December 10; 12:45 A.M.; Somewhere in New England

"Switzerland ha--" England's image flickered on the small screen, his sandbar-colored hair the only thing able to remain distinguishable amongst the static. "--lved."

The four figures huddled closer around the back of the truck where the device had been situated, all trying to sink themselves deep into their thick coats to avoid the snow that was falling heavily from the sky. There wasn't much wind, but the precipitation had already settled a foot deep and it had been years since the last person had felt that there was still a need to plow so far from the major cities. Unused little highways like the one they were currently milling about on didn't matter anymore, not to them, and the locals certainly weren't going to be provided with the funds to clear the roads themselves.

"You will have to repeat yourself, mon ami. This blizzard is killing the transmission." Said the figure at the front, thoroughly frustrated with the tangled state his hair had been flung into because of the moisture clinging to it. The figure behind the first, the tallest and most rigid in posture, crossed his arms over his chest. Stern blue eyes cast a glance at the soldiers ambling around under the light of a broken street lamp, counting quickly to make sure none had wandered.

England sighed.

"Switzerland has been dissolved." The four figures said nothing in response, that solemn stillness of something expected but forever regretted. The European on the screen continued, the feed jerking like a bad reel of film. "His house is-- process of bei-- divided accordingly."

"Then you'll be coming back here soon? We shouldn't be here doing what you were tasked with doing." The stern figure—Germany, his voice was somewhat disdainful whether he'd intended it to be or not. Behind Germany and France, both the South and North of Italy stood idly, studying the sad skeletons of the trees.

"I will be on-- next ship. You can all return home when I do. It isn't my fault that I had business to attend to here."

* * *

Feliciano was only half listening. He didn't have to think hard or pay attention too much to know that another of their kind was dead and he was, in part, responsible. He also didn't need to voice his opinion on the matter to know who agreed with him and who thought he should keep his mouth shut for the better.

Lovino, standing next to him with his hands shoved in his pockets, seemed, in his own way, to be thinking the same. What surprised the younger of the Italians though, was when his brother turned to him with a sour expression and asked-- in a voice that did not match the aforementioned expression-- "Did we... need his house?"

Feliciano quietly scanned the dark road that they had come from, the footprints and tire tracks already being swallowed by the fresh snowfall. This part of America's house was so barren... nowadays.

"No. I don't think we really did." Was all he could come up with. Whatever he had been thinking was confirmed and Lovino looked back at the dormant trees. Feliciano found himself doing the same, though he was, instead, watching the traces of their journey silently be erased. The chatter near the truck ceased to interest him even slightly.

"Hey, Feliciano..." The younger Italian perked up at his brother's hushed voice. "What's... what's that over there? Are those people?"

Two sets of sepia orbs were suddenly both fixated on the desolate gloom amongst the trees while two sets of blue were still fixated on the flickering screen. The darkness shifted-- in that certain way.

People. There were people. And they were moving something.

"Ve... I see them." He didn't know why he was keeping his voice down or why he huddled closer to the Southern Italian to further diminish his chances of being heard. "They aren't any of ours... or Germany's, or..."

"Then they're Americans. Right?" Lovino took a tentative step forward before stopping abruptly and looking at the two blond countries still conversing quietly with the third. In front of the truck, several of the soldiers-- the Italian soldiers-- appeared to have perked up with the sudden activity of their respected nations. "What're they doing out in the middle of a blizzard-- in the middle of the woods?"

"...Hunting?"

"In a blizzard?" He moved off of the road and closer to the tree-line and Feliciano hoped that he was just trying to get a closer look.

"A-America likes hunting-- Lovino, what're you thinking?"

South Italy stopped and looked at his little brother.

"We have restrictions remember? And curfews. We should go and see what they're doing."

North Italy didn't get a chance to agree, to respond. He just saw a look in his older brother's eyes and then they'd both taken off towards the figures in the woods.

And those figures fled like they'd been waiting for the bait to be taken.

A/N: The next part shouldn't take too long to get posted, I just thought the flow got weird because it'd jumped around like it should be some Rus/US in the next chapter. I have a scene planned-- as well as an appearence by the EAA in coming chapters (I'm hoping to increase chapter length too). Also, do you guys like the weird fabricated!History and totally-made-up!Vocab snippets or would you like me to kindly quit it?

Tell me what you think~