Title:Blue Moon
Author: Faeriesnook

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form.
Rating: T

Notes: This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

Summary: They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

Canada skidded to a halt, nearly toppling face first into the dirt. A shaking hand rose, gripping his chest, violet eyes darting in every direction. A sudden panic overtook him, his shoulders heaved as he gulped down air. That feeling, there was no mistaking it…

Dammit! They should have never had split up! Why did he agree to such a stupid plan! Something had happened. He could feel it. America was in trouble. The idiot must have… What if…

No, no Canada was the idiot. He should have never agreed to his brothers' plan. They should have stuck together. Faced whoever it was that was attacking them, together. He shouldn't have let his brother go off and play the hero. He knew it was a bad idea from the start, why had he agreed to it! Now they were separated. Now America was hurt, he could feel it. Something bad had happened.

A sharper pain and Canada doubled over, before falling to his knees. He couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was choking him. The panic swelled to a crescendo, knotting his stomach tighter and tighter. Something was pulling at their bond, their connection. Something was tearing it.

Black dots formed in front of his eyes. Canada braced his free hand against the dirt floor, the other gripping his chest tighter and tighter. He had felt their bond tearing before, but never like this. Never so intensely that he felt like he was dying alongside it. Not even when America had first 'died'; when Canada and he had been too young to understand that Nation's could never die, as long as their populace still believed in them. Not even then had it been so intense. Not even during all the wars they had been through. It had never felt like it was being torn at the seams mercilessly. What did that mean?

A frightening thought made his blood run cold.

Could they die in this world..?

"Da-Damn it… America!" He pushed the pain away, pushing himself back to his feet. He forced away the black dots and forced air down his throat. On unsteady legs he took off down the path that he had come. Heading straight back to where they had parted. He didn't care what America would say. Something had happened. He needed to find his brother before he got into even more trouble. Was America dying? That had to be it. But even still, America had 'died' before, so had Canada. It had never felt like this. That scared him the most. It had always been a sharp jolt, a dull throb. One that let them know, 'he's died, but he'll wake up soon'. But this feeling...

The Canadian pushed through the sharp pain; it was like daggers now, as he ran. It was like the bond was being exterminated. There was no gentle reminder that America would wake up after this was done. It was painful. It was… It was…

It was gone…

This time, Canada did fall face first into the ground, and the feeling of being choked vanished. His chest heaving as he gulped down air, one hand knotting tighter and tighter into his red sweat shirt. It was gone. The pain was gone. Their bond was…

"America…"

He barely took a minute to rest before he was shoving himself back to his feet, taking off down the path again. For all he knew he could be running straight into a trap. He probably was. But he really could care less. He had to go back, straight back to where those people were, to where America was. He had to find his brother. That idiot…

He was fine, Canada convinced himself, he was fine. He would find his brother lying on the ground, injured but alive. He would wake up, laughing about some idiotic thing, recounting his heroism. And the Canadian would just nod, and keep his comments to himself. Because he would be too relieved that his brother was alive and safe then to tell him about how stupid he had been. Then they would leave the woods, together, they would figure out how to get home, together. Yes, that's how it would happen. Because America was fine. He was fine!

So why did that feeling of wholeness remain void? The feeling that something had been ripped away from him, leaving a gaping hole in its wake? Why could he feel the tears slipping down his cheeks?

"Stop it Canada, he's fine. Why are you worrying! America's too thick-headed to die!" He murmured to himself, running down the path despite how the stitch in his side was growing. "Pl-Plus we're Nations, eh! We can't die!"

At least in their own world, a soft voice mentioned. He had no idea about this strange new place.

He continued to run. He had too. But nothing was familiar. It really looked like he was just running in place. Even though he knew the trees he was passing were different from the ones yards back, they all looked the same. Each one holding an ominous look, each one large and twisted; each looking like it was looming down on him, all right out of a horror movie.

He gulped.

True, his brother was the one that was more easily frightened. When they were small, he would be the one to cling to Canada's arm in fright during thunder storms. Though, there were times when he would try to be brave. But there was no denying the fact, even now, that America was the scaredy cat out of the two.

But that wasn't to say Canada was also not easily frightened. No, in fact, there were times he was even more likely to be afraid than America. The Canadian was just better at hiding those fears when faced with the need to protect his brother (because America tried too hard to protect him all the time, this whole experience was a testament to that). But now, now that he was alone…

"It's not a movie, not a movie," he whispered under his breath repeatedly. Chanting it as he ran. It wasn't a movie. Nothing was going to pop out and-

A scream and he would profusely deny that it was girlish, escaped him as he collided right into something. Falling backwards his glasses tumbled to the ground, the dark forested Wonderland around him becoming even more distorted. Frantically he searched along the ground, feeling all the more vulnerable. Finding his glasses, he jammed them onto his face, ignoring the smudges of dirt that clouded the lens. He looked at what he had hit, a rock sinking deeper and deeper in his stomach.

It was the cloaked man, the one who had been chasing them. The one who still had his and his brothers' blood smeared on his face. Idly, Canada raised his hand to touch his left cheek, dried blood coating the cut. He was frozen in place, the man staring at him with those dead eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

You can't stay here, a voice reminded him. You have to find Alfred.

That's right. He had to get up, he had to keep moving. With another deep breath, he pushed himself back to his feet, taking a step back in preparations to run. The man in front of him reacted silently, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword, and for a moment, Canada remembered that pained feeling, the hole that was still present, the one that continued to make him worry more and more for that idiot brother of his.

And then he came to a chilling observation.

There was more blood on the man's face… More blood… America's…

Rage began to replace his fear.

Generally speaking, Canada was the calmer of the North American brothers, of the North American Nations in general (as Mexico was often a handful herself). He never acted out, he never screamed. The Canadian took things in stride, and when faced with something that angered him, he took it, counted to ten and tried to rationally figure out a solution. He would calmly confront the person he had the problem with; even if they always thought he was America. Yes, there were many times when he would grow frustrated and yell. America and Cuba were often the ones who were on the other side of those explosions. But that was just yelling. Canada never lashed out physically at another when angered. That was America.

There were only two things in the world that could make him cross that line. That could enrage him so much that he would attack another (at least outside of war, but he couldn't count that).

The first was hockey.

The second, was someone threatening, or hurting, his family.

So, without even registering his actions, he had tackled the man to the ground, surprising the man by the looks of how wide his eyes had grown behind that second layer of concealment. But that was a passing notion, the rage blinding Canada. He punched the man, again and again. Ignoring the jolts that were sent through him each time his bare fist collided with the man's face. It was like static shock really, easily pushed aside. His brother's face flashed through his mind. That insufferable grin he would always wear. It flashed to a pale face, eyes wide, lifeless.

Nations didn't die, they couldn't. At least in their world they couldn't. But they weren't home, they were someplace else, Wonderland that crazed man had said. His Wonderland. He didn't know how this world, this Wonderland, worked; and it made his stomach knot more and more. It made the rage grow.

"What did you do to him!" He screamed, ignoring the fact that if the other man was nearby he was definitely dead meat. The cloaked man said nothing; he just stared up at the Canadian as he continued to strike, again and again. Canada could feel his shoulder's shake, fear growing. "My brother! Wh-What did you-"

Firm hands suddenly reached out, grabbing his wrists. With a surprised yelp, Canada found himself pushed back, before the cloaked man stood, dragging the Nation to his feet as well. With wide violet eyes he tried to pull away, struggling against the still firm hold the man had on him. Finally, he managed to land a decent kick in the man's shins, before kneeing him in the gut. It didn't cause him to release Canada fully, but it did give the Canadian Nation time to break free on his own, stumbling a step or two back. The man seemed to recover quickly, much to his dismay, and was approaching him. Canada was ready though, prepared to fight, despite his instincts telling him to just run.

The man closed the distance in almost a blink, grabbing his wrist again. Canada struggled, trying to pull away, but the man ignored him. He was walking now, dragging the blond down the pathway. Digging his heels into the earth he managed to stop their progress, and he swung his leg again, remembering some of the fighting lessons Prussia had given him. The cloaked man ducked, once again letting go of Canada, and he took it to his advantage, turning and running in the opposite direction. Running as fast as he could.

Only to realize that the man hadn't been pulling him towards where the masked man had been, to where America would be.

He had been dragging Canada back the way he came.

"Wa-wait!" The familiar shout drew him from his thoughts, Canada barely catching himself from falling over for the fifth time when he came to a sudden stop. Frantically he looked around the woods with wide, violet eyes. There was no mistaking it. That had been his brother's voice! It had been him! He had heard him! He was okay!

But the American was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, Canada almost forgot that there was a crazy lunatic chasing after him. The remembrance of that came crashing back however, when he caught sight of the cloaked man approaching him once again. The Nation stepped back, spinning around to run again. But a strong hand had caught his. He grit his teeth, spinning around and punching the man right across the face with his free fist. The cloaked man actually made a noise, yelping as he tumbled back, the mask hitting the floor. Canada barely paid attention, free his hand, taking off again. He nearly stopped again, imagining that he had heard his brother, but he ignored it. America wasn't around. He was imagining things, and imaging things right now would get him killed.

His lungs burned for air as he continued to push forward; his already exhausted legs feeling like Jell-o, ready to give out at any moment. But he surged forward. That man was behind him, chasing him. That man would not hesitate to kill him, or bring him back to that crazed-masked-man.

Though, for all he knew he was heading in that direction. He had lost track of which was which during the scuffle.

He needed to have faith in that now. Faith that his brother, that America, was fine as he ran to escape. He had to believe, despite how much this void gnawed at his stomach, worrying him more and more. If he was going in the direction of his brother, he would find him sooner. If he was going in the direction of his original escape… Well then they would just meet again later on. Just like they had promised! He couldn't turn around again. He had to stick to this direction, he had to-

A sudden figure burst out of the bushes that lined the very poorly cared for path. He just barely avoided running into the figure. Releasing a surprised squeak as he tumbled backwards, landing with a 'thud' and a groan. His heart rammed against his chest erratically. Part of him expected to see the masked man standing there, or the cloaked one having caught up to him somehow. A small part of him even hoped that it would be his brother, having been looking for him.

He hadn't expected to see a lion of all things.

He froze, not sure whether or not to move. A voice in the back of his mind told him to get up and run. But now he was caught. If he turned and ran from the lion, he would only be heading back in the direction of the masked man, or at least he assumed that. He couldn't necessarily just walk around the lion though. What if it was hungry? Did lions eat humans?

Gulping, he shifted, freezing when the lion turned its attention on him.

Violet eyes went wide, any fear he had vanishing when his eyes met with the lions.

"England…?"

The lion said nothing, remaining seated before him. It was larger than any lion he had ever seen before, its mane looking too perfect to be true. And it's eyes. The same shade of green that England had. No, not just the same shade, the same eyes. He stood, any hesitation vanishing as he approached the lion. The lion bowed it's head to him, the Canadian brushing his hand over the soft mane. "I don't… I don't understand…"

"I am your England, and yet I am not."A voice echoed in his mind, and had he been more like his brother, his mouth would have hung open in shock. But Canada was not like America, so instead he just stared, withdrawing his hand from the mane.

"What do you mean?" He received no further answer, the lion taking a step back before kneeling before him. The blond blinked, unsure of what to do exactly. Those familiar eyes gazed at him silently, imploringly. It said all Canada needed to know.

He could not remain in these woods. He needed to run. The lion would help him. The lion that was England and yet not England.

It told him there were going to be several more questions before he found any answers.

With a small ounce of hesitation he climbed onto the lions back, gripping the mane as it rose. It looked back at him briefly, waiting until he nodded. The moment he did, it turned, taking off down a pathway he hadn't even noticed. Leaping over the roots and branches, startling the creatures of the forest as they passed by. Canada held on tighter, his hair whipping around his face as the wind blew against him. At one point, he had to release the mane with his left hands, taking his glasses off before they went flying off his face. The hand soon returned to the mane, clutching the hair and his glasses. Everything around them was a blur, and he had to wonder just where they were going. Where ever they were going though, he knew it was safer from where they had come from.

Maybe the lion had helped America?

They came to a halt, Canada not being able to stop the surprised cry from escaping him as he nearly fell from his seat on the lion. And he swore, if lions could it would be snickering at him. Peeking at the other his eyes met those familiar green, and he nodded quietly, getting off the lion and standing besides it. Quietly he ran his hand over the mane, smiling softly. "Thank you."

He received no response. Not that he had expected anything. Instead, the lion walked around him, nudging him forward. The Canadian stumbled a step or too, glancing back before ahead. His eyes went wide as he was met with the sight of the rising sun. They stood at the edge of the forest, in front of a rolling hillside. Relief melted throughout his body, Canada turning to face the lion. Any further thanks died on his lips however, a hand rising to hold his chest.

"My brother… He's still in there."

"He's safe," that same voice, that voice that was undeniably England's albeit a tad gruffer, responded. It made him jump, looking around for the source before his gaze landed on the lion. It's green eyes twinkled in amusement. "He is safe."

"But…" The lion gave him a simple nudge again. He shook his head stubbornly. "I felt him die. He hasn't come back yet… Is he…"

"He will awaken," the voice was soft, and Canada let himself be pushed a step or two forward. "I swore that I would protect you both. And I shall."
"America…"

"I will return, I will make sure he escapes these woods as well." A more forceful push. He stumbled forward, frowning slightly as he let his gaze fall on a path ahead, no doubt where the lion wanted him to go. "Now hurry."

"Why are you helping us? Who did you promise?" He turned around, violet eyes wide. "Wh-Who are you?"
A snap of a twig, and then a harsh push (and he swore, this was from two hands). "GO!"

Canada lost his balance, tumbling forward before rolling down the incline. A groan escaped him when he finally came to the bottom of the hill, staring blurrily at the rosy sky. With a small grimace he sat up, setting his glasses on his nose. Fully prepared to turn around and shout back up at the lion. That had been his plan…

The axe that was suddenly firmly placed against his windpipe, however, halted those heated words. He turned his head, very slowly, looking up at the figure that now loomed over him.

Of course, he did not expect to see such a familiar face; a very familiar face that was darkened in anger.

Another question appeared in his mind, sitting on top the pile of questions that had formed throughout this entire experience. But at the moment, Canada felt this question held most importance.

Just what was Spain doing here!

Aaaah, feels nice to finally finish this Alas, I am done with pre-written chapters. But at least the story is fully planned out? More or less…

Hey guys, this is a heads up. This fic is going to be incredibly long. I'm not going to say HOW long... But uh… Yeah… And some chapters will just be… Long OTL So-sorry… I definitely got carried away with this fic! It has spawned into something completely different then my original plan. So while this was inspired by Tsuki no Waltz… Uh… Well, it'll still have certain moments and aspects from the MAD. But the plot line has just… Taken a life of its own xD;

Good news at least, summers started for me so I can work more on future chapters? When I'm not… Working on cosplay that is OTL.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!