A/N: This is beyond late and also crappy and I apologize. It was really hard writing in Sweden's POV. I began with a general third person, but after rewriting the entire thing four or five times I chose to go with a single character - and of course I end up choosing one completely new to me. For whatever reason I couldn't come up with anything to write for a long time.

This sucks - you have been warned. Also there is mild hints of SuFin, but it's more friendly than romantic.

For once in their long journey, the nations had spent a good number of hours asleep. Quiet, peaceful, lying content in beds that could only be described as soft cushions of marshmallow heaven. Not even the statues, with their eternally blank faces positioned to watch them from across the large room, could prevent their exhaustion from knocking them out at the contact with the alien bedding. Sleep came and energized them. Wistful dreams were had, and snores of content echoed from the bed of which its perpetrator lay. But no matter how heavy one's eyelids drooped, Sweden couldn't sleep. Time didn't register, but at some point late into their rest he awoke with a sudden jump. Nothing anyone but a close observer would notice, and still it was enough to shake his body and mind into consciousness.

He'd dreamed. Truly, wonderfully dreamed of home and his family. His person had walked through the halls of his modest home and into the kitchen where his family sat. Finland would be preparing a breakfast common in his own home while Sealand chatted about his daily plans in childish glee from the round dinner table. Perfect; so perfect he almost cried, yet his dream self could not understand why he would have such an urge. It felt so normal, the fantasy so true and honest, that when a calendar on his kitchen fridge came upon his view, it felt like a thousand boulders smashing his mind into awareness - because he knew that the date on that calendar was wrong. He was not awake that day, blissful and about to eat a marvelous breakfast. He'd left home only months prior, of course, and had no memory of returning. That meant he was never home during the calendar's date, and his presence unreal. He then knew he was dreaming, and the fantasy faded with one last serene smile from his good friend. Finland waved - those violet eyes promising happiness and peace distorted into nothing until he finally awoke to a blank, pale ceiling. Sealand's laughter faded to Prussia's mumbling. It was oddly fitting, and scared him slightly.

Unable and unwilling to fall back into that false sanctuary so soon, he sat at the edge of his mattress, hands intertwined at his knees. Sleeping calmed his aching body, but the conscious quiet soothed his protesting thoughts. Just like everyone else, he was tired of the loud scrapping of metal and screams of his comrades. Instead, he basked in the soft murmurs and snoring of his friends, asleep in their own paradise just as he had been. How long until they, too, found a single clue that would shock them into depressing reality?

For minutes he walked, stretched - anything to release the aches in his joints. He was sore as he was sure the others were as well. He was tired as they were, exhaustion finally setting in after the trials they'd experienced. Waking up so suddenly did not ease his pain and it was with a full intent to release stress that he walked from his bed to the large window. Its image projected an odd tranquility, almost like a fable without the bad end, yet still hiding a dark intent. Clearer than on Earth, crumbs of fallen stars shot against the blank space, disappearing into a void Sweden definitely preferred not to venture. However calming the image was, the movement disoriented him so he turned away to glance once more at his sleeping fellows. They were all relatively at peace, save for a mumbling Prussia and quivering Russia who had his sister's arms squeezed around his midsection. Sweden wanted to laugh at the sight. Even in sleep, Belarus held tightly to her loved one, no matter how much the other protested.

Even if Belarus' actions were demanding and unwanted, they did hold a caring and loving nature in Sweden's opinion. Whether her affections stemmed form true love or crazed infatuation, the girl was devoted to her brother in ways even he could not believe some friends would be. She had proven that many times in their venture, and the large male could see her brother try mildly to satisfy her needs. Had they still remained on Earth, their relationship would be the same: hiding, chasing, threats and fear. In the time since their departure he had witnessed Russia willingly embrace and praise his sister. If that was not progress, he did not know what was.

Their relationship brought his thoughts on his own personal life, most notably his most recent life choices.

He often found himself dizzy with worry and doubt, questioned his presence with how many times they'd come close to death. The whaling, screaming, voices vibrating in fear. He questioned many times during what crazy demon had influenced him to volunteer for this. Something in him had acted automatically when Finland had raised his own hand at the meeting. Those pale tips called to him, enacting a spell that swayed his own, longer ones to reach higher until he had offered himself along with the rest of the Nordics, caught up in the moment after Russia's noble speech. No one was prepared for their experience, and it was probably only the familiar voice in the back of his mind constantly reassuring him - soft, happy, and best of all familiar - that kept him sane.

"It is a good cause. You must not doubt," It would tell him in the most candy sweet tone he had ever heard, reminding him of chocolate and lakrit. Of the Ris à l'amandeduring Christmas when he and the rest of the Nordics would all gather at a chosen home. Denmark would boast and make it in tradition with his homeland while the others shared the kitchen to cook the rest of the meal. Sweden would take the role of decoration with Finland to escape the chaos, but everything would be perfect.

He did not regret coming - never would he regret helping his brethren, but it never sank in that he, taciturn and always standing out of attention much like Canada before his brother disappeared, could be chosen; yet he had, and here he sat facing the large window that allowed a clear view of the galaxy, every red star and wandering asteroid. The absurdity almost made him laugh.

"You are a good person Mr. Sweden."

Oh how those words were as comforting as they were torturous. Still, a small curve formed its way onto his lips. The voice was soft, gentle, and compassionate just like the personality that came with it, and the body that harbored those gifts was warmer than any summer sun. Even when the shorter male was millions of miles away his voice managed to reach him. Sweden could almost feel Finland sitting next to him, smiling that heartwarming smile of his.

The shorter male often told him that his actions were based on a mere desire of kindness. No matter how many times people cowered in fear or seemed to be angry with him, Sweden lent a helping hand. Kindness came naturally to him; did he really need a reason?

He sighed, relieved when the giant pressure on his chest disappeared, as did the throbbing in his head. Sweden found himself thanking that treacherous calendar in his dream for waking him so he could quell past few days allowed no time to sort his thoughts, but now that his mind didn't reel traitorous ideas he felt sleep could finally be welcomed and he could carry out their mission without personal obstacles. Finally, he could rest.

Sweden walked back towards his bed, the pillow and sheets finally looking inviting. His hands only managed to pull back the covers when the sound of short taps began, almost like low knocking echoing from one area. The door was the obvious culprit, so the tall male approached it cautiously. Whatever visited them during a time when even the alien called Armin knew they would be unconscious was one to be careful with. Pressing an ear against its cool surface, he listened for a sign of life and was surprised at who he heard on the other side.

Is that America?

Blowing caution to the wind he opened it to be proven his suspicions true. There stood America, a meek twitch to his smile as he stared up at the taller nation and wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and an unbuttoned dress shirt.

"Heeey, Sweden-man C-can I come in?" Sweden noted the cracks in his voice and red-rimmed eyes. Heavy breathing hinted to exertion, but the reasoning behind it he would neglect to ask unless the boy felt it necessary. The two were not as close as others and he had no right to pretend they were, although the male's natural kindness wanted to nurture the younger nation until whatever sadness plagued him disappeared. Again, Finland's words teased him.

Wordlessly he led America inside, closing the doors as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the others. He wondered if he should wake them up anyway, but since America was whispering he respected the blonde's wishes and did not. Instead he walked with the blonde to the only empty bed - his - and waited for the him to explain his appearance. From the way the American didn't flinch at his presence, he was glad to know the male was not intimidated. Even if it was simply due to personal problems, he was glad they could talk. He would never suspect America to look so low after their enthusiasm earlier. The male had been his usual animated self without a hint of doom, even under their present situation.

Sweden guessed something must have happened in the time they were separated. Should he dare ask? He soon found out he did not need to because America spoke.

"Um, yer probably wonderin' why I barged in on you during your nap, " he said with a nervous laugh, the Southern drawl he often receded to without his control obvious. Now Sweden was a little worried, but he let the male continue, nodding in response. "Sorry man, I kinda freaked out. But- uh... I think, I uh, um..." America continued to mumble. He twiddled with his fingers and did not look up, instead appearing to glare at the floor, hunched in a tormented position reminiscent of a homeless man in New York. This was completely opposite of his usual self, which only increased the Nordic nation's anxiety. He would get nowhere with the blonde if all he did was brood over something Sweden knew nothing about.

"America," he began, although it came out in his usual grunts. Sometimes he wished to speak normally, but it was very hard when the dialect was ingrained into you. Thankfully, America stopped his mumbling to look at him. "What happened?"

At first the blonde didn't respond. He stared at the taller, blue eyes inspecting over every inch of his face, exploring it for signs Sweden guessed was distrust or a hint that he would make fun of the other. He seemed to have passed America's scrutinizing because he took a large, audible breath before jumping to his feet.

"I FUCKED UP MAN!" In the future, Sweden would forever remember that moment as the start of a downhill turn of events, all triggered by the groaning of the wakening nations.

They were huddled near the large window, having built a makeshift barrier with the beds and sheets. Whatever furniture they could pull from its hinges sat on its side as well, although the large wardrobe remained against the wall because of its massive weight. It sat mutely, seemingly staring from between the cracks of its double doors, watching them with amusement. They'd contemplated security devices being installed into it and considered smashing it with their fists, but the noise would alert those outside who had yet to barge into the room and secure them as prisoners. For moments each nation had sat expectantly towards the door, waiting for the clack of steps or pounding against the ship's material. Shouting in foreign language for them to come out and admit to the crime one of their own - America - had committed.

The culprit sat as a protesting damsel in France's arms while Canada rubbed his back and pleaded for him to calm himself, but America's ears only rang for his own thoughts, completely ignoring his worried brother's. To the large Nordic, the scene was reminiscent of Finland's treatment towards Sealand during the boy's childish breakdowns. He almost saw his family reflected in the scene, but with how much larger the Americans were compared to his adoptive son and wife's smaller frame, the fantasy quickly faded. What remained was a sense of duty to the frightened nation. To be prepared with the others as they braced for an invasion that had yet to come.

Confused as they were unable to understand the babbling blonde at first after being pulled from their sleep so unceremoniously, what the nations could ascertain from the audible bits over the releases of breath and jumbled words was that something scandalous had transpired between him and their alien host. It was when the nations took in the younger blonde's disheveled clothing and strained to catch America's choked mention of fondling that the clues fit into place.

In an almost demonic transformation the atmosphere in the room, as did the temperature, decreased significantly. Centuries of experience had taught them to act fast, so they'd rushed the panicked nation to a corner and created a hasty fort with the intent to somehow barricade themselves in the room. Familiar pulses gained from war times burned into their bodies, mobilizing them through the automatic |motions of transforming bedding into tents and the frames into walls. In their minds a mantra of commands guided them through it all: Lock the door (Was it even possible?), barricade the entrance (pointless), secure all personnel to the farthest corner (done), and create a line of defense (close enough) should the enemy infiltrate their territory.

They'd waited crouched like feral animals, cornered yet prepared to fight until their last breath. Germany and Russia had taken the front; England, Prussia, and Spain right behind them, while the rest coaxed a proper explanation out of America as to what exactly they tore apart the room for. It took some mild breathing exercises until the blonde finally told them every crude detail of his rude awakening. How he opened his eyes after feeling odd sensations on his body and found Armin above him, or more accurately ON him. He told them how he'd fled, leaving the poor alien in his room, unconscious for his crewmen to find. Then he'd headed for their room on the notion that his legs wanted friends. Tony, sleeping with his crew, was currently unavailable to him so the blonde chose the only other close allies on the ship.

Hearing his scandalous tale both disgusted and terrified the others, and if anything encouraged them to remain alert. It was not unheard of to about sexual conquests between nations, but to have an alien do it was beyond any level of absurdity they had ever crossed paths with. No Monkey Man or Big Foot could top this.

To make matters worse, America had used his strength on the alien leader and fled the scene like a true criminal. Armin's crew would be hectic once they found their unconscious, probably bleeding and near-death god in the American's room. There would be no doubt of his involvement and blood lust for the culprit would be expected. For however long they could hold out, America would have to be protected. Somehow Tony had to be contacted and an escape plan made. None of them had come this far only to loose their objective so soon in the game.

After calming himself, America had insisted he go back. Typical in his hero worship, he suggested walking out to find the guards himself and apologize; to explain the situation and lend a helping hand. They were opposed, of course. To willingly go meant risk being captured and tried under unfair prejudice. Armin and America may have grown a friendship, but the nations did not know if he would even be awake for a trial. From what America had told them he'd used his monstrous strength in his shock - assuming the alien was like them, he could have a lasting concussion that put him out of commission for a long period of time. He would heal, but with time. Whether he would be awake before his people cast America into their vengeance, they did not know. It was already odd the guards had yet to come as it was, so why would they give up without so much as a small scuffle? Since roaming around an unfamiliar ship would be too risky, waiting was all they could do at this point, so they did.

Waited, waited, and waited.

No one had come for them.

America was still mumbling in annoyance of his captivity. France rubbed the distraught boy's shoulder in hopes it would provide some comfort, or at least urge the boy to stop. America did not protest, although he did send a wondering look his way as he found himself sandwiched between two of his close family. Honestly, he was not stupid enough to go rushing to his doom - he just wanted to ease the blow.

"It will be alright, America," France cooed. "He is your friend, correct? Guilty in what he has done, at that. A few apologies is all we will need to clear this mess." And perhaps a good smack to the truly guilty, he hoped. No one touched his family and disgraced the act of loving gestures on his watch.

"I basically sucker punched him hard enough to kill a human, then left him to die on the floor," grumbled the American. Waiting so long helped him think, and in that time he finally sorted out his feelings. As shocking as it was for Armin to do such a thing, he was still guilty of nearly (hopefully) killing him. Armin would wake up to find his affections rejected in the worst way without even an apology to settle the score. If he was honest with himself it was understandable his hot body could affect even extraterrestrials. He had to take responsibility for his hot bod.

"You checked if he was alive, da? You did your part," said Russia. The man was wiping something inside his coat and looked much too pleased with their current situation.

"He bloody molested you! Self defense is all you did and the bastard better understand cultural barriers. You are in no way guilty, but his goons will most likely not see it that way."

"Even more of a reason for you all to let me go talk to him!" America protested. He winced at the dark scowl England sent his way.

"We don't even know if the wanker is even awake. Your strength might have knocked him out for days for all we know. You should know better than to walk into enemy territory without your only ally."

"He is right," Estonia intercepted. "Like you said, his people are faithful. Without the resistance from their leader your life means nothing. They could decide to kill you on the spot."

"Waiting here ain't gonna do nothin' either."

"Perhaps, but it's all we have for now. Better to stand our ground than walk into a spiteful storm."

No one could argue with that, yet with each minute that passed the anxiety increased. Their hearts were pounding even with the silence and lack of action.

Then movement.

They all waited silently as the door's ominous swoosh alerted them to a visitor; for the decider of their fate from now on.