on his shoulder more, and he could tell she was tiring, so he carefully wrapped an arm around her to provide that little extra bit of comfort. "He'll be fine. I promise."

"That's a hard thing to promise, don't you think?" Arthur remarked, noting how, thankfully, Amelia didn't quite seem to be awake enough to listen fully. "We don't know what's happened for sure . . . I wouldn't make promises you can't keep if I were you."

That statement had a secret threat. 'Clever boy,' Charles mocked in his head, no sign of knowledge being publicly displayed so as to satisfy the Brit. So, Arthur seemed to have an idea of what was going on, and ideas could become very dangerous things if one wasn't too careful. It was easy to get the wrong idea, after all, but it was also quite clear that the blonde opposite Charles didn't give a damn, and that was more dangerous than the ideas. The grey-eyed blonde was decided. He had to go. Now.

Suddenly, the sound of buzzing came from the kitchen and the two males were both distracted by the rather irritating vibrating noise. Amelia didn't stir. With a wary sigh and a quick glance at Charles, Arthur got up from his seat and went to go and claim his phone. He wasn't sure why it was in the kitchen when he was certain he had left it quite alone in the living area that morning, but he didn't feel like calling anyone out just yet. And for once, Charles' eyes didn't follow him.

Arthur picked up the device from the kitchen side by the sink just as the noise stopped, and he shook his head and muttered something to himself as he unlocked the mobile to see who had been calling him. It was Vladimir - Romania Vladimir - and at that same time, the Brit also noticed that he had a message from Lukas sent two hours before. It seemed important, so without hesitation, Arthur elected to call Vladimir back and hoped that the Romanian hadn't walked away from his phone.

After around six rings, a voice spoke from the other end of he line. "Hey, Arthur!"

"Vlad, thank God, we need to talk. Quickly," Arthur said after releasing releasing a relieved sigh.

"Yeah, I know, Lukas and I think we found a way to-"

"I'll take that, thank you very much!" a third party said, and Arthur's phone was stolen from his hands and tossed quite effortlessly into the water-filled bowl in the sink. "You know, it's rude to tell on people . . . No one likes a snake."

Arthur resisted the temptation to punch Charles square in the jaw; if Alfred walked in and saw him attack the other American seemingly unprovoked, that would be the last straw for Alfred and Arthur wasn't going to just hand over the victory to Charles so easily. He straightened up and composed himself, a look of indifference on his face, and he looked directly into the dull, dead eyes as he folded his arms neatly across his chest.

"What do you want?" he said.

"Who, me?" Charles responded, gesturing to himself with feigned surprise.

"There's only one imbecile in this room, and I'm looking at him," Arthur shot back. "Now spit it out. What's your deal, exactly?"

"I want to fix this country, Arthur. Is that so wrong?" Charles remarked innocently. "I want to go back to 1945, the Great America, a country, not just some giant bank for little pathetic leeches like you to suck dry."

"W-What's going on in here?" Amelia quietly asked from the doorway, rubbing a tired eye in an attempt to wipe away the blurriness.

"Mommy and Daddy are just having a talk, go back to the sofa and get some sleep," Charles responded blankly, maintaining his eye contact with the Brit.

"Well you certainly make a dashing woman, Charles, I have to say," Arthur said quietly.

He glanced over Charles' shoulder to see that Amelia was barely able to keep herself stood up and a overwhelming sense of panic and the need to protect took over, and Arthur darted past Charles just in time to stop her from completely crashing to the ground. Terrified, he quickly checked the vitals - Was she breathing? How strong was her pulse? Was she responding? - to find that, thank God, Amelia was indeed alive and breathing, but now unconsciousness and probably uncomfortable given how Arthur had barely managed to catch her in his arms. He tried to speak to her and get her to wake up, but it was to no avail: she didn't make a sound.

"What did you do?" he demanded, sharply glaring up at Charles, who seemed to have a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, not me. It wasn't my idea," the American answered.

"Not . . . ? T-Then whose?!"

"Come off it, you're not stupid. Work it out for yourself, like you have done with the rest of this . . . Escapade."

Arthur averted his eyes and tried to manoeuvre so as to get Amelia in a more comfortable position while he spent a few seconds mulling it over. There was only one person in the house who had that sort of knowledge, surely, but for what reason would Alex ever go to such lengths, especially after Alfred had gone to so much effort to make them all happy? Alex, with the sweet smile and the second side to him that was just a lost, lonely boy who wanted someone to care for him like they actually meant it . . . How had he been dragged to the dark side?

As the Brit had been thinking, distracted and unaware of his surroundings, Charles had silently made a move to the side and out of sight for just a moment, so he could retrieve an item he hadn't thought he'd use, but was glad he had Alex pick up from the storage shed in the forest when he'd put the gun away again earlier. Without a sound, his fingers wrapped around the wooden handle of a baseball bat and he lifted it from its spot against the fridge. One hit. That's all it would need to take, and the next stage of the plan could be initiated. He just needed a home run, first.

"Sorry not sorry, Arthur," he said, the bat being positioned high and far back; the perfect swing.

England turned to the sound of his name, but before he could respond and question what was happening, the world violently shuddered, flickered, and was then plunged into total darkness.

<><><>

Alfred and Alex had parted ways a few minutes before, the latter's argument of covering more ground quicker becoming more favourable as the night came fast with the cold. The original American continued to push past the flower stems, weaving in and out of patches of plants for any sign of Allen or the perpetrator, but sadly always moving on with no new clues or ideas. It was becoming hopeless.

With a sigh, Alfred came to a halt. He was getting tired and was worried that he'd get lost in the fields too (but was Allen lost, or was he just gone?) and the last thing he wanted to do was place any more stress or pressure on his fellow Americans. A momentary rustling came from close by, the non-existent breeze clearly having made the noise . . . Or not . . . Alfred held up his flashlight to his surroundings in search of what had made the sound, and as his eyes narrowed to pierce the shadows, the bulb in his torch flickered and went out.

"Shit, you've gotta be kidding me!" he scorned, and he gave the item a couple whacks against his free hand so that the light returned. "Alex? You there, dude?"

But no answer came despite how loud Alfred had called and how far it carried. A pang of fear hit him in the chest, and he was suddenly scared that Alex had also been dragged away by some unknown person or thing into the darkness, never to be seen again. The light vanished and the noise returned, closer this time, before they swapped rolls and Alfred was able to look around again, his torch frantically shaking as he searched. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that the third time was often the last time, and that was when he thought, screw it, I'm going back inside because that's probably what Alex already did, the cheeky bugger.

Wait, since when did he say that? That was an Arthur phrase, not an Alfred phrase! . . . Arthur . . . Where was he? Had he remained in the city where Alfred had left him cruelly, or had he braved the walk, and was now lost somewhere, cold and alone on the side of the road, unsure of which way he had come from? As Alfred pushed past more flowers, the guilt grew inside of him. He had been such an asshole, even if Arthur had said something quite dumb himself, but he regretted so much from that afternoon that deep down, beneath the ambivalence, he was protecting an apology.

The rustling came back. It was following him. Without hesitation, Alfred raced towards the distant lights in the house and prayed, for the first time in a long time, that he would be alright and that Allen and Alex were fine and that Arthur would forgive him for everything and that-

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Alfred," a voice softly said as Alfred tried to pick himself up off the dampening floor, a hand to the back of his throbbing head. "I didn't see you there!"

"A . . . A-Alex?" the other American mumbled in response as the light died for the final time.

Alex quietly smiled to himself. "Guilty as charged~"