The house remained silent as England ventured forth from the room once more, intent on finding a reason- any plausible possibility about why Alfred would allow his own government to make him wary- or even, dare he think it, afraid.

What he found was dust, dust, and more dust.

The upstairs rooms hadn't been touched for a while, which meant that America had most likely been sleeping on the sofa for at least the past month. But then, no one else had been there either, as England's footprints were the only ones on the hardwood flooring of the upstairs hallway.

Those friends of Alfred's who had been here earlier were obviously not overnight guests; Or perhaps they were. Arthur could almost picture Alfred clinging to Gia like some sort of stuffed animal- not that he'd feel any jealousy about her being a replacement...

Finding himself downstairs again, England discovered an empty icebox, and equally bare cupboards. So America wasn't cooking food here- not that he often did- but the living area and rubbish bin was suspiciously devoid of wrappers from the boy's favorite fast-food establishments. And yet the sheer number of those aluminum cans littering the living room indicated that he'd been spending a bit of time there.

England sat on the edge of the sofa, and lifted one of the brown plastic bottles to actually read the labels. Perhaps he should have done this first, rather than intruded upon America's private dwelling.

The name of the drug looked like something that one might read on a menu in Germany.

He'd heard the name before, however, as a nation wasn't affected in the same ways that one of their citizens would be by such things, England honestly had no idea what this chemical concoction was, or what it did. And the labeling wasn't much help, as it only contained instructions, and America's human name on it.

Arthur read the second label, with much the same result. He knew that low doses were often ineffective, and the higher doses tended to be more of a nuisance than a help. He himself had never taken more than simple painkillers when the aches and pains became too much to ignore.

England scowled as he considered the list of people who might know- and more importantly, could be trusted. He came up with one name, someone he should have probably rung up already- considering the boys shared the longest common boarder in this world.

Matthew.

The two were neighbors and sometimes confidantes- he'd only recently found a very few of their childhood secrets, and that had been under duress.

Being the smarter of the two, Matthew might not only know what these drugs that Arthur was holding were supposed to do, but also exactly what the bloody hell was going on- and for how long. Not to mention, he might also have met Alfred's two mysterious friends. (As sweet as Gia had been, he didn't believe she'd been alone).

England picked up the phone, and guiltily forced the number to the front of his memory. (Really, he should know it by now.)

The phone was answered on the second ring.

"Al!" The normally soft voice came through loud and clear before England could speak, "It's about time! Why haven't you been returning my calls? It's been six months- where have you been? I didn't think I'd offended you, but you always take offense at the stupidest things, and I really don't know how I'm supposed to figure things out if you don't talk to me- but I'm sorry, okay? I wanted to talk to you after the last meeting, but you ran out so fast- you didn't look so-"

"Matthew?" Arthur injected forcefully into the stream of words. It was stunning, sometimes, how Canada could go on. At least he had a general idea of how long things had been like this. "Slow down."

"E-England?" Canada's voice took on a note of subdued panic, "England why are you calling from Al's phone? What's happened? Is he ok? Is he hurt again- I didn't see anything in the news-"

"Matthew, I can't answer if you keep babbling," England frowned. So he hadn't been the only one to notice something amiss. That was comforting in a way. "Alfred is currently in a meeting. I'm just visiting."

"Oh," The relief in that syllable was unmistakable, "But-"

"Officially, I am still in London. This trip was... unplanned."

"Yeah," said Canada, "Al usually tells me when he's expecting you. Goes on for days about what he's got planned. At least he used to-"

"Even if it had been planned in advance this time- " England rattled the bottle in his hand, "I was concerned about his behavior in the last World Meeting."

"But he didn't do anything."

"When was the last time you saw him that passive?"

"When he was sick- that's why I've been trying to call for the past month. He just hasn't been home. With the boarders tightening, I haven't been able to visit-"

England cursed under his breath. 'Adjusting to new policies.' indeed.

"He's either not been there, or just not picking up. But he knows I get worried when the does that- I mean he's all alone now that Tony's moved to Area 51, and his whale friend migrated- "

"Canada," England asked calmly, watching the antique clock in the corner tick away the minutes past the two columns of sun-stirred dust poking through gaps in the drapes. "He hasn't been completely alone. One of his friends was here when I arrived-" At least he hoped that the concern that Gia had voiced was real. Optimism. It was like a disease. "Gia's been looking out for him a bit."

There was silence from the other end of the phone. For a moment Arthur wondered if they'd been disconnected.

"Matthew?"

"You... met Gia?" A slight tremor, hesitation. It wasn't a question, no matter Canada's inflection. "Merde."

"Is she not a friend-" Alarm tingled England's spine. And he'd fallen asleep right next to her- Fucking hope. He was lucky he hadn't gotten a knife in his back-

"Merde, Arthur. She's- I mean... She wouldn't hurt him-"

"Then why do you sound so horrified that she's been here?"

"Because if she's been there, it means Al is in trouble." Canada's frown was almost audible. "He- I promised not to tell you, England, but- was she the only one you saw?"

"She was talking with someone named Louis, however I didn't see him. And she denied it later."

"Fuck."

"Language, Matthew."

"Seriously, England, your sense of priorities leaves a lot to be desired right now. I can't get across the border, and America needs help."

"That would be why I'm here."

"You don't even know what's wrong!"

"He's been under an enormous amount of stress from a new administration and its particular view on how he should be, is being forced to spend most of his time with Nations who despise him, while being forbidden to communicate with you or Europe outside official channels." England ignored the little gasp of indignation at that. "I don't think he's sleeping well- he's been holed up in his living room for quite some time, and his diet has gone further into utter shite. There are two prescription bottles sitting on his table with names that look as though they came from one of my spellbooks."

"They're full, aren't they? The pill bottles?"

England shook one experimentally.

"No, they're almost empty. You knew about the medication?"

"Things are really fucked up, Arthur. Really bad. Where is Al right now?"

"His people sent someone to pick him up- they apparently are checking up on him to make certain he has no visitors. He seemed almost frightened-" Seemed, hell. England would have recognized that terror in America's face from a good hundred meters. "I'm hoping they bring him back soon."

"I have to make some calls, and try and make some arrangements. Call me as soon as someone gets there."

"As soon as Alfred returns, I'll call. I promise."

"You... I... Just call as soon as anyone gets there. It might not be Al- it might be Gia. Or even Louis. Hope it's not Louis, I hate trying to talk to him- Al's people won't come in without an invitation., and if- I need to go, I'll explain more when you call."

"All right then." Arthur reluctantly allowed, "When someone comes in, I'll call you."

As he hung the receiver back on its cradle, England realized that he was nearly as confused as he'd been when he called Canada. And he hadn't even gotten any answers beyond 'Yes, there is something fucked up here.'

The only thing he could do is wait.

Fortunately for America, England couldn't stand the untidiness of this room. He was just taking a swipe at one of the bookshelves, when he heard the rattle at the front door. He didn't have time to bolt for the closet, or the safety of the kitchen before someone swung the door open.

The medium sized figure that stepped in merely slammed the door behind him before stalking to the living room, mumbling something under his breath- but when he spied England, he stopped and stared.

Arthur couldn't help but return the stare.

The man was around his own height and build, messy brown hair framing a vaguely familiar face whose deep-set grey-blue eyes flickered in something resembling recognition as he took in the Nation.

Or should England have thought 'eye', as the left was bruised swollen almost completely shut.

"England?" The soft voice that niggled on the edge of familiarity asked him. "No one told me you were here."

"Who are you?"