Welcome to 'The Number Three'! This is my first Hetalia fanfic, so hopefully I won't butcher these characters too much.

This is a human AU, so human names will be used. At the beginning of each chapter, I will list the countries focused on and their human names. If a country doesn't have one, (like Iceland, Norway, Hong Kong, etc.), I will make up a name.

This is also a murder mystery, so characters will die. However, each death plays an important part in the plot.

The crime scene investigations will be conducted in 'CSI style'. I know that's not how real investigations work, but I love the show, and it'll be easier (and more dramatic) than using the actual, slow method of investigations.

Sealand's age has been bumped up to fourteen. Switzerland's age has been bumped up to twenty-six. (The investigative team's ages have all been bumped up to make the story more realistic.)

The story takes place in America.

Peter Kirkland: Sealand

Arthur Kirkland: England/Britain

Sey Leblanc: Seychelles

Alfred F. Jones: America

Vash Zwingli: Switzerland

Lili Zwingli: Liechtenstein

Roderich Edelstein: Austria

Ludwig Beilschmidt: Germany

Gilbert Beilschmidt: Prussia

Elizaveta Héderváry: Hungary

Raivis Galante: Latvia

Eduard von Bock: Estonia

Toris Lorinaitis: Lithuania

Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden

Tino Väinämöinen: Finland

Matthew Williams: Canada

Kiku Honda: Japan

Wang Yao: China

Now that the A/N is finished, enjoy chapter one!

~The Number Three~

Chapter One: Burnt Scones and Bad News

A young boy ran happily down the street, smiling to himself. He hummed a Lady Gaga song that his brother's friend had let him listen to a few hours before, and he swung the duffle bag he was carrying to the beat.

I can't wait to show him my uniform! he thought. His first day of high school was in three days, but he wanted to show off his new uniform to his best friend, whose house he was spending the night at.

He remembered how mad his older brother was when he ran out of the house wearing the uniform. Stupid jerk thinks I'm going to ruin it! He laughed when he recalled the look on the man's face when he ran out the door. He looked like an old man telling kids to get off his lawn! His face was so freakin' funny!

He almost made it to his best friend's house when he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, rubbing his now-skinned knees and retrieving his duffle bag. He inspected his uniform, relieved that it was undamaged. Good thing I wore the shorts instead of the long pants.

He laughed to himself and began walking again, albeit slower. Suddenly, he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt.

"Hey!" he yelped, startled. When he tried to turn around to see who it was, the hand changed its position, wrapping itself around his neck.

The boy started to panic as he was lifted. Because of the pressure on his neck, it was getting difficult to breathe, and even though he was struggling, he was no match for his attacker.

He could do nothing as he was thrown into a nearby alleyway. Before he could get up, before he could scream to alert someone in the neighborhood, duct tape was slapped over his mouth, silencing his cries.

He closed his eyes, a few tears sliding down his face. I never got to say goodbye to Arthur; I just ran out the door and called him a jerk.

The boy cried more when he felt the sharp edge of a knife press into the side of his face.

Twenty-six-year-old Vash Zwingli arrived at the crime scene with his partner Ludwig Beilschmidt. Elizaveta Héderváry, Ludwig's older brother Gilbert, Roderich Edelstein, and Alfred F. Jones—four of his department's crime scene investigators—were already processing the scene when the two got out of the car.

At least, Elizaveta, Roderich, and Gilbert were. Alfred looked shocked, just staring into space.

"Alfred?" asked Vash, approaching the younger man.

"Peter Kirkland," was all he said, blinking as though he was holding back tears.

"What?" asked the blonde. "Is that the victim's name?"

"He's not just a 'victim'!" Alfred spat, glaring at Vash. "He's my best friend's younger brother! I just saw him yesterday."

Vash knew that it was bad news to mix emotions with work in their profession. "Maybe you should go home, Alfred. I'm sure Elizaveta will let you if you explained it to her."

"Whatever." The twenty-three-year-old's normally cheerful expression and loud voice were gone, and he hung his head.

A question suddenly popped into his head. "How old was Peter Kirkland?"

"Fourteen," whispered Alfred. "He was about to start high school." The bespectacled investigator then trudged over to Elizaveta.

A child, thought Vash. An image of his younger sister Lili's smiling face flashed through his mind. She's only a year older than him.

Pushing the thought out of his head, he composed himself and walked up to Elizaveta, the supervisor of the day shift at the forensics lab, after she and Alfred were done talking.

"Who called it in?" he asked.

"That girl over there." The Hungarian pointed to a crying, dark-skinned teenager with her hair in two pigtails held by two red ribbons. "Her name is Sey Leblanc. She said she was going to the lake for some morning fishing when she saw the body sticking out of the alley."

Vash nodded, and the brunette continued. "The vic's name was Peter Kirkland, age fourteen."

"I know," the Swiss man found himself saying. "Alfred told me."

Elizaveta's eyes narrowed. "I sent him home." Her eyes softened as she continued to speak. "He said the poor child was like a little brother to him."

"May I see the body?"

"Go ahead. Just so you know, Roderich said his T.O.D. was five hours ago."

As soon as the green-eyed woman gave her approval, Vash walked over to where the corpse was sprawled out. He had a strong stomach—you had to when you had this job—but what he saw sickened him.

The boy's face was covered in cuts, and his last expression was one of pure pain and terror. What looked to be tear tracks cut through the blood. His mouth was taped.

Probably so he couldn't scream.

As he continued to inspect the body, he realized that Peter wasn't wearing a shirt. His chest, torso, and arms were covered in similar gashes to the ones on his face. Thankfully, he was still wearing a pair of dress shorts and shoes. He looked down and saw a duffle bag next to him.

Elizaveta said his time of death was five hours ago, but he probably wasn't walking around before he died; he was probably going somewhere before sunset. His eyes snapped open wide. That means that he was left to die after he was attacked. Who would do this to a kid?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Gilbert tapped his shoulder. "Zwingli," he said, "we need to transport the body now."

The Swiss man nodded and let the German (no, he liked to be called Prussian), Roderich, and some people whose names he didn't know gently place Peter's corpse in a body bag.

While Vash, Roderich, and Elizaveta went back to the lab, Ludwig and Gilbert drove to a man named Arthur Kirkland's house. Arthur was Peter's older brother, and he needed to know what happened.

Gilbert hated this part of his job the most. The looks on people's faces when he told them that a loved one was murdered were horrible. The German—he preferred to be called Prussian—knew he wasn't the nicest guy on the planet, but that didn't mean he was unable to feel sadness.

Ludwig rang the doorbell, and the two waited until someone opened the door.

After a few seconds, someone did. An old-fashioned looking man with blonde hair and enormous eyebrows answered the door.

"Hello," he said.

Gilbert noticed he had a British accent. "I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, and that's Ludwig Beilschmidt." He pointed to his brother. "We're with the crime lab. May we come inside?"
"Of course," replied the man.

"Are you Arthur Kirkland?" asked Ludwig.

"That is correct," answered the blonde.

"I'm afraid we have some bad news." Gilbert's stomach twisted as he said the words.

Arthur rolled his green eyes. "What did Peter break this time? I assure you I'll pay for it."

"Mr. Kirkland, Peter isn't in trouble. He's dead." The albino glared at his brother for saying it so business-like.

"What?" The Briton's knees started to shake.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kirkland," said Gilbert.

"I told him to always look both ways. But he didn't listen to me," murmured the blonde.

The white-haired man was confused, until he realized that Arthur thought his brother had been hit by a car.

"No, Mr. Kirkland," replied Ludwig, gentler this time. "Peter was murdered."

"Oh God." Arthur sank onto the couch, covering his face with his hands.

"May I ask you where he was going?" asked Gilbert. His time of death was five hours ago, but we're sure he was out before that time."

"He was walking over to his friend Raivis Galante's house to spend the night." The Briton's voice seemed detached. "But I don't think Raivis or his brothers called me saying that he didn't arrive? Wait!" the blonde's head snapped up. "I did go to the store around nine-thirty last night to get some beer, and I forgot my cell phone. Maybe Raivis called it."

He got up and grabbed a cell phone that was on a coffee table. He turned it on, went to his voicemail, and turned it on speaker so that the officers could listen.

"H-hello, Mr. Kirkland. It's Raivis," said a soft voice with a hint of an accent. "I just wanted to know where P-Peter is. He never made it to my house, and I'm getting w-worried. He doesn't have his phone on, so I can't get a-a hold of him. Eduard says I'm o-over thinking this, but I'm afraid s-something happened to him. I hope he's all right. Y-you too."

The message ended, and Arthur dropped the phone. "How the hell am I going to break this to Berwald and Tino," he whispered.

"Who are Berwald and Tino?" asked Ludwig.

"Berwald Oxenstierna and Tino Väinämöinen are Peter's guardians. He lives with them."

"But you're his brother; why aren't you—or his parents—taking care of him?" asked Gilbert, confused.

"I'm a representative for the U.K.," explained the Brit. "I travel all over the world constantly. I couldn't take Peter with me; he needed to go to school. Moving would be difficult for him; he liked it so much here. Our parents died last year; I couldn't take care of him, but I didn't want to lose him to the foster care system. Tino's a good friend of mine. He and his partner Berwald always wanted a child, so they adopted him." His eyes closed. "They're going to be so devastated. Both of them loved him so much." His voice cracked at the last word.

Gilbert cleared his throat. "May we have Tino's and Berwald's address and phone numbers, as well as Raivis'? Someone from our team will notify them and talk with them about Peter."

"Sure," murmured Arthur, still in a daze. He got a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down what Gilbert wanted. "I also wrote down Alfred F. Jones' address and phone number—he knew Peter too—as well as his brother Matthew Williams'. They'd want to know what happened."

"Alfred already knows," Gilbert blurted out. Ludwig elbowed him.

"That's right; he's a crime scene investigator too. I forgot." With each sentence, the blonde's voice cracked.

"We should go. He needs to grieve," whispered Ludwig.

The red-eyed man nodded. "We'll be going now, Mr. Kirkland. Call us if you need to. Here's my card." He put his card on the coffee table and took the list the Brit made for him.

"Okay. Thank you." The blonde's eyes fully opened. "I have one more question: how did he die?"

"We don't have the details yet, but we'll ask you to come in when we do," replied Ludwig.

"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Kirkland," stated Gilbert.

The two left the house, but before they closed the door, the older Beilschmidt brother looked back inside. Arthur had sunk the floor crying. "I didn't even say goodbye to him!"

Ludwig quietly shut the door, and the two walked back to their car.

Back at the lab, coroner Roderich Edelstein sadly washed and looked over the body.

He was so young. He hated seeing children on his table; they didn't deserve to be murdered.

He looked up when he heard Vash and Elizaveta enter the room.

"So, Roderich, did you find the cause of death?" asked the Hungarian.

"Yes. Blunt force trauma. He was hit on the head with a heavy object, most likely metal. He suffered from a subdural hematoma, meaning that blood vessels around the brain were torn, and the pressure of the blood against the tissues that adhere to the skull and surround the brain caused the brain to painfully compress. This boy probably felt like his head was being crushed. It took awhile for him to die, and it would have been painful."

"What about the other wounds?" asked Vash, his voice icy.

"Well, the injuries on his chest, torso, arms, and face came from a knife. The ones on his back, however…" he gently flipped the boy over. "The ones on his back came from a whip." He glared at the angry red gashes. "All these injuries were pre-mortem, and they happened before the fatal blow was dealt."

"So he was tortured?" asked Elizaveta.

"It looks that way."

"That means that whoever killed him took him somewhere, inflicted these injuries, and dumped him in the alley while he was still alive," hypothesized Vash. "Was he…"

"No," assured Roderich. "I found no signs of sexual assault. Thank God. Whoever did this must have been a sadist, though: this was no crime of opportunity. It was definitely planned out."

"Why the hell would someone target Peter Kirkland?" Elizaveta wondered aloud. "When Kiku and Yao searched his name online, they discovered he was an honor student, on the swim team, and a talented actor. He seems like an ordinary kid."

"That's what we're trying to find out," stated Vash. "We'll catch the bastard who did this." His fingers were itching to pull the trigger on whoever ended the young boy's life prematurely.

The next day, Ludwig and Gilbert went to talk to the Oxenstierna-Väinämöinens while Vash and a short, black-haired investigator named Kiku Honda went to talk with Raivis.

The house that Peter's best friend lived in was a bit dilapidated, though it was in a good neighborhood. The paint on the door was peeling, and the small porch sank a bit in the middle. Since the doorbell looked to be broken, Vash settled for knocking loudly on the door.

Soon after, the door opened, revealing a kind-looking young man with wavy brown hair. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, his voice cheerful. Vash also noticed that he had an accent of some sort, though he couldn't place it. "Are you lost, or hungry? Would you like a snack?"

Before the brunet could continue to ramble, Vash held up a hand. "We're with the crime lab. Is Raivis Galante home?"

"Yes, he is," said the man (though Vash thought he looked more like an older teenager). "I don't understand, though. Raivis hasn't left the house in a couple of days, and he wouldn't commit a crime."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Kiku replied politely. "We just need to ask him a few questions about Peter Kirkland."

"Peter? What happened to him? He was supposed to come over last night, but he never showed up. Raivis was so worried."

"Peter was tortured and murdered two nights ago," stated Vash.

The brunet gasped. "Please, come in. My name is Toris by the way, Toris Lorinaitis. I'm Raivis' brother. I'll get him. I just have one request: let Eduard—our other brother—and me sit with him. He's very shy and easily frightened."

"Be my guest." The Swiss man shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't mean to pry, but shouldn't your parents be here?" asked Kiku.

"We have no parents; they've been dead since we were very young. We're not even related by blood in any way. All three of us were in…foster care…together, and hated it. When I turned eighteen last year, I wanted to become Raivis' and Eduard's legal guardian. Luckily, I had two stable jobs and enough money to support them. Eduard works as well."

Vash and Kiku both nodded, but narrowed their eyes when Toris paused when he said 'foster care'. It just seemed suspicious. But the blonde shrugged it off. Maybe he had a bad experience.

"How old are they?" he asked.

"Eduard is seventeen and Raivis is fifteen." He tucked some of hair behind his ear. "I'll get them now." He proceeded to walk upstairs.

A minute later, he returned, followed by a blonde boy with glasses and a short boy with pale blonde hair and large violet eyes.

"Raivis," Toris placed a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. "These people are police officers. They need to ask you a few questions about Peter. Eduard and I will be with you; you don't have to be shy."

The boy nodded and sat on the worn couch. Toris and Eduard sat on either side of him.

"Raivis," Vash began, "Peter was your best friend, right?"

"Y-yeah," he said softly, wringing his hands. "H-he was the only one who didn't tease me. H-he's such a good friend."

"What were his hobbies?" He wanted to know everything he could about the victim, so that he could figure out a reason for the gruesome murder.

"H-he loves swimming; he's one of the best swimmers on the team. H-he also loves acting; he was in countless p-plays."

"Would anyone want to hurt him?" This time, it was Kiku who spoke.

"W-what? No! Everyone l-loved Peter! He stuck up for p-people who were considered 'freaks'; h-he always wanted to be the hero." His eyes widened. "S-something happened to him, didn't it? S-someone hurt him."

"Yes. Peter Kirkland was tortured before being killed two days ago," stated the Japanese man.

Raivis' eyes, which were already watering, spilled over, and he began to tremble. He brought his knees to his chest and sobbed, muttering phrases in an unfamiliar language.

Vash hated to see children crying; he was reminded of Lili when she was teased for being so soft-spoken. He gently placed a hand on the small boy's head.

Suddenly, Raivis' head snapped up, his eyes wide. They were no longer filled with grief. Instead, they were filled with raw terror. "Don't hurt me, not again," he whimpered.

Vash stepped back, confused, and Eduard wrapped his arms around the boy, who shook even more. The investigator could sense that his breathing sped up. Finally, the small blonde stopped shaking, falling limp.

Raivis had fainted.

And that's the end of Chapter One!

Was it good? Was it awful? I'd love to get some feedback.

I hope I didn't butcher the characters too much. Here's an explanation on why I gave some characters their jobs:

Vash and Ludwig are policemen. (Think of Brass, Flack, and Tripp from the three CSI series, except they're not the captains.) This is because Vash likes guns and he's neutral, and Ludwig just seems like he'd make a good police officer.

Elizaveta is the day shift supervisor (Think of Grissom from CSI) because I wanted to give her a big part. Plus, she's a strong female character, so it made sense to make her the supervisor.

Roderich is the coroner because I really didn't know what other position to give him, XD. Plus, even though he's bad with navigation, I always thought he'd have an eye for detail.

As for the captain of the police, I'm giving that job to Germania. (I just don't know what to name him yet, XD.)

…Yes, I made Yao the computer specialist, XDD.

I really struggled with Vash, Ludwig, and Gilbert. I hope they weren't too OOC.

…Poor Sealand. I've never killed off a character before, so it felt weird to write his death. I bumped his age up to fourteen to make his and Raivis' friendship more realistic.

Speaking of the Baltics, they are EXTREMELY important in this story, and Raivis' outburst is a tiny little clue about his (and Toris' and Eduard's) backstory.

The next chapter will include the Nordic Five (I love them, XD), more investigating, and maybe another murder…

The title is just a reference to Arthur's horrible cooking.

I hope at least a few people enjoyed this.