Part III

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America was soaked to the bone as he stood at mid parking lot, eyes scanning the nearest areas, ignoring the rain stinging said eyes as he automatically hit speed dial. He needed Matthew. Having judged by the last call, he should have arrived at the motel by now, but there was still no sign of his twin brother. Call it moral support, or his need to bitch at someone since the Winchesters weren't having it. Squelching boots paced back and forth, anxiety seeping through the cracks of his grin that had begun to falter after the first hour of searching.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on England's shoulder, soothed by the steady breathing and the calm atmosphere. He had felt safe, so his mind automatically assumed it was alright to catch some shuteye. Luckily, Dean had mentioned that he and Cas had brought them back into their room, assuring him that America had not been the last one to see him. Too many crime shows told him that was a good thing, in a way. The information didn't calm him for long.

This was supposed to have been a relaxing vacation. Something private and warm and romantic. Had he known it was going to turn into some messed up horror movie; he would have done what he planned to do back in New York. Slipping a hand into his bomber jacket's pocket, he fingered the small velvet box resting at the bottom with a tired sigh. Messing up was one thing, putting England in danger was something he couldn't forgive himself for. America kicked the nearest garbage can, sending it hurtling down the desolate hallway.

"There's nothing for miles. I checked in with Ellen, said she hasn't seen him since last night. He couldn't have gotten very far on foot." Sam tried his best to sound reassuring without having to lie about the situation. Unless someone had shoved the Englishman into a van and drove off with him, he couldn't have been very far. "Do you guys have enemies?"

"He's the freaking United States, Sammy." Dean stated irritably behind them, rummaging through the Impala's trunk.

America smiled at that. "Dean's right. Everybody loves the most awesome country in the world!"

"And he's also delusional."

"Hey!" Huffing indignantly, America was mature enough to stick his tongue out. "No, I don't have any enemies around at the moment. Nearest country is my brother, who should have been here hours ago. He won't pick up his phone."

Dean deadpanned and muttered something along the lines of 'HowdidIgetstuckwiththesemorons' before shutting the trunk, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

But before anyone could agree, a shift in the wind and the soft sound of wings stopped them. Cas was there in less than a blink, leaving America more than a little spooked. He could never get used to something just… appearing out of the blue. "Something isn't right."

"Tell us something we don't know, Cas." There was no real venom in Dean's voice as he whipped his hand around exasperatedly, but he did stare at the angel expectantly, hand tightening its grip in the bag's strap. "Well?" He urged him when Cas took a moment to look around, his blue eyes more than a little curious, brow furrowed.

"There are no demons in the immediate area, but I may be wrong. There are, though, strong waves of magic coming from the west. It may be a witch, a powerful one for me to able to sense it this far." America found Castiel's voice to be annoying but decided against stating it. He watched detachedly as Dean hurried to angel's side, taking a good hold of his arms and walking him towards the car. "I'm fine, Dean."

"Sure you are. Get your ass in the car before I tie you down. And no more disappearing acts, you hear?" It prompted America to smile, seeing the worry lacing Dean's green eyes. They reminded him of England's own, only paler but just as deep and battle worn. He missed England.

A hand came down on his shoulder, startling him. "We'll find him." Sam said reassuringly. "And we'll gank whatever it is that's causing all this trouble, trust me." They both looked in opposite directions, America focusing back on Dean and Cas thoughtfully while Sam stared at something else entirely. "Hey, uh, Alfred? Is that your brother by any chance?"

They watched as a pale gray sedan pulled into the parking lot, idled momentarily before the engine was cut off. Out stepped another person, wrapped tight in a windbreaker and a red ski hat. He waved in the general direction of where the Impala was parked before trudging over. America didn't hesitate on pulling him in for a hug.

Dean joined them in the middle of the greeting fest, gesturing towards the two men hugging with a confused look on his face. Sam just answered with a shrug.

America pulled away first, hand still around the newcomer's shoulder, causing him to somewhat flinch with an uneasy smile. "Sam, Dean, this is my bro Matthew. Matt, Sam and Dean."

That's when they really saw him. He was about Alfred's same height, same facial structure. Hell, they could have been twins for all they knew. Only visible difference was the frames of their glasses and the shade of their eyes; while Alfred's was pure blue, Matthew's was a weird shade of pale violet. Call them crazy, but they were sure that eye colour did not exist.

Stretching out his hand, Sam shook Matt's cautiously while Dean just made a mock salute. Awkward greetings over with, Matthew turned to Alfred and patted him in the arm. "Trick or treat."

America's smile fell, shocking his Canadian counterpart. "Yeah, some Halloween this turned out to be."

"Eh? What's wrong? Did something happen? Besides getting stranded with Arthur in the middle of nowhere?" Matthew pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, shifting under the rain and wondering why exactly they weren't standing under the dry hallway. He voted against asking.

"The mighty British Empire went AWOL. We're heading off to find him." Dean clarified simply, not wanting to go into an elaborate conversation of breaking down the nonexistent crime scene. He just wanted to get the fuck out of the rain.

As if Matt's eyes weren't large enough, they widened at the new information, staring at Alfred in confusion. "When did this happen? Why didn't you call me, Al? I could have kept an eye out!"

There it was again.

It hit America with the force of a truck; the feeling of something not being right. Something was lurking near and he could almost feel it, he just couldn't decide on what. Panic settled in again, but this time, Sam noticed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm cool." He lied through his teeth and he knew for a fact nobody believed him, but they thankfully didn't press. "Anyways, I did call you, jerk. You wouldn't pick up."

Fishing for his phone, Matt frowned. "How long ago was it? There's a dead zone a few miles from here so—"

"Wait." Sam was quick to interrupt. "A dead zone? Where, exactly?"

Looking nervously at the ridiculously tall man (really, he was taller than himself), Matt fiddled with his phone, eyes downcast. "About a thirty minute drive from here? It's not just phone signals, though. My watch went bonkers and my car just died. Have you ever tried pushing an average sized sedan for a quarter of a mile? In the pouring rain? What the hell is going on, eh?"

"Long story, but it looks like we have our lead." Dean gestured towards his car; Sam took the wordless order and made for it. "Usually demons would cause these, but magic can dampen anything in the air if it's powerful enough." Turning on his heels, Dean opened his trunk again and pulled out a small box. "Keep these on." He threw its contents in the general direction of the North American brothers, who aptly caught them in mid air. "They're for protection. Prevents you from getting possessed."

"Possessed?" Matthew yelped, though barely audible, by Alfred's side. He cast him a panicked look, demanding an explanation ASAP. That was, until he looked at the small item on his palm. The necklace was leather, the small pendant on the end polished silver. The thought of hanging a pentagram around his neck left him spooked, but America nodded, assuring him that it was okay.

"These guys know what they're doing, Mattie." America made quick about slipping on the necklace. His brother mirrored him.

"Don't know if countries can get possessed, but better safe than sorry. Don't want to have to shoot down the US at a bad time. Or—"

"Canada."

"—Canada, for that matter. Wait. Canada?"

"Remember when Arthur said it was complicated? He wasn't joking." With a crooked grin, America gave Dean a shrug.

"That's messed up."

"You should have seen the Revolution."

Dean stared long and hard at the American before huffing and heading towards the driver's side of his sleek ride, shoulders hunched up with an expression he couldn't read. Not that he was good at reading the atmosphere to begin with. "History was never my forte, so let's just get this show on the road. Alfred, you follow with Matthew. Make sure you keep a pretty good distance, just to be on the safe side."

"I-I'm coming along? Wait, Alfred, where… What's going on? What's he talking about? And what's with these necklaces and—and…" Canada's unending stream of questions fell on death ears as America made his way to the car, not bothering to ask if he could take the wheel. Standing under the rain, his jacket, jeans and hat soaked through, Canada brooded. When America said he was in trouble, this wasn't what he was expecting. Muttering something in French, he slipped into the passenger's side.

"Shittiest Halloween ever." America sighed, shutting off the radio and lowering the window when the Winchesters' Chevy pulled up beside them.

Sam leaned over, handing America a sawed off shotgun which Canada immediately took, looking ten times more interested than he was. "Salt rounds. Won't kill a human, but it'll ward off anything freaky for a little while; slow 'em down." Behind the wheel, Dean didn't look too happy about giving them one of their guns. "Don't hesitate, just shoot. It'll most likely save your asses." With that said, the Impala drove on, the incessant rain making the paint job look shinier than any car America had ever seen. He seriously had to get himself one once the whole ordeal was over.

America eased out into the road, giving Canada an awkward look. "Never knew you were one for guns."

"America, we've been hunting together for the past one hundred years, remember?" With a deadpan look, Canada clung to the gun, pulling up his leg to sit on them. It was freezing even with the heater on. "What's this about demons?"

"They're real."

"You're part Christian. Didn't you know that?"

"Well, yeah, but. I didn't think they'd be coming after me and England because whatever. Plus, those ain't the only things. We got attacked by a Wendigo last night. Cas thinks there's a witch calling the shots—"

"Cas?"

"The angel. He was already in the car when you got here."

Glasses skewed, Canada stared at America, harder than he had ever stared at anything before. "An angel." He wondered briefly if this truly was his brother, the same America he had been raised with. "Are you high?"

"What?" Momentarily pulling his eyes off the road, he gave his brother a funny look. "Why you say that?"

"Two days ago you didn't believe in your shadow, America. And now you're into the whole angels and demons and Wendy's…"

"Wendigos. Matt, things are different now and stuff. They took Arthur." He had switched to their human names in private, something he rarely did, but America figured it was called for in order to express the depth of the situation they were currently in. "I'll just ride this out until I get him back and that's it. Once it's over, I'll bury it again. Go back to being the awesomeness that is me, minus the g-ghosts and goblins."

Canada didn't reply, just turned his sights to the road ahead.

Twenty minutes later, the Winchester's pulled onto the side of the road and poured out. America followed suit and parked further behind.

The scenery was a drastic change opposed to the miles and miles of dry earth America and England had seen in the direction they were driving, then again, what was expected for Nebraska in late October. This, however, chilled America to the bone. He knew his territory, knew his landscapes like the back of his hand because they are. But this was something entirely new. The rolling green didn't belong there, the towering pine trees and moss growing on the gray boulders. Something shifted in him, the same nagging feeling from before. This wasn't a part of him, it didn't belong there.

"Alfred." Sam's voice pulled him out of the mental vacuum, nearly making him stumble. He leaned against Canada's car just to be sure. "What's wrong?" There was something in his eyes that told him that yes; Sam did know something was up with him. "Are you sensing something?"

Dean and Cas walked up to them, the angel casting weary looks around them as they went. America nodded slightly, tugging his wet jacket closer to him. It had stopped raining, but thunder still crashed overhead, the sky too dark for it to be noon. "This isn't real." He said, gesturing towards the mysterious forest. "It isn't part of my geography. I can't stand looking at it."

"Why?" Dean so eloquently asked, looking confused, opposite to Sam's intrigued expression.

"Ever grown a third arm?"

"No."

"Exactly." Acknowledging the comparison, Dean shrugged. He knew what it was to be around things that seemed to bend the crap out of reality. He never got used to it. "It feels weird. Not alien but… unreal? It's a different feeling all on its own."

"He's right." From beside Dean, Castiel spoke up. Maybe it was America's imagination, but he looked strung out. There were bags under his eyes and if he wasn't mistaking, a blood stain in the corner of his nose. It worried him more than it should have. The angel picked up on America's concern and gave him a comforting look, as if telling him it was going to be alright. But it was gone before he could even blink. "This isn't real. Something is causing an illusion, something powerful. I was right, there are no demons here."

"It looks like Cotswold." Canada was kind enough to put his two cents in, his eyes never leaving Castiel's tense form. "In England; there's a small forest there that looks just like this one."

America's eyes turned to Canada, his blue hues bugged out for a moment. "It does?" All he got in return was a nod. "Guess it does. What do we do then?"

"We go in." Stated Dean plainly, throwing Sam his gun and handing another to Cas, who looked at it blankly but didn't say anything against it. "You two stay close, you hear? You see anything suspicious, you shoot. Hesitate and you're done." Reaching for the trunk again, Dean pulled out a handgun and passed it over to Canada. "Same rules apply to you."

America took the shotgun from Canada's hands and weighed it on his palms. It was a surprisingly comfortable fit as he tucked it against his shoulder and aimed into the thick brush of trees like a professional. Sam figured he probably was, having seen so many wars. Guy could probably outfight them for all he knew. It made the two of them breathe easier at least.

On the other hand, Canada was frowning at his given weapon. Frankly, it sucked, but he kept the opinion to himself.

"You two ready?" Sam asked the brothers while Dean made his way into the forest, Cas close behind. "You can always just hang back and watch the road in case—"

"We're going." America's voice was stern, if not a little panicky, but Sam didn't push. Canada shot America a glare, annoyed at the fact that he'd speak for him even in such a dangerous situation.

Without exchanging another word, they made their way into the trees.

Saying the forest was dense was an understatement. Blame it on the clouds above the surface of the trees or the thick clumps themselves, there was barely any light. Small rivulets of pale gray did shine through every here and there but it was nowhere near Dean's comfort zone. It was too dark for untrained eyes to react quickly if need be, even if they did have Cas with them. Dry leaves crunched beneath their boots, branches snapping every here and there, breaths a little too loud for their liking… It was a nightmare.

The Winchesters refused to let their weapons ease, grasped at the ready and aiming at each tiny little sound that bubbled through the thick atmosphere around there. Canada, on the other hand, seemed at ease. Too used to forests and hunting on his land; even if it was his brother's country, the rules were the same. Meanwhile, America was jumpy, even with decades of expert training tucked beneath his belt. This was personal. It hit close to home in a different kind of way than it usually did and it felt like there was nothing he could do about it even while he was doing whatever was in his power.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours and the ghostly forest never ended, just kept on going in redundant circles like an old grainy film. Silence became deafening at some point, where no birds or bugs or the storm above reached their ears. Just the buzz and hum of too much silence.

Up front, Castiel took even measured steps, trying to read something neither of them could see but could clearly feel. Like the feeling of someone watching you in the dark, or goosebumps running down one's spine. America wanted out. This wasn't his kind of thing, yet he didn't want to stop. He wanted to get to the bottom of this and then leave it all behind. He just wanted England to be okay.

They came to a stop when the angel raised a hand to his lips, silently telling them to keep quiet and stay close behind. Dean disobeyed, trudging right beside the angel to see what he saw. Seeing himself obligated to keep an eye on the rookies, Sam stood behind, ready for anything that came their way.

America and Canada exchanged brief glances but otherwise inquired nothing. Dean returned, speaking barely above a whisper. "I've got good news and bad news." The three leaned closer to listen. "Arthur's here but—" The Winchester spoke sharply before America could react. "There's no fluctuation of magic, or so Cas says."

"Meaning?" Sam asked, brow furrowed as he glanced around again.

"It feels like the rest of this place. It's not… more concentrated, or whatever. Like he isn't a part of whatever it is."

"Then why'd they bring him here?" America asked, loudly, earning himself a bitchface from Sam. "Sorry."

"Don't know. Could be a trap, so keep an eye out."

The brothers nodded and followed his lead.

There was a small clearing up ahead, the grass withered and orange where the unnatural sun shone on. Trees lined the perfect circle, runes carved into the flaky bark in what seemed like blood. America noticed a handful of small yellow flowers that looked horribly out of place, so much that he felt compelled to touch them, just to make sure they really were there and weren't just some sort of hallucination. Turns out they weren't, and he didn't spontaneously combust like he had expected to.

That's when he deemed himself coherent enough to really look at the center of the clearing, which he willingly chose to ignore the first time around. Sam and Dean were already closing in on it, weapons at the ready, while Castiel looked around for anything particularly out of place. Like the whole place wasn't a freakshow.

America had never seen a stone so white and smooth. He had dabbled in paleontology before, been around a great deal of rocks in his lifetime, but this was something entirely new to him. It sloped like a seat, both ends in different directions, the base neatly impaled into the dry earth. Blood red roses sprouted from the corners, bright and new and untouched.

Dean's first thought had been an altar. The weeds alone screamed magic even if there was no significant 'fluctuation' as Cas had stated. He eyed the etched runes, trying to make some sense of them, at least think of where he'd seen them before but nothing came to mind.

"There's no signal." Sam muttered behind him, sensing what his brother was thinking. "I won't be able to send a photo to Bobby's email."

"Figures."

Castiel sauntered over to America's side; awkwardly placing a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped would seem like a sympathetic gesture. They both stood in silence, taking in the sight before them with grim trepidation. Above the polished stone was a cage.

Inside said cage rested England's sleeping form.

From where they were standing, he didn't seem hurt, just tired. His clothing was different from those Dean had seen him in last; all white and well put. The golden hair was a tussled mess over thick eyebrows, dark lashes stark against pale cheeks. Pale… he seemed pale. This worried America as he stepped closer to the cage, Cas' hand falling away. Dean, however, stopped him.

"Easy there, cowboy. This has a dirty trap written all over it." Taking a tight hold of his arm, Dean pulled America back into the trees with the rest of them.

Sam, Dean and Cas stood huddled beside an oak tree, discussing something America couldn't quite hear from his place on a stump. He sat cross-legged, fingering his shotgun as he pondered. They were taking too long; they had to get England out of that thing as soon as possible. He was a nation, not some animal to be caged. It wasn't that he doubted the Winchesters' skill, he was just inpatient.

Snapping branches made him turn around, seeing Canada approach him with a frown. There was a cut on his cheek and a leaf in his hair, but what else was new. "Where've you been?"

"Looking to see what's up. Those runes—"

"I know." America snapped before stopping himself. He knew those symbols, knew them for a very long time. They weren't of his people, but it was still close to home. Once upon a time, when he had been a child, he had seen them sketched in one of England's old leather books. Not only was it dark magic, it was England's magic. England himself had etched those, but for what reason, he couldn't tell.

Nudging his brother over, Canada tried to sit on the stump as well, but the jerk didn't move. Instead he opted to stand in front him, awkwardly. "England is a part of this, eh? Is it a Halloween thing?"

"Could be. But he would have told me if he was going out. And I don't think he'd willingly lock himself in a cage, you know?"

"This is weird even for him. Why won't you tell them, though? That it's his magic?"

America turned the thought over in his head, running through a million possible scenarios and seeing the gruesome consequences of each and every single one. The Winchesters were hunters. They fought against evil, tore down dark bastards and set things back in their rightful place. Being human countries already put them on the suspicious end of the deal; he didn't want to add black magic into the mix. Unlike Sam, he knew Dean wouldn't be as understanding about the situation. In the end, America decided to play it safe. He felt bad for lying to him, but it's not like he's never done so before. "Because."

"Real eloquent response, eh?"

"Yeah…" The silence was dense as America turned his gaze sullenly at his boyfriend's sleeping form. "I wonder if a kiss will wake him up. You know, like Disney movies? Evil witch puts the princess under a spell…"

"I don't need to hear this." Canada retorted immediately, getting to his feet and hurriedly making his way towards the other three. America gaped at him in utter disbelief.

"Some brother you are, jerk!"

Canada waved him off.

After a moment of brooding and casting worried glances at the seemingly peaceful clearing, America decided to join them. "What's the plan?"

"None." Dean said simply, turning on his heels and heading back towards ground zero. "We open the gate, pull Arthur out and make a run for it. Something comes at us, we shoot it. End of story."

"Sounds like a foolproof plan." Something in America's chest twitched; he knew England would have been proud of his little remark, but he squashed the thought before it got the better of him. He was too awesome to be thinking sappy things in a moment like this. "If anything, we got Cas here to pull some divine intervention, huh?"

"Cas isn't going to pull anything; we're doing this the old fashion way." Dean bit back defensively, taking a step forward only to be held in place by an alert Sam. "This is your problem, not ours. We gank shit, missing persons are out of the business description. I'm not risking Cas because—

"Dean." The tersely spoken word made the Winchester stop, turning agitated eyes towards the stoic angel who looked back at him with something unreadable in his. "I'm not useless. I can still fight without my 'mojo' okay?" He made air quotes to accompany his explanation, clearly exasperated with the hunter's overreaction.

"I never said you couldn't."

"Dean—"

Throwing his hands into the air, Dean made a sarcastic shrug. "You know what? Fine. Do what you want. Let's just get this over with."

Canada scratched the back of his head, watching awkwardly as an agitated Dean made his way towards the clearing, Sam muttering something into his ear. Castiel, on the other hand, stood behind and glanced in that soulful way he always did in America's direction. "I'll see to Arthur's safety. You have my word."

That was a lie.

America read it so clearly it nearly hurt. Angels weren't supposed to lie, and yet there Castiel was, making a promise he knew he couldn't keep. There was something in his expression that ran deeper than what America already knew, shedding light on the idea that those three were very real, very human people. Hunting paranormal stuff might seem like an unreal enough job, but there was obviously more to them than they were letting on. Blue met blue in a brief exchange before Cas turned on his heels and followed the brothers.

Upfront, Sam was having a heated debate with his stubborn brother.

"Missing persons are out of the business description? Whatever happened to saving people being part of the family business, Dean?"

"Sam, this is different. Things are different now—"

"Because of Cas?"

"This isn't about, Cas! This is about whatever the hell they are and what they have to do with it. They aren't human, Sam. First, one of them goes missing and now the American Dream is suggesting we beam them out of here in case something goes down? Isn't that the least bit suspicious to you?" Dean pointedly shoved a finger in Sam's chest to emphasize his argument. "If it isn't human, then it isn't one of us."

"Cas isn't human."

"He's different, we've talked about this."

"Wow. Double standards, much? Look, Dean, I get it. I get that you're on edge. I get that you're miffed about Cas losing his powers as we go, but you gotta tone it down. Cas can defend himself, he knows his way around a gun if he needed to use one. Alfred, in turn, doesn't know anything about us. He doesn't know that Cas fell, hell, I'm sure he doesn't even know out last name. If you ask me, I'm sure he doesn't believe half the shit we've told him since yesterday. Once we save Arthur, then that's it. We go on our merry way and they go theirs."

Dean huffed, his mind set on the white stone in his line of sight. He didn't want to talk about it; he just wanted it over with. Cocking his gun, he ignored his brother and gestured the others to hurry it up.

Nothing had changed in their fifteen minutes absence, not even England had shifted from his spot inside the neat looking cage. The silence still lingered, the odd feeling still swirled around their guts as they kept a sharp eye out and about but nothing was either new or out of place. America kept close to Dean when he raised his handgun, after having deemed it safe enough to shoot, and blew the lock off the thick silver chain. Tension went up a few notches when not even then did England stir or give any sign of life.

"What the hell?" Canada muttered by America's side, giving him a sidelong glance. "Is he… alive?"

"Of course he is." Announced America a little too quickly, a little too loudly. He took measured steps towards the cage, Sam close behind him, and swallowed hard.

England looked at peace, but most important of all, he was breathing. Releasing a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding, America hesitantly reached for him, closing his hand around the deceptively frail shoulder. No reaction. He squeezed a little harder, shaking him awake, a knot slowly forming in his throat before the nation moved. A slight jerking gesture surprised him before big greens peeled through, shinning and groggy but very much alive.

"Shit, England, you're alive." America didn't give a damn about the shaky voice, he was just glad to see those annoying huge eyebrows knotting to form a coherent thought but failing. "Hey, don't strain yourself now."

"… America? Where—What just happened?" England croaked harshly before going into a coughing fit, spitting blood into the sleeve of his white suit jacket. "Where's…?"

"Don't talk, England, come on. We have to get you out of here before whatever did this comes for us." Surprisingly enough, England went willingly without a word of protest.

"Canada?" He stumbled sideways into said country that caught him easily, the small body a cinch to maneuver in its drugged state. "About bloody time you got here!"

"Nice to see you too, England." Canada deadpanned in his brother's direction that only just deemed it good enough a time to help share England's weight.

"Hang in there, Art. We're going to get you out of here." The Briton huffed at the pet name, but said nothing against it; instead he sagged further down in his dreamlike stupor. "The hell's wrong with you, man? What'd they do? Who did this to you?"

Only then did Sam and Dean come into view, giving England some pretty intense and questioning stares. His eyes widened a bit before he smiled crookedly, snorting at the tense build of both their bodies, ready to jump at anything that decided to sneak up.

"It's your fault I'm ankle deep in this rubbish." England tried getting back some balance on his feet without help, but he kept swaying dangerously to either side. "I suppose you aren't familiar with a certain someone named Crowley, are you?"

Castiel immediately materialized by Dean's side, giving them a steady look that spoke volumes. The Winchesters suddenly looked tired, more tired than the usual; annoyance settling in the brim. "This is fucking fantastic." Dean burst out, loudly, as he turned back towards the forest.

It was another crowded day in the roadside bar, the clock beside the deer head striking twenty past five in the evening. Almost twenty-four hours since the chaos had broken loose, and there was still just as many questions unanswered. England had recovered from his cloud-nine state and was currently scuffing French fries—chips— like there was no tomorrow. Apparently that entire magical atmosphere had drained him. The sun too had finally reappeared over the breaking clouds, telling them that whatever had caused all the trouble was already long gone. This didn't make the Winchesters at all happy.

Ellen and Jo joined them, burgers and fries and beer all around and on the house. It wasn't every day everybody made it out alive, independently if they saw action or not. Ellen was glad to see them all alive and well, even if some of them had several blank spots that needed accounting for. "This is perhaps the most anticlimactic hunt ever, if you ask me."

Sam snorted loudly, grimacing at the words. "You're telling me. That bastard is up to something." Castiel sat sullenly between him and Dean, his eyes boring holes into the polished table beneath his hands. "Lighten up, Cas. So you did a mistake. It's not like anyone got killed."

"Someone could have. I should have sensed him."

"But no one did; get over it, Cas. You did good." Dean made sure to emphasize his words with a reassuring squeeze to the knee, fingers skidding just slightly upwards before Sam's glare stopped him. "Prude."

America came in through the door then, pocketing his phone and giving them a thumbs up as he took a seat by England's side, grinning down at him. "Bumped our reservation to the third, so we might make it yet." He nudged the Briton playfully, earning a wolf whistle from Dean and a dramatic eye roll from Sam. Even Cas looked comfortable, sipping his cold beer, his side conveniently leaning against Dean. "You're still up for it, right?"

Putting down a half eaten fry, England turned his best glare on the American. "Do I look like I need a vacation to you?"

"Yes." All six people present answered in unison before breaking off into muffled laughter. England did his best to suppress a snort, but he did break into a half smile. He was in a surprisingly good mood, then why the hell not enjoy it. Turning his gaze idly out the window, he noticed Canada leaning against his car, typing away at his phone before looking up to meet England's eyes. The looks held, serious and ominous, before Canada broke out in an uncharacteristic grin.

England wasn't surprised when Canada's form slowly morphed into someone else entirely; instead he mentally rolled his eyes at the mock salute the new figure sent off. The pale hair, nearly blonde, shone in the bright sun as it was messily combed back, the pale hazel eyes alight with mischief beyond any kind of rational understanding. Oh, a lot had happened in those few dark hours in the forest, but neither America nor the Winchesters had to know exactly what happened…

Having locked the door behind him, England came face to face with a man in black. A man he had known, personally, centuries ago. The realization made him freeze, uncertain and confused as to why he was even there before him; he had figured this was all a part of the mess, but it didn't make any sense no matter how hard he thought about it. He had been one of his brother's citizens… just a random old bloke who had lost his son. Nothing special; nothing particularly sinister.

The Scottish accent was thick, slurred and hushed; seductive even, but England immediately dismissed the fleeting thought.

Brown eyes immediately flashed red. A knot formed in England's throat out of sheer horror. 'King of the Crossroads', the demon explained in a business like tone, all casual charm and professional skill. He wanted to make a deal, an offer he could not refuse, but when England laughed in his face, told him he wasn't the slightest bit interested, it got ugly.

Emotionally volatile couldn't begin to describe Crowley's personality. He could argue all he wanted, England was sure that wasn't his real name back when he was alive and kicking. Not even Russia's bipolarity could compare to this thing in a bad mood, going from gruffly soft spoken to downright violent hollering in less than two seconds. Five minutes into the mostly one-sided conversation however, England was unfazed. At least he wasn't some black monster with horns and a tail carrying around a pitchfork; he was a handsome bloke, far in his years, but still a looker. It made it easy to talk.

Cutting quickly to the chase, Crowley stated that England was something else entirely. Whatever lied behind those words were open to interpretation because the meaning of it honestly went lost on him. When asked, they were somehow transported to an entirely different location. That was when panic truly began to settle in. Dressed in white, standing at the middle of a clearing which held an uncanny resemblance to his homeland… England stood up to the abomination, daring him to try something, anything.

"This has nothing to do with your pretty boy boyfriend, relax. It's all about you, Arthur Kirkland. The great sorcerer. You've got quite a history, no pun intended. I wanted to discuss this over a basket of… freshly baked scones." He fell silent for a moment, pacing back and forth thoughtfully, a hand inside the pocket of his neatly pressed suit. "But if you insist on acting like a blithering howler monkey! —then we'll do this the hard way." Crowley snapped his fingers and instantly, a howl pierced through the unnatural silence.

England froze in mid-breath. He knew that sound. He had heard it before, many a times throughout his life but mostly during his childhood. The legend, the lore… all of it was exposed right there, and he was on the wrong side of the bargain. He should have known demons would play dirty. "Do you get your kicks by bringing bedtime stories to life? You could at least be slightly more original."

"Oh, no, no. It's actually the other way around. You see, the British are rather allergic to naming things properly, but you already know that. This big boy right here? What is it you call it… the beast of Dartmoor?" The demon patted the head of something invisible, but even unseen, England could feel the raw evil emanating from it. "Hell hound."

"So now you're going to bribe me into giving it to you?" England tried to steel his voice, so far he was managing, but that thing could taste the fear in its very tongue.

"I'm past the point of bribing, sweetheart. I gave you a splendid offer, hell, think of it this way. You aren't human; the whole soul thing is pretty questionable so your payment might have to wait more than ten years. I'll tell you what, one hundred years of bliss in your little country before my doggies come for you, what do you say? All you have to do is give me that tome."

"No." Said England, simple and clean. "You can't have it. You want your apocalypse, look to someone else for help."

"Alright." Crowley stepped forward, invading England's personal space and wetting his lips inches away from the nation's face. "Final offer. You give me the book now, or I set Cujo on you. Great Britain goes down in flames, accidental market crash, a handful of natural disasters and a mass murder in Parliament. Or I could get creative. How does a zombie breakout sound? Splendid on the news, I bet. Before you know it, your little island paradise will be dissolved and my Hounds will be dragging you into the deepest, hottest circle of hell in a week's time."

"You know, Crowley, you remind me a lot of myself back when I was an Empire. But there's a small quote an old enemy once taught me. 'The devil is wiser for being old than for being the devil.'" A sly grin made its way across England's features, arms crossing before his chest. "And I am alot older than you, dear friend." He remembered Spain muttering something along those lines in his native language back in the day; he never would have expected an opportunity to use it. "I would bring up the fact that I have the Winchesters guarding my back, but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of defending myself."

"I know you are." With a flick of his wrist, a steel cage materialized atop of the altar stone. "That is why I have a plan B. Let's see who can win this little brawl." A snap of fingers and the thundering footfalls of dogs broke out around him. "Get him, boys!"

England thought fast, but not fast enough. He didn't have his wand on him, or his book, so he did the only thing he could do. England ran. Running deeper into the fantastical forest, Hell Hounds on his heels, he frantically searched his brain. There had to be a spell for at least warding off those dastardly things that would rip him to shreds without the slightest hesitation. However, his years of experience in the battle field paled in comparison to this nightmare. England tripped, over what he wasn't sure, but the pain on his back came quicker than the impact to his chest.

Tearing cloth reached him before the sickening crunch of snapping jaws, then pain. White hot pain that seared through every sense in him, colored blotches dancing in front of his eyes as his own howls began to rivals the hounds themselves. But he could fight it. He had suffered worse, felt Death itself shift through his nerves and fray his very being.

Twisting his arm, he felt muscle and tendon break away on his back, blood soaking his clothes as the Hounds continued to feast. He reached, groped his way blindly to the source of the wet smacks of sound but nothing. Yelling into the dry ground, England felt the first threads of darkness slipping into his consciousness. He tried again, this time he shifted his whole body enough to collide with the invisible mass.

"Recesserimus!" With a high-pitched yelp and a loud thud, the Hound fell over, unmoving. It wasn't dead, but it would surely be knocked out long enough for him to escape.

Gathering what little strength he had, and fighting the urge not to throw up as he got to his feet, England made a run for it. Or at least tried. Instead he limped quickly back towards where Crowley had been; it wasn't his smartest move to date, but something struck him. There was a spell that could banish him, one he actually remembered in its entirety. It wouldn't last long, without his wand there was no spell he could cast that would be permanent, but it could buy him enough time to reach the Winchesters. He only prayed the bastard wasn't strong enough to repel it.

"Back so soon? That's a pretty gruesome slice, mate." Crowley stated with a smug smile, hands tucked neatly in his pocket as he paced to and fro, eyes taking in the tall trees. "Makes me wonder if that somehow affected your little island. If only my phone had that stupid app…"

England limped across the clearing, hands drawing on the chipped bark with his own blood. His head swam continuously as bile built up in his throat; he was afraid he wouldn't be able to remain conscious for much longer. He wasn't about to die there, not in at the hands of some lowlife demon. Brief images of America danced in his head, those glowing blue eyes and that radiant smile. He probably didn't even know he was gone, come morning, he would probably freak out when he noticed his absence. England couldn't bear seeing America's heart break, not at his extent.

He pushed forward.

"Deora ar mo chroi…" Blood followed a ragged cough, staining his white suit a horrifying dark red. The wound must have been deeper than he thought. "B-Ba dheas an la go oiche."

"What's that? Arthur, Arthur are you trying to send me back to hell?" Crowley dramatically placed a hand over his chest, gasping for good measure before the smug smile slipped back into place. "I'm wounded."

"Think of it as a restraining order." Arthur wheezed, still stumbling from tree to tree, etching ancient runes. "I'm sure… you've gotten yourself a handful—o-of those."

"I see you've developed a sense of humor since the last time we've met. About time."

"Get bent."

"Raunchy, I like it." Pulling out an old looking pistol, Crowley leaned against the cage, twirling the gun in his palms and occasionally pointing it in England's direction. "There are a handful of things the Colt can't kill; I'm starting to wonder if countries are one of those."

"Why not shoot and see?" Finishing a circle on the last tree, England slumped down to the ground, panting raggedly through clogs of blood bursting through his mouth.

"As much as I'd like to, I can't. I need you alive. I need that book."

"Well, tough shit, fucker. You are not getting me alive." With a smirk, England pulled up his last bit of energy, running on pure adrenaline alone and finished his spell. "Na glortha binne i mo thaobh. 'S aoibhneas i gach ait gan gruaim Athas ar mo chroi go deo! Ma shiulaim o na laetha beo An ghrian's an ghealach ar mo chul."

"That is so eighteenth century."

"Whatever works."

Crowley went to retort but before he could step forward, the ground beneath his feet began to rumble. "Bullocks!" Hesitating momentarily, he thought about just putting a bullet through the idiotic country's skull. "I will come back for you, you good for nothing mud monkey."

"Not on my watch, dude." Both of them were startled when someone else spoke from the tree line. Falling tree branches and the sound of cracking boulders grew louder around them, but the stranger seemed unfazed. "I've got orders from the big daddy angels; no one's touching this limey under my watch."

Crowley grimaced, looking scandalized by the latest turn of events. It was then that England noticed he couldn't move. He was bound by invisible chains and it was only just moments away when the ground decided to open up and swallow the demon whole. The spell had worked. "This isn't your business, Gabriel. I've gotten enough rubbish from the Winchesters' guardian."

"Cassie? Naw! He's just an average fellow. Come near his hunter and he will smite you to hell and back, but me? Oh-ho, I'm an entire new level of smitey action. And I'm back in the Heavenly Ranks, baby." The angel's hair nearly shined gold against the energy swirling to life in the clearing, combed back messily and twirling a bit at the end. It was also hard to ignore the lollipop perched on his lips. "I would send you packing but it seems like our little sorcerer here took care of it himself. Nice going, Artie."

England had to blink at the nickname, fearing that America might have been there after all. But it was only just the angel speaking; he was grateful.

"Can't blame a girl for trying. Care to finish me off? I find your voice most grating." Crowley bitched at England who was just staring, glossy eyed.

"Recesserimus." His voice was low, harsh and raspy, fading out with each second, but it had been done.

Light filled the clearing, burning out the grass beneath them as the ground absorbed the dark energy that materialized Crowley's form. High pitched keening made England's ears bleed, nearly driving him mad. The temperature around him skyrocketed before dimming down to a bearable level along with the light and sound. Just like that, it was over. Energy and magic still hummed around him, palpable against his torn flesh, but it was over. He ended the chain, broke the curse, maybe not permanently, but he had what he needed.

Darkness engulfed him momentarily before a hand fell on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He looked up to see pale hazel eyes and a cocky smirk, Gabriel, his mind offered, before warmth overtook him again. The Archangel Gabriel. He had an archangel watching over him… and he had no idea how he felt about that. Instead, he opted to sleep.

"So, that's it. We're alive, it's over and we can move on now." Dean interrupted England's flashback as he stood up, turning up the collar of his leather jacket. "You win some, you lose some. Next time, we're taking down that son of a bitch." Sam followed his brother's lead and got to his feet, taking his beer with him.

It was time to hit the road again; they did have an apocalypse to stop, after all.

"Drive safe." America offered as he shook Dean's hand. "Wouldn't want to mess up that baby."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Ellen and Jo gave America equally crushing hugs and pats on the back, wishing him the best of luck on whatever it was he did as a country. They gave England French fries and six cans of soda for the road. Two of which were in case he needed something to throw in America's direction, they explained.

Outside the sun was scorching, bouncing off car hoods and making sweat settle beneath their collars. Dean immediately took his jacket off and threw it in his trunk then proceeded to sling his arm across Cas' shoulder with a smile. The angel returned the smile, leaving them all momentarily breathless. Castiel never really smiled the way he just did, and damn it all he was beautiful. America's hand gripped England's tightly, a hint of possessiveness in the gesture.

"If you guys run into any trouble, you have our number. Don't hesitate to give us a call." Sam said while patting England's back. "Hopefully next time it won't be a dud."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time." America was quick to say, pulling his boyfriend closer and shuddering at the nightmare of it all. "Once was enough, thanks very much."

"I agree with them." Muttered Dean as he shifted his eyes with a shrug. "You stay away from all of this shit, you hear? But if you do run into trouble, you know what to do."

Both countries nodded gratefully as they stood there beneath the sun, watching the three get in their car and ease out into the freeway, honking the horn once as Sam waved at them through the window. America sighed longingly, promising himself that he was going to get his hands on a '67 Impala if it was the last thing he ever did. Motor humming against the heat, wheels smoothly purring as they rolled on dirty asphalt, the silver details contrasting beautifully against the sleek black… the car was a damn dream.

England would totally swoon over him if he took him out on dates in it.

By his side, England slumped a bit, still tired from his long night. Gabriel had zapped him back to full health once Crowley had been sucked down to his nice little hole; but the reason why he had locked him inside the cage still escaped him. He had appreciated the effort in keeping him safe, if that was even the reason, but it ended up giving him a nasty crick in the neck.

A truck's horn startled the couple out of their reverie and chuckled in unison, clinging to the other with smiles on their faces. The Halloween Horror Adventure had been completely uncalled for, but it was… once they thought about it… rather fun. Not that they'd do it again, but it was one of those instances that would go down in their own personal history.

"Come on, you git. I don't plan on missing our reservation." England stole a brief kiss from the American's coffee flavored lips. "We might make it before Wednesday if we leave in the next hour or so."

With a grin, America jumped to it. "Awesome! I'll go check if Canada loaded our stuff into the car—" The excited chatter died instantly.

"America?"

"Where's Canada?"

"He was right here a second a—" England stopped at mid sentence, realization hitting him harder than road kill. "I don't think—"

America's phone rang abruptly, interrupting them. "Hello? Mattie, where the hell are you?" There was a moment's silence before America's face whitened almost comically. "What do you mean Vancouver?" A string of 'uh-huhs' and 'ohs' later, he hung up his phone, his mouth shaping to form words but nothing came out.

"What is it? America?"

"Matthew." England's eyebrows rose, urging him to continue. "He never left Canada."

It would take a while, maybe even weeks before America could understand the exact reasons why England burst out laughing at that, but at that moment, he was too busy fuming and cursing at nothing. He was sure someone was out to get him; he was even convinced that Canada was just lying to pull his leg, because he was a mean jerk that way. An hour later, they were on the road to the next town over, Jo having been kind enough to drive them there herself so they could at least rent a car and be on their way.

During the ride, England enlightened America on the entire Gabriel situation; gave him a brief explanation as to what really happened in the forest but conveniently left out the magic and the near death experience. There were some things America was better off not knowing.

In the end, America just nodded quietly, looking out the window of the beat down Ford pickup. He was happy to see that the mysterious woods were no longer there and he felt like himself again; no left over annoyances or wrong lingering feelings. It was just him and England again, nothing between them but long dry roads and breathtaking landscapes. The Winchesters were now a closed book, something meant to fade into their past like many other experiences with their citizens. But something still nudged at the back of America's mind.

"Hey, England?"

England looked up from his phone, fixing America a questioning glance. "What is it?"

He thought for a moment, looking down at the sleek phone pinched between England's long pale fingers. Never has he hated himself more for wondering, "Do you think the Winchesters know the truth about Big Foot?"

"America?"

"Yeah?"

"Bugger off." England shut his phone and slid it back into his pant pocket. "I'll call once we get back from Washington."

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End