By the time the group had made it to the van and were safely on the road again, moving farther and farther away from that fucking gas station with each second, Canada had once more retreated to the safety behind his shield of virtual invisibility. They had all been lucky to escape with minor injuries (by a nation's reckoning, and by a hunter's as well, he imagined), cuts and bruises, minor gashes that might warrant stitches but could probably do without them. It was lucky that Dean Winchester had arrived comparatively late; none of his hurts required any immediate patching up, which left him free to drive.

Canada sat crosslegged in his seat, hunched forward with his hands to his face, fingers gently pressed on either side of his nose. His glasses were off and safely out of the way, hanging from his T-shirt collar. His battered face throbbed as he shut his watering eyes and reminded himself that this was nothing, that he'd had far, far worse before. Then, steeling himself –

Snap. "Maple!"

He sucked in a breath through his mouth, a quiet gasp, as pain shot from his broken nose to the rest of his face, then his entire head. When the stars had faded from his vision, he leaned over and angled himself so that he could see his own face in the rearview mirror well enough to assess his repair job.

Well. It looked like a nose again. Relatively straight. Good enough. Time to start thinking about the real pressing issues.

America. He'd seen America, for the first time in... was it two weeks now? Two and a half? It was stupid; he often went months without seeing his brother, and now he was counting off the days like one of those stupid signs in front of hazard-ridden old factories. 18 Days Since Last America Sighting. At least he could change it back to zero now.

What was more, he hadn't had the chance to engage America in any way, beyond the exchange of rather meaningless words. Stupid demon had left before he'd had the chance to fight the damn thing. England said that demonic possession led to an increase of strength and agility, and if America could already bench-press fully-grown bison and tow cars one-handed...

Well, on the bright side, it might lead to power incontinence. Most demons wouldn't be used to handling a nation, especially one like America. How difficult was it for humans to fight their control? Was it possible at all? Would nations be stronger, in that respect?

He certainly couldn't see America sitting there, placidly trapped in his own head, while a demon wore him like a cheap suit and wreaked havoc. If he knew his brother at all, he was probably fighting this bitch every step of the way.

Or at the very least, he was complaining. Which wasn't necessarily useless; any inconvenience to the demon was a plus in Canada's book.

In any case, it was probably useless thinking about it. Two and a half weeks was ample time for the demon to get used to any inconvenience. Possibly. It was hard to tell with America; he was pretty damn good at inconveniencing people.

Better watch out, you fucking demon, Canada thought absurdly. If you're not careful he'll dress up like a racial stereotype and toss your favorite drink into the ocean.

Advantage or not, he was going to have to get that fucking knife back. It was one of the most effective weapons the Winchesters apparently had against these demons. He'd heard them whispering something about a Colt, and he didn't know anything about that, but knives didn't run out of bullets.

The best way was to draw America out, somehow. And, Canada reasoned bitterly, the best bait they had was him. She presumably didn't give a damn about the Winchesters, and she'd barely even looked at Japan, but France had confirmed that Canada was her next target. Hooray.

Besides the best bait, he was reasonably confident that he was the best weapon as well, aside from the Italies and for an entirely different reason. The Italies presumably fared the best against demons, but Canada knew that no one would fare better against America than him. It was not something that he admitted often.

He still phased in and out of their attention, Japan's included, and he was willing to encourage it for now, what with all the mistrust going on. Besides, he had France to fall back on if he needed. He considered texting him again. The last time had been a close call, but he was fairly certain he could stay under Sam's radar again.

It was then that the Winchester spoke up, his voice mild enough to barely hide the hint of steel at its core. "So, Matthew. Who were you texting in the bathroom?"

Canada's heart dropped below his ribcage. "Tabarnak."

A miracle occurred; Japan's phone vibrated, and he slipped it out of his pocket to answer it. "Moshimoshi." He paused, listening. "...Hai. Understood." He hung up. "In a few hours we will reach the Jackson exit. It leads to a rest stop with a small diner. The diner is our meeting place."

"As for me, I was texting Arthur to ask him if he had our meeting place yet," Matthew lied, trying his best not to look too relieved. While he was talking, his own phone vibrated in his pocket. "I'm surprised you noticed that. Most don't."

"So we're finally gonna meet this Arthur Kirkland," Dean mused. "Well, crap."

"Not yet." Japan shook his head. His face, if anything, looked even more blank than before, but it was a delicate, careful sort of blank. If Canada didn't know better, he could have sworn that Japan was doing his very best not to smile.

"What's there to be happy about?" Sam asked abruptly. Canada stared at him, and Japan blinked but did not comment on the human's observation, which to Canada, was beginning to get unsettling.

"I did not say there was anything to be happy about, Mr. Winchester," Japan replied smoothly. "But Mr. Kirkland will not be joining us quite yet."

While Japan had the brothers' attention, Canada surreptitiously checked his own phone. His pulse skipped a beat when he saw that the text had come from America's cell.

Want that knife back? Come and get it, you little bitch. :)

That show-offy bitch.

Dean looked irritated, and suspicious. "What the hell's keeping him?"

"He's in Europe, making sure there're no leaks before he leaves," Canada replied, hoping he sounded sufficiently, annoyingly cryptic. "He said he'd send the It – the Vargas brothers first, in the hopes that we could end this quickly, without him." Kumajiro nipped him meaningfully, and he hoped, without much real hope, that the Winchesters had missed his slip-up.

If they did, neither of them brought it up. "Who're the Vargas brothers?" was all Sam asked.

"The best we've got for fighting demons," Canada replied, and heard a faint whistling noise as the irony went right over the humans' heads. Japan smiled slightly, which was probably his version of laughing out loud.

"We'd better find Jones fast," Dean growled. "We need that knife back."

Canada settled back in his seat. If he played his cards right and was fast and didn't get himself possessed, he could get that knife back himself. It was only fair he do something nice for these humans; he didn't like hiding things this way, especially not from people they were asking for help. And maybe, if he did this for them, they might mistrust him and Japan a tiny bit less, and he could stop worrying every waking second that they would stop at nothing to find out who they were.

It was worth a shot. Maybe.

If he succeeded, anyhow.

Contrary to what most people might believe, the fastest way to get from one European country to another is not by car, or even by plane, but by doing That Thing.

In truth, none of the nations knew how That Thing worked, or why they could do it. No one really questioned it, either, or gave it much thought. It didn't even have a name; most just called it "that thing that we can do." Any nation would have been at a loss as to explain how to do it. They simply walked, or ran... and in minutes they could reach the next country. It was as if they had a secret, private road that humans could not find. It was magical, for all they knew. It was simply... That Thing.

It was also how the two halves of Italy left Germany's house at nearly midnight and found themselves near Austria's in under two minutes. They might have been faster, but full backpacks weighed them down, and Italy lagged behind. He couldn't help it; he was in no hurry to rush into almost certain death.

"Hurry up," Romano said crossly, halting to wait for his brother across the street from Austria's house. "England's probably waiting already! You did remember to bring a cross, didn't you?"

Italy wilted beneath his brother's glare, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. "Yes," he replied defensively. "I wouldn't forget."

"Show me," Romano ordered.

With a slight sigh, because his big brother could be such a mother hen sometimes, Italy unzipped his jacket to reveal a German Iron Cross hanging around his neck from a chain. "I-it should work, right?" he asked meekly, hoping Romano wouldn't throw it away like last time.

"It... it should," Romano affirmed grudgingly. "Since it's still a religious symbol... fucking Teutonic Order..." He scowled. "Wish you'd gone with a regular crucifix like me."

Italy held the cross firmly, feeling it warm in his hand. "This one's special."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Fuck, whatever. Let's go, England said he and Prussia'd meet us in the trees behind the aristobastard's house." With his own pack slung over one shoulder, Romano started across the street. Italy jogged to catch up.

"Hurry up," Romano snapped.

Italy cringed. "Sorry."

"And buck up, little brother. Demons are way nastier than me."

"I know." He wished he didn't. It just made him dread this whole venture even more. He'd come within centimeters of being possessed once already, and even before that, he'd barely convinced himself not to run to safety and leave Germany to a demon. With a stab of guilt, he wondered how he could have even considered that an option. He was immensely glad he hadn't in the end, and he never would have forgiven himself if he had, but... Italy wasn't sure if he could keep his nerve like that a second time.

At least he had Romano. As long as Romano was there, Italy knew he'd be okay. As long as Romano was there, Italy had no reason to run.

Instinctively he sped up, keeping close to his brother's back. He could hear plastic bottles clattering in his pack, their contents of holy water sloshing as they jostled against against the iron blades and the container of chalk. Without warning, Romano slowed in front of him, and Italy nearly collided with his back.

Romano swore. "Watch it, dumbass, there's barrier." Sure enough, there in the grass surrounding Austria's home, a thick line of salt was just barely visible in the moonlight. It extended all the way around the house, forming a protective circle. The brothers gave it a wide berth as they skirted the house.

There was a grove of trees on the other side of the mansion, which hopefully provided decent cover. It wouldn't do for Austria to glance out the window and see them. This would be far too difficult to explain.

Evidently, the trees did provide excellent cover, as Italy didn't even notice that England and Prussia were there until the two of them materialized, wraithlike, from the surrounding darkness.

Italy started and halted in his tracks when they appeared, momentarily alarmed. His hand flew to his cross on instinct before he recognized them.

"Good, you two made it," England greeted them. "Canada and Japan are probably waiting."

"I still don't see why you needed to send them in first," Romano growled. "We're gonna meet the Winchesters anyway."

England sighed. "Thought it'd be better to ease them into... well, dealing with us. They already don't trust us, and Italy is... well Italy, and no offense, you aren't exactly the most amiable of nations. Canada and Japan, at least, have some semblance of normalcy about them." He shrugged. "I would have gone to meet them myself, but Canada and Japan were... insistent."

Italy was barely listening. His eyes were fixed on Prussia, who stood at England's left shoulder with a dark look on his pale face. The little nation found himself suddenly rigid, his shaking hands balling up into fists. His teeth ground together as he stared at Prussia, and he drew in a sharp breath against the sudden tightness in his chest.

It took him a moment to recognize it as anger.

Prussia glanced at him, looking mildly confused. "What is it?"

"Where were you?" Italy asked softly. His voice trembled, with anger or nervousness, he wasn't sure.

"What do you mean where was I?" Prussia bristled. "I've been working my ass off with England because Africa and Asia are massive–"

"I meant before!" Italy blurted out, his anger bubbling up to the surface. "Do you know how close that thing came to taking Germany? Why weren't you there to help him? Why didn't you tell one of us he was alone?"

Prussia drew back as if he'd been struck, and Italy felt a small rush of satisfaction. "I–"

"If it weren't for me, he'd be the same as America!" Italy interrupted. "There was a gap in the salt ring you left, no defenses... if you weren't going to set things up properly, why didn't you stay with him?!"

"I hate both of you beer-swilling idiots, and I still think Veneziano's right," Romano added.

Prussia glared at him. "Hey, you have nothing to say when you left your brother to go check on Spain. And don't try to deny it, 'cause I know that's what you did."

"Oh, don't even!" Romano snarled. "My brother, unlike yours, knows what's going on and how to defend himself! And when he needed my help, I got there! You? Your phone was off, dickcheese!"

Prussia flinched again. "Fine!" he growled. "Fine, I fucked up, all right? I kept trying to set up barriers, but he kept sweeping the salt and the chalk lines away because he can't go five fucking minutes without cleaning! Hell, he caught me drawing a Devil's Trap on the living room ceiling and almost broke my nose! I was going to call England so he could use magic, but his phone was off because he was sneaking around at Switzerland's place! I thought..." He shut his eyes, paused as if holding something back, and went on furiously. "I thought I'd just step out for a half hour, no more than that. I needed to check on..." He let the sentence trail off and shook his head angrily. "Fucking shit, Romano, you of all people should get it."

"You went to see Hungary," Italy said dully, his anger fading to numbness. "You went to check on Hungary, and you left Germany by himself." He raised his eyes to meet Prussia's. "I was the only one who knew to help him. Me. Cowardly little North Italy." He swallowed his guilt and forced himself to continue. "Prussia, I almost ran away and left him. He didn't need me, he needed you."

Prussia held his gaze for only a moment before he looked away, his pale face flushed with shame. "...I don't have an excuse," he said at length. "I didn't think. Is... is he okay?"

"He's not hurt," Romano told him grudgingly. "But he is not fucking okay. What do you care, anyway? You haven't even checked on him."

"What do I care?" Prussia echoed bitterly. "What do you care? You don't even like my brother."

Romano squared up to him furiously. "I hate the bastard, but people like you make me sick. Why the fuck do you think we were born first, dumbass? So we could look out for them!" He jerked his head at Italy.

Prussia scowled at him. "Look, he's not a kid anymore, and he's been through a lot and done a lot, and I was stupid, I know that, but I just thought–

"You thought he'd be okay on his own while you went off and fucked around?" Romano cut him off viciously. "What, did you forget what happened the last fucking time you did that?"

Prussia looked up, red eyes flashing dangerously. "What did you just say? How dare you!"

Italy felt a gentle tap on his arm. "A word?" England murmured. "May as well let them talk it out."

Nodding, Italy followed the other nation a short distance away, until Romano and Prussia's bickering had faded to a barely audible murmur. "W-what is it, England?"

England sighed and crossed his arms. "You're scared."

Suddenly the ground at Italy's feet seemed fascinating. He pursed his lips uncomfortably. "I'm always scared."

"But you're going anyway?"

Italy made an honest attempt to look England in the eye, and failed. "I don't want to."

"But you are. And never mind that you almost ran away. The important thing is, you didn't."

"I have to," Italy told him in a small voice. "Go, I mean. I can't not do it, because... well... I can't... there's almost no one to hide behind this time, and if I don't make this go away, it'll come after me, and I can make this go away, because I know how, and, and..." His voice trailed off. "And it scares me."

"As much as I don't like to admit it, you and your brother are the best... equipped for this."

"You're wrong," Italy protested, shaking his head and continuing to address the ground. "It's just my brother. He's the one with the Vatican, not me. I-I just know because he made me learn."

England suddenly seized Italy by his jacket front, forcing him to look up. "That may be so, but you still know these things better than any of us, you're still more fluent in Latin than the rest of us will ever be, and we need you."

Italy stared at him, wide-eyed. "O-okay," he squeaked. "I know. But... but what do you want from me?"

"I want to make sure your head's in the game, Italy," England told him bluntly. "What are you most worried about, anyway? Push comes to shove, all you have to do is run, and no one – not even France – is better at retreating than you."

"That's just the thing, though!" Italy wrung his hands nervously. "Earlier... earlier when I was fighting the demon, I... it cornered me and I tried to run, but I couldn't because there was nowhere to run, and if Romano hadn't gotten there, I'd be a vessel and Germany would be..." His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. "What if I get cornered again, and Romano doesn't get there in time to help me?"

England averted his eyes, looking thoughtful. "...All right," he said after a moment. "If I give you another out, will you worry less?"

Italy blinked. "A... another out?"

"D'you have anything I can enchant?" England asked. "Perhaps a pendant or something?"

Hesitantly, Italy tugged the chain around his neck, freeing the Iron Cross from beneath his jacket. "Well, there's this, as long as it'll still work against demons."

"Perfect." England took hold of the cross. "Wish I'd thought to prepare something, but I'll have to make do with a quick job." He traced his fingertip over it, lips moving as he muttered under his breath. The cross glowed green for a moment, then returned to normal. "There. That should do it." He let the cross fall back against Italy's chest.

Italy hid it beneath his jacket again. "What did you do?"

"Simple enchantment," England replied. "Small transport spell, good for one use, one person. If you're in a really tight spot, just hold onto it and focus on where you need to go. It'll open a door for you."

"A-a door?"

"Yeah. You won't miss it."

"How do you know?"

"'Cos it'll be a glowing green hole in the fabric of space." England gave him a hard stare. "And remember, you'll only get one use out of it. Save it for when you really need it. Clear?"

Italy nodded vigorously. "I will. Grazie, England, but... why are you helping me like this?

"We've a bloody lot at stake," England replied grimly. "Italy's the best hope he's got, and that includes you." He jerked his head toward where Romano and Prussia stood waiting. "Now come on, let's get the pair of you to America."

Italy turned to follow England back, too quickly to notice the wisp of black smoke that followed them.

I have a proposal for you guys. I'm in college, I'm also looking into part-time jobs, I'm working on an original novel trilogy, and I basically don't know whether or not I might slip into another ridiculous hiatus again, because my posting schedule is in no way fixed. And I know there are quite a few of you following and reading this story. So what would you guys think of a Tumblr Ask Blog for this fic? At the very least, that way I'll have a way to give you guys content on a semiregular basis. I'll have anon asks open so you won't have to have a Tumblr to participate. I don't have one quite ready yet, but I have started setting it up just in case I get positive response to this.

-Pit Viper Of Doom