Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Nancy Drew, or anything else, no matter how much I wish I did.

To the wolves

You left me to the wolves

Thought it was me and you against the world

But you left me to the wolves

To The Wolves-Anberlin

17-year-old Matthew Williams approached the lodge as a feeling of warmth filled his chest with a sort of nostalgic joy. How long had it been since he had last visited this place? 11, 12 years now? He smiled softly, tugging on his maple leaf patterned scarf to tighten its hold around his chilled lips. Icicle Creek Lodge held such dear memories for him. His blue-violet eyes scanned the snowcapped landscape fondly before landing on what appeared to be some sort of bunkhouse. Glancing a bit farther to the right, the Canadian noticed a peculiar looking snow structure. Must be some sort of fort, he thought as he shuffled his way over towards it, being careful not to slip on the icy pavement.

Matthew's movements toward the fort were suddenly brought to a halt, however, due to the fact that a large snowball had flown through the air and hit him square in the face, almost knocking the Canadian's glasses off his face. He flung his arms out in order to regain his lost balance.

"You have dared to approach the great fortress of Peter the Great! What have you to say for yourself?" an accented voice (British?Matthew questioned) called out.

"E-eh?" Matthew muttered.

"What have you to say for yourself?" the voice repeated.

"I-I'm sorry?" Matthew replied with uncertainty. Honestly, he was beyond confused about what was going on at this point.

The voice huffed. "That is all you have to say? I will not accept it! State your business here or feel the wrath of my snowball army!"

Matthew heard a bit of shuffling coming from behind the massive snow structure before a small, blue-capped head popped up over the wall. The boy's blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he raised his arm into throwing position, a snowball already in his grasp and ready to be released. Not wanting a repeat of the previous incident, Matthew decided to try to explain himself.

"My name is Matthew," he began, "Matthew Williams. My dad owns this lodge, eh."

Peter's, slightly bushy, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his throwing arm relaxed slightly. "But the owner of this lodge is named Mr. Jones…" He snapped his arm back up into proper throwing form. "You are lying to Peter the Great!"

Matthew took a few hesitant steps backwards in order to escape the range of fire and was about it cover his face in order to protect it from further abuse when he heard a deep, authoritative voice speak up from behind him.

"P'ter."

Peter quickly dropped the snowball from his hand and smiled nervously. "Hello, Papa," he said innocently.

Matthew turned around and took in the towering form behind him. He squealed quietly as the man's icy glare moved from Peter and focused in on him.

"Was he causin' ya any pr'blems?" the intimidating man inquired in a thickly accented voice that Matthew could hardly understand. His gaze flashed over to Peter for a moment and the boy hid himself behind a pillar of snow extending from his fort.

Matthew swallowed. "N-no, sir." The man's eyes narrowed slightly, and he hummed in response.

"I see." The man sighed, adjusting the rectangular shaped glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. He mumbled something in a language Matthew was a bit unfamiliar with. Perhaps Swedish? He wondered. He was brought out of his own thoughts as the man spoke up again, this time in English. "M' name is Berwald. M' the h'ndyman here. Peter's m' son." He glanced over towards the snow fort again as Peter hid himself further. "Ya said ya were Matthew, right?" Matthew nodded, unable to form words under Berwald's intense stare. Berwald merely hummed again. "Been expectin' ya."

Berwald turned on his heel and headed back towards the lodge, stopping a few feet away to glance back in Matthew's direction. The Canadian took this as Berwald's way of telling him to follow, so he quickly scurried after the intimidating Swede. Once Matthew was in step behind him, Berwald hummed again (Is that all this guy can do? Matthew wondered) and continued walking.

Berwald led Matthew to the front door of the lodge and opened the dark wood door so the both of them could step inside. Matthew unwrapped the scarf from his neck as Berwald tapped a bit of snow off the bottom of his boot. Matthew smiled as he took in the warmth of the familiar entryway. Sure, it had been years since he had been here, not since his parents' divorce, but everything was still as he remembered it.

The stacked logs that composed the walls were a greyish-brown color and along the entire room, at the very top of each wall, wrapped an intricate piece of artwork that depicted the Canadian landscape and various wildlife. Matthew hung his coat up on one of the many available wooden pegs near the door, and he noticed with fondness the marks on the door frame where he and his brother had marked their heights when they were young to see how much they had grown. He had really missed this place.

"Th's way." Berwald's gruff voice brought Matthew out of his reminiscing and the Canadian began to follow the man once again.

Berwald guided him to another door, which Matthew recalled led to the basement, and the two descended the creaky old stairs.

"U-um," Matthew mumbled nervously, afraid of angering the intimidating Swede, "M-Mr. Berwald, sir?"

Berwald stopped just short of a cluttered workbench and turned to face the Canadian. "Hm?"

Matthew squeaked softly. "I'm sure you have a good reason for bringing me down here to this dark basement, but I can't help but wonder…" he swallowed the lump in his throat, "where's my dad?"

Berwald shot the boy another harsh look before speaking. "Not h're."

"E-eh?" Matthew stuttered. "What do you mean he's not here? My brother and I are supposed to spend the next few weeks with him. Why would he be gone?"

Berwald grunted softly. "Been some… things happenin' h're. He had to some business t' take care of. Said for me to h've ya call him when ya got h're." Berwald turned back to face the workbench and grabbed a small piece of paper that had been resting near a blue and yellow mug halfway filled with, now cold, coffee. "And g've ya this too."

Matthew felt the paper being placed in his hand and he slowly unfolded it.

Hello, boys!

I'm sorry that I couldn't be there to greet you when you arrive, but some things have come up.

I've asked the handyman, Berwald, to look after you until I can get back there. (Don't let his looks fool you, he's a big softie.)

I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush, and I can't explain everything right now, so give me a call as soon as you can. My number is on a post-it note by the phone in the check-in area. Berwald can show you if you can't find it.

Again, I'm sorry I can't be there to greet you both.

Call me ASAP!

Love, Dad

Matthew sighed and folded the paper back up and shoved in into the back pocket of his jeans. It was so like his dad to do something like this after all this time. He frowned and looked up the man standing before him, patiently waiting for him to finish reading.

"I guess I should call him now, eh?" Matthew asked.

Berwald responded with his signature "Hm" and a nod and began to walk back up the stairs to the main floor. Matthew followed behind sheepishly, feeling a bit more at ease around the intimidating man. Berwald led him to the check-in desk, which was directly across from the main entryway and next to a flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms on the next floor. Matthew recalled passing the desk on the way to the basement door.

"Phone's h're." Berwald gestured to a white phone that sat on the other side of the desk next to a computer (which Matthew assumed contained guest information) before he turned and walked back down into the basement.

Matthew quickly noticed the bright yellow sticky note that was placed just above the phone's number pad. He glanced over the various numbers written on it. Sherriff, Avalanche Patrol, some guy named Balducci… Ah! There's Dad's number!

Matthew held the receiver up to his ear as he dialed his father's number. He answered after three rings.

"Alfred! Is that you, my boy?"

"No, Dad, it's Matthew. Alfred won't be here for another few days because he's finishing up some things at school." Matthew's older brother, Alfred, was currently a freshman student at some university in California and was studying a science of some sort (Matthew had learned to tune out just about everything Alfred rambled on about these days, so he wasn't completely clear about what his brother was doing), although he originally wanted to be an art student. His own lack of artistic ability was the reason for the change of major.

"Oh! Marcus! Of course!" Matthew sighed. He should have expected this as well. Matthew's father was a very intelligent man, as well as a successful businessman, but he couldn't remember Matthew's name to save his life.

"It's Matthew, eh," the Canadian softly corrected.

"Oops! Sorry about that, Morgan!"

Matthew gave up, sighing once more. "It's fine. Anyway, what's going on, Dad? Why aren't you here?"

Mr. Jones seemed to be talking to someone else on his end of the line and did not respond to Matthew's question.

"Dad?" Matthew called.

"Sorry, my boy!" Mr. Jones chuckled. "I had to discuss something with my lawyer for a moment. Lawsuits are no simple matter, you know!"

"E-eh? Lawsuit?!" Matthew gasped. "What's going on, Dad?"

Mr. Jones conversed with the person on his end again for a short moment before answering. "Well see… how do I put this? There have been some… strange accidents happening at the lodge recently. Just last week a man slipped on the steps out front and broke his leg, and an entire family went home sick with food poisoning! And the week before that a couple was locked in the sauna downstairs during a gas leak! You can image that none were very happy with the situation, hence the lawyer I mentioned earlier. As if things weren't bad enough, both the cook and the maid quit on me just a few days ago! I've got guests staying and no staff to take care of them! I'm at my wits end here, son."

Matthew couldn't believe what his father was telling him. "Do you have any idea what's behind these accidents?"

Matthew heard his father sigh. "There has been a strange white wolf hanging around in the forest surrounding the lodge and… this is ridiculous… people have been blaming the creature for the strange happenings."

"A wolf, Dad? How could a wolf be causing all these problems?!"

"I told you it was ridiculous, son. But lots of people have been putting the blame on the creature saying that it carries some sort of curse or some other kind of hoodoo. Apparently before each accident someone claims to have heard it howl. It's hard to believe, but it's the only explanation anyone had come up with."

Matthew shook his head. "That's really crazy, Dad. There's no way a wolf or any animal could cause accidents like that. There's got to be another explanation as to what's going on."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, my boy! Which brings me to the real reason I had you call. You see-"

Mr. Jones's sentence was cut short by the shrill howl that pierced through the air. Matthew felt a chill run down his spine at the hauntingly beautiful sound. As the final ring of the howl disappeared, silence fell, the kind of eerie silence that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end causes your while body to shiver. The silence's spell did not last long, however, as a new, even more chilling sound rang out. It was the sound of an explosion, a rather large one at that, and Matthew's blood ran cold. It had come from just outside the lodge.

"D-dad… I-I've got to go! Something just happened! My god…" The phone was dropped before Mr. Jones could even respond.

Berwald's heavy steps could be heard thundering their way up the creaky basement steps.

"O-outside!" Matthew could barely form words, as his body was shaking in fear. "It sounded l-like an explosion!"

Berwald's face paled as he shoved past the convulsing boy and harshly yanked his coat from the peg by the door before yanking the piece of wood open so roughly it almost came off the hinges. He seemed to be mumbling something over and over, his voice laced with fear.

After a few moments, Matthew managed to catch what he had been saying, and he felt his own heart drop into the pits of his stomach.

"P'ter."

A/N:

Greetings! I'm really excited about this fanfic. (I've actually had this idea for a while, but I never got around to writing it. Until now of course!)

Anyway, this little story of mine is very, very loosely based on the game Nancy Drew: White Wolf of Icicle Creek (which is awesome by the way), and I'm not really going to stick to the story line of that very much, but there will be a few similarities here and there.

Mattie and Alfie's dad is someone I made up, just 'cause I needed someone to own the lodge and a reason for the boys to be there, so therefore first-name-less Mr. Jones was born. Tino Balducci is a character you can call in the actual game, and I just love his so much I couldn't help but use his name in there.

So I think that's about it from me. I hope you all enjoyed it at least a little, teensy bit, and I'll try to update as often as I can.

Auf wiedersehen!