D I S M E M B E R M E N T

by Breathing in Poison

Lovino loses his arm in a fire accident, and all he can do is try to adjust to his new life. Luckily, his male nurse, named Antonio, and his friends are there to help whenever they can. It doesn't help that he has that psychotic Russian, Ivan Braginsky, after him: a man who does whatever means necessary to get what he wants. But how can he, with that Antonio always around?

T

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Author's Note: This story is actually co-written with a friend of mine, so don't give me all the credit! I'm just editing and uploading the chapters 'cause she doesn't have a fanfiction account. You can find her at MonokuroMusouka on Deviantart :)

Author's Note Number Two: I might make a few "racist" comments about middle easterners and people from northern Europe. Rest assured, my family is comprised of both, so I can tell you personally that I'm rather used to stuff like this.

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Dismemberment: The process of pulling, cutting, or ripping off a limb such as an arm or a leg

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It is Twelve o'clock, midnight, in the sprawling suburbs of North America. The cities are blanketed in the thick cold of night's darkness. For most people, the only business they would have at this hour would be to get drunk-or, if they were a responsible citizen, work the night shift. Electronic lights blink and flicker at the street corners, half-heartedly providing the light needed for the occasional nocturnal wanderer to navigate. Winding roads weave around city blocks and give a faint nod in the direction of the path leading down to the industrial district. It's a quiet street, no matter if the eternal clock points to day or night, and one that most normal people pay no attention to.

Ivan Braginsky is no normal man.

The tall, pale Northern European sticks out like a sore thumb among the dim warmth of America's street lamps. He looks more suited to the isolated, icy forests of the Old World than the colourful hustle-bustle of the New World's city plazas, yet he surveys the land around him with the same familiarity as he would the rural pathways of his beloved (yet dreaded) native Russia. A lazy bulb flickers on above his head, illuminating the tail end of a long grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. The Russian winced at the sudden light, pale purple eyes slowly adjusting to the glow, then, with a sudden start, he began heading down the lane towards a large, dilapidated storage unit.

Tonight, he's got a meeting far more important than ruminating on his own thoughts, and when Ivan Braginsky is determined to get something done, nothing stands in his way.

A small smile curls at his lips as he disappears into the darkness.

Nothing.

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The room inside the unit was comprised of several shades of grey and black, all emanating out from a single dying lightbulb dangling from a cord in the ceiling. On a second thought, this place probably would have not made such a great meeting place after all, but Ivan was not one to harbor doubt. Instead, he merely stepped cautiously around a jagged, splintered beam of wood and continued on, narrowing his eyes in search for a figure in the darkness. His man was supposed to be here by now, though he was a middle easterner, so perhaps he did not have the same concept of timeliness than what he was used to. Ivan bared his teeth at the thought, then chided himself almost immediately afterwards. Patience was key. Anger had no place here-at least, not yet.

"Adnan. Show yourself."

A shuffling, startled noise emanated from behind a pair of crates, and then a tall, hooded shadow stepped out into the open. A cigarette burned yellow-orange between the man's lips in the split second before he snuffed it out, glowing like an ember of hell beside the weak, yellow lightbulb. Ivan noted broad shoulders, tensed slightly in wary uncertainty, and smiled.

"Sit." Ivan inclined his head towards a couple of chairs, half-shadowed by the pale light. The man hesitated. Ivan's eyes turned flinty. "I said sit."

A jerk of the shadow's shoulders, and then the man jauntily stalked across the room to obey Ivan's wishes. Ivan smiled, pleased already by the other's obedience, and calmly seated himself in the chair nearest to the exit. Might as well put the other in a compromising position, in the slim chance that he refused Ivan's orders.

Ivan pulled a candle out of the depths of his coat and lit it, placing it on the table between them so as to give them more light. The man across from him shifted slightly, and Ivan noted, with irritation, that he still could not see more than the other's silhouette.

He gestured, a threatening smile playing on his lips.

The called man shuffled forward into the dim light, revealing himself for the first time.

"So, what the hell d'ya call me for, Ivan?"

The sturdy Russian leaned forward and took a good, long look at his new comrade, analyzing him thoroughly. Tall, muscular, with the sort of rugged look that left many women (and men) swooning. Rough, sun-kissed hands stained permanently with oil and grease folded together to dangle between bronzed legs, the hands of a man who spent years working with machines. A dangerous smile. But perhaps the most uncanny trait about the workman was not the sadistic curve of his lips, but the mask that rose above it- as gleaming, silver-white masterpiece that conveniently hid more than half the owner's face.

With a man who looked native to the Mediterranean and a face as unrecognizable as Sadik's, his plan was sure to go through without a hitch. Now all he needed was the mechanic's correspondence...

"You are familiar with the Vargas family, da?"

Sadik leaned back and laughed. "That crazy family of Italians? Yeah, I've heard of 'em. They called my workplace today, said something about needing a fan checked on. How do they factor into this?"

"I want one of them." Ivan slid a picture across the table. The scowling face of the elder sibling, Lovino, glared up at them from a backdrop of golden light, vividly-coloured eyes glowing with their strange mixture of olive green, amber gold, and bright emerald.

Sadik pinched a corner of the picture between his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light, whistling. "He's a beauty."

"Da," Ivan agreed, though a faint twinge of jealousy shot through him at the words. "He is. I want him as my love partner."

Sadik's eyes widened behind the mask, then, with a slight twitch of his shoulders, he started laughing. Hard. Ivan watched, eyes narrowing, and began to slide a silencer onto the pistol clipped to his belt.

"Do you have a problem with that, my friend?" the Russian asked, a hard edge to his voice.

Sadik slumped over, still chuckling, and wiped the forming tears from his eyes.

"No," he chuckled. "Just didn't think you'd swing that way. It was a bit of a surprise, to tell you the truth- the way you act. I'd thought you preferred dainty, blushing girls instead of foul-mouthed Italian hitmen."

"His family has contacts in the Mafia. That does not necessarily mean that he is a direct member."

"Still doesn't account for the dainty, blushing bride part."

Ivan impatiently pulled his phone from his pocket and flashed his wallpaper at the Turk. An extraordinarily red-faced Lovino, lips stained wine-red, was perched on a stool, thin fingers expertly plucking the strings of a flamenco guitar as he sang to the blurred crowd behind him. His eyes were darkened with lust, lost in the sound of his own voice, but that was not what caught the Turk's eyes; no, what really snagged his attention was the fact that Lovino was half-naked. He is only clothing consisting of a flowery red dress. His right arm was pulled completely out of his sleeve, lowering the dress to expose his pale, pink nipple to the camera. As if to top off the already-embarrassing image, a white daisy was tucked between one flushed ear, dramatically bright amongst all the red.

"Okay, what the hell is with that skirt-"

"Drunk. You do crazy things when drunk, da? But that is not the point. I heard that you have landed yourself in some financial trouble, Sadik."

The Turk sobered up immediately, shoulders slumping as an invisible weight settled heavily onto his back.

"Yes, that's true," he swallowed thickly. "Heracles' medical bills have gone up. I can't get by with normal payment anymore." A soft, bitter chuckle rumbled out of his chest, teeth clenching together in a pained grin. "Funny that you mentioned doing crazy things when drunk, as that is how I have landed myself in this problem in the first place."

"Yes, I've heard about the car accident." Ivan's predatory grin spread slowly across his face. "Help me, and I will pay you much more than what you are normally given."

Somewhere in the darkness of the mask's shadows, Sadik's eyes gleamed. "How much more?"

Ivan settled back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing at his lips. "Ten times as much."

"Are you kidding me, man?! Of course I'll do it!" Sadik leaned forward, clutching at his pants in disbelief. "That much money could pay off Heracles's medical bills completely! What do I need to do?"

"You are aware that the Vargas family is in need of their fan fixed, da? I want you to go over there tomorrow morning as their mechanic. Here is their address." Ivan quickly scribbled the address to the Vargas mansion on the back of the picture of Lovino. "I want you to work on their fan right before they have dinner. That way the house would be hot enough at the end of the day to guarantee that my plan would work. Tinker with it, make it seem mended, but leave something...undone. Just enough to cause, say...a spark."

The silver-masked Turk smiled confidently, arms folding boldly across his chest. "Ha! You kid me for this. That is the easiest and by far the most interesting task you could ever give me. I thought it was going to be something need more planning, like kidnapping the Lovino boy or something. Although I'm not quite sure how arson will help your relationship with him, but do not worry. It will not fail. I won't disappoint you."

Ivan's bright purple eyes reflected the light of the candle, sparking with a sadistic fire, as if foreshadowing what was yet to come.

"Excellent."

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The next day...

Ding-dong!

Sadik listened to the chime of the doorbell ring throughout the Vargas mansion, then idly took a glance at the slightly-crumpled picture in his hands. The address matched, though there was no doubt that this was the Vargas mansion. Disregarding the pristine white mailbox with the letters 'Vargas' lovingly painted on, the mansion in front of him was by far the biggest and fanciest on the block.

Just for luck, he pressed the doorbell again.

A series of muffled curses echoed from behind the door, spoken in a tongue that lilted like the lyrics of a song, and the door was yanked open; whipped of to the side as if a small hurricane had struck it. A pair of smoldering amber eyes glared up at the repairman before the rest of the inhabitant came into view, revealing a short frame of silky red-gold hair, and a scowl fierce enough to send Adolf Hitler running from it in terror.

The man in front of him was, with no doubt, Lovino Vargas. He matched perfectly with the pictures that Ivan had shown Sadik last night, though he was far more handsome in person.

"And who are you?" Lovino yawned, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, revealing the flat plane of his stomach. His skin looked deliciously soft in the warm glow of the sun's light, thought Sadik absentmindedly, noting that Lovino's skin seemed to glow golden in the warmth of the summer sun. He was dressed in white pajamas with a tomato-print pattern, white socks on his slender feet, and his hair was neatly brushed from a morning shower. It was only seven in the morning, yet he looked like he was ready to go model for a pajama company.

God, he smelled amazing.

"Hey, fuck-face. My eyes are up here."

Sadik snaps out of his daydreams and looked back at Lovino's face. Those sharp golden eyes glared back with an intensity that made the Turk wonder why he hadn't burst into flames yet.

Pull it together, man. He chided himself. You're already taken. Snap out of it.

"Right, sorry." He pointed to the nametag pinned to his chest. "I'm here to fix the ceiling fan you called about yesterday."

"Fucking finally!" Lovino leaned against the doorframe, casually tossing an errant strand of hair out of his face. A natural grace radiated off of his frame like it was nothing, mixed with a burning intensity that left Sadik breathless. Lovino's voice was surprisingly low and husky, his harsh words making him all the more sexy. "That stupid fan won't work for shit, damn it. It's a wonder we are not burning alive in here."

Sadik held back a chuckle at the sudden irony.

Well, he thought darkly. Not yet, anyways.

"Why the hell did you come here so early, anyways? My idiot brothers and my grandpa like to sleep in."

"I would like to work as soon as I can. This may be a problem that will take a long time to fix." Sadik's thoughts flitted to the instructions that Ivan had left him the night before. Work until the Vargas's have dinner, then get the hell out of there.

Lovino gave the mechanic a once over, eyes lingering a little too long at the mask perched on the bridge of Sadik's nose, then nodded at him and moved out of the way. "Come inside, then."

Sadik nodded graciously and stepped inside, taking in the high ceilings, open rooms, and ornate furniture of the Vargas residence. Lovino suddenly stepped in close, grabbing Sadik's shoulders and pulling him down to quickly kiss both of Sadik's cheeks with his soft, tender lips. A common greeting in Italy and Turkey, and one that Sadik had given many times before, yet he felt like he was going to faint. Lovino's scent was so good, it was toxic.

Sadik returned the kisses generously, unable to hold back the smirk tugging at his lips as he did so.

"Make sure to take your shoes off at the door. Feliciano already does enough damage tracking mud all over the place, I don't want to have to deal with you as well."

Sadik nodded again, slipping off his shoes and placing them carefully next to the others. He shot a quick glance at the creamy white carpet, noting a few dark spots here and there; the supposed damage that the second-youngest brother caused. Feliciano did seem to be the careless type, but what was to be expected from a nineteen-year-old Northern Italian whose favorite pastime was to stroll around town giving flowers to pretty American girls? (Most of which who tried to avoid or ignore him entirely).

The doorway lead into the living room, a large, open room with a staircase leading up to the bedrooms and bathroom. A large flat screen T.V stood in front of a coffee table, surrounded by Italian leather couches and accented by a beautiful Persian rug underneath. It was a rather elaborate and thought out room, in Sadik's opinion; the flower-printed wallpaper paired with the large, open windows lit the whole house up with a warm, orange-pink glow. Flowers grew in every corner of the house, filling the air with a sweet fragrance; Sadik once again suspected the younger brother's hand in the matter.

"I'll show you where the ceiling fan is." Lovino lead Sadik past the leather couches and through a white door, bringing him into the dining room.

The edge of a blade for a massive ceiling fan caught the corner of his eye as he entered the dining room. It gleamed, knifelike in the warm glow of the morning sun, and Sadik grinned as inspiration stirred in the darkest corners of his mind.

The fan was situated directly over the dining room table, perfect for his newly-formed plan. Sadik ran a critical eye over it, calculating what he needed to do; place a screw there, loosen a wire there, and it should-

"Put your things under the table, and I'll make you a cup of coffee before you start working." Lovino brushed past him, jolting the repairman out of his thoughts.

Sadik watched Lovino walk into the kitchen (which was connected to the dining room, forming one long single unit) and took a spot at the table, placing his bag under it. It was made of wood, long enough to seat a party of at least twelve people, carvings of grape vines decorating each leg.

Just then the sound of the white door creaked open.

"What's going on?" a voice behind Sadik yawned. It was higher-pitched than Lovino's and shared the same lilting tone, but it lacked the richer timber of the other Italian's voice.

Sadik turned and looked at the man behind him, who he assumed was Feliciano. Unlike Lovino, who looked peak to perfection, Feliciano's hair was ruffled and sticking up in some ends. Drool was cracked and dried on the corner of his mouth, and his blue pajama shirt was open, exposing his thin, pale chest. It was actually rather cute. But one thing about Feliciano that Sadik couldn't help but notice were his eyes. Two gigantic amber orbs, a clearer gold than Lovino's hazel-amber blend, gleaming as if sun-touched.

"He's just the guy who came to fix our ceiling fan!" Lovino called from the kitchen, concentrating hard as he poured cream into three separate coffee mugs.

"Shh!" Feliciano put his finger to his lips. "Keep it down, Grandpa is still sleeping."

After another minute, Lovino finished making the coffee. He skillfully carried the tray over to the dining room, balancing it perfectly on one slender arm as he handed the mugs to Sadik and Feliciano.

Feliciano took a sip and sighed dreamily. "Perfect as always, Lovino."

Lovino nodded his thanks and took his spot at the dining room table-which just happened to be located right under the ceiling fan.

"Thank God the ceiling fan is getting fixed," Feliciano stated. "Grandpa says that air conditioning is too expensive. It felt like I was on fire."

Sadik did laugh that time.

The whole situation was just too damn funny for him-the irony was killing him. Oh, this would be too easy...

"What's so funny? It's not me, is it?!" Feliciano panicked. He quickly buttoned up his collar and groomed his hair down with his nails. "I swear I don't look like this all the time, honest!"

"Calm down, Feli. It's just your hair."

"Says you!" Feliciano pointed an accusing finger at Lovino. "You always get up earlier than I do to take a shower. By the time I'm up all the hot water is gone, and you're already in a suit and tie!"

Sadik's chuckles turned into a small fit of laughter. The two Italian brothers were just as paranoid and dramatic as Heracles, though the sudden thought of him made Sadik feel a small twinge of depression. He quickly ignored it afterwards.

"Don't laugh at my brother's stupidity, you jerk." Lovino glared from his spot across the table, giving Sadik the evil eye. "It's not his fault."

"Thanks, Lo-wait..."

"No. No, it's not." Sadik apologized, trying to diminish his mirth. He then took a quick sip of coffee before continuing. It was good, but not as good as the Turkish coffee from back home. "Your brother just reminded me of someone I know, that's all."

Lovino wanted to argue, but found that he had nothing to argue with. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling frustrated, then sighed. "Whatever. As long as I'm up I might as well make breakfast for everyone."

"Ooh! Can we have gelato for breakfast?" Feliciano asked, cherubic face pouting slightly. His huge amber eyes stared pleadingly up at his brother, like a puppy begging for a treat. "Pretty please?"

"Ugh..." Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "You ask these stupid questions every fucking day, damn it. And later tonight you're just going to ask for pasta again."

"I can't help it Pasta is SO good..." Feliciano licked his upper lip. "Oh, come on Lovino! I just graduated high school yesterday. And you're no longer a sophomore at collage. Can't we have gelato for breakfast to celebrate?"

"I-"Lovino sighed. "Dammit, Feli. Sometimes you can be such a child."

That made the corners of Feliciano's mouth lower a little. The bright shine in his eyes became dull as he looked down at the blue carpet, wiggling his toe into it. Lovino suddenly felt a sharp arrow of guilt stab his chest. He knew how sensitive his younger brother was.

"Oh, hell. Fine." Lovino rolled his eyes when Feliciano gasped in excitement. The brightness in the younger Italian's eyes lit up like a hungry flame, happiness making them sparkle like gold. "But if you get in trouble with Grandpa when he wakes up, it's not my fault. And I won't be eating any. Gelato for breakfast is just stupid. You can keep Sadik company while I make a real breakfast."

"Okay, Lovino." Feliciano smiled up at him. "Ve, Lovino? Can we have your famous Alfredo for dinner tonight? The one with the Romano cheese sauce? The fan will be fixed, so we'll be able to make hot food again."

Lovino sighed and went back into the kitchen, turning on the gas burner. He lit it up quickly, frowning when the orange-blue flames flickered too calmly for his liking. "Yeah, sure. That doesn't sound too bad, I guess."

Feliciano smiled, small dimples creasing his cheeks. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Feliciano turned his attention to the workman. He held his hands behind his back, quietly inching closer to the strange mechanic in the old, greasy uniform. He didn't like the red print against the grey. It reminded him, all too vividly, of blood splattered against the skin of a corpse. Sadik was currently looking through all his tools in the big red toolbox, oblivious to the slender Italian now perching right next to him.

"What are you doing?" the Northern Italian asked, a friendly tone in his voice.

Sadik looked over his shoulder and pushed his mask up with one index finger. "I'm gonna fix your ceiling fan," he said in a sickeningly sweet voice, talking to Feliciano like he was a small child rather than a young man. It made Feliciano's smile disappear entirely, and he was seized by the sudden urge to strike Sadik in the back of the neck.

"Oh, I see." Feliciano watched the mechanic shift through his tools for a few more minutes before he got bored, an aching pain in his legs prompting him to stand after crouching for so long. "I'll be sitting over here if need me for anything."

You're lucky I'm not my cousin, he thought darkly. Had I been Luciano, you would dead and long gone by now.

Feliciano picked up his mug of coffee and took his seat at the dining room table. He always sat next to Lovino, which was, thankfully, a good distance from Sadik. Not to mention he would have a good breeze from the fan once it was fixed. "How long will the fan take to fix?" he asked, silently hoping that it would not take long so that this rude stranger could get out of his house.

"Probably until this evening." It would really only take a half-hour to fix. He remembered the plan that Ivan had went over with him the night before. Like the lines of a well-versed poem repeating in his mind, he remembered the steps word-for-word. Pretend to work on the ceiling fan until right before the Vargas's had dinner, so that the house would be hot enough for the fan to activate properly.

Or, to put it simply, the fan would be bugged to set fire to the mansion that very night.

"Oh...okay," Feliciano said, trying not to sound disappointed. "At least we can have some cool air running through here at the end of the day."

"Mmm-hm." Sadik hummed. He stood suddenly, holding out a screwdriver as he stretched the built-up stress out of his back. "With a brother like that, you're gonna need some cool air running through here. And not just for his temper, if you get what I mean."

Feliciano watched as Sadik threw Lovino a lewd glance, who was currently bending over to pick up an orange that had dropped from the counter. The Northern Italian downed the rest of his coffee, smacking the mug down onto the table with a loud bang as a mixture of caffeine and hot Italian blood boiled in his veins. How dare he speak about his brother like that! He only knew the man for five minutes, and he already he wanted to throw the pot of coffee into his face. Not to mention that he was being treated like a child again.

Calm down, Feliciano, he scolded himself. You're losing your temper.

"Look..." Feliciano took a deep breath. "You-"

"Hey," Lovino ran up to Sadik, the golden-brown strands of his hair falling delicately into his eyes. "Did you eat breakfast?"

Sadik grinned down at Lovino like a savage animal staring at a piece of fresh meat. "I sure did. But it's no jive. I can eat again. I'd eat anything you'd make." Sadik stroked the errant strands of hair out of Lovino's eyes, making the shorter man raise a questioning eyebrow.

Feliciano decided he had enough. He pushed himself between them, making sure that there was a sufficient space between the two, before interjecting. "He already ate, Lovino. No need to waste food. I think that now's a good time to work on that ceiling fan, don't you?"

Sadik let out another shit-eating grin. He ruffled Feliciano's hair, oblivious to the spark of anger that flared through the younger Italian's eyes at the touch. He didn't see why he couldn't have a little bit of fun while on the job. "Sure thing, kiddo."

"Ve...?" Lovino questioned, confused at what just happened. He began to walk back into the kitchen. "Okay...I'm just going to make you some anyways, in case you change your mind."

Feliciano gave Sadik a warning glare when the mechanic watched Lovino go, giving him a good long stare from behind. The mechanic then set to work, completely oblivious of the Russian watching from behind the window. Ragged nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists, oblivious to the cuts inflicted upon his skin. Blood dripped onto his coat, soaking into the fabric.

He barely noticed.

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Later that night

The usual, unearthly quiet of the city was not heard at all on this particular night, instead replaced by the honking of countless horns as the fog of traffic smog clogged the city's streets. All movement on the roads was locked into one complex grid work of cars, and Antonio was caught right in the middle of it.

Circles, circles, nothing but circles. For an artist, good! For Antonio, however-

Bad. Very, very bad.

He knew that he had something important to do, something that he absolutely couldn't miss...but for some reason, he just couldn't remember, if there was anything to remember in the first place. It was like his mind was roving endlessly in an eternal cycle of absentminded thoughts and vague, half-formed memories, focusing on nothing but what was directly in front of him.

Hence, the circles.

He jolted from his reverie as the line of cars in front of him ground to a halt. Traffic crowded the streets in front of him, taillights flaring mockingly red as all forward motion ceased.

Antonio was, effectively, stuck.

The Spaniard banged his head on the steering wheel and groaned. The horn went off, long and loud, but Antonio barely noticed it. He just wanted to go home after another Saturday night off lounging around the Cheesecake factory with his best friends, Francis and Gilbert. And when he woke up in the morning after a good night's rest, he could work the morning shift as a male nurse at the hospital.

Ah, he hated it when things like this happened. It was like some part of his mind just detached itself and left the rest of him to struggle. The Spaniard wasn't sure if it was because of his past, or just a side effect of his absentminded personality, but it was an absolute pain when important events like-like this popped up.

It almost reminded him of the time when he left a pastry in the oven and almost burned his entire house down.

He could almost smell the smoke...

No, wait. He could smell smoke.

Now Antonio was seriously concerned.

Maybe he should check into a phycologist for schizophrenia. He wouldn't put it past his brain to go and fuck up his consciousness again- he was already "blessed" with unpredictable mood swings. His memories of his teenage years still haunted him. Luckily for him, it was a problem that seemed to have died with age, but he was always terrified that one day, he'd slip into another one of his rages and...and...

Blood, slick and warm against his skin, turning the blade of his knife a deep red. The stench of iron hanging heavily in the air. And the terrified eyes of his enemy, staring fearfully up at him as a dark stain spread slowly across their abdomen, their shuddering gasps of pain rasping wetly in their chest...

Antonio shook his head violently, clearing the thoughts from his head. That was not going to happen to him again! It was all in the past. He remembered the vow that he took long ago, and tried to turn his attention back to the road.

He wished that this was not the only road back home.

He let out a groan, resigned to hours of monotonous waiting, but the sudden wailing of sirens jerked him out of his stupor. An ambulance rushed by, somehow finding a path in the chaos, followed by a fire engine filled to the brim with grim-faced firefighters. Antonio half-rose from his seat, concern and wary fear rising in his throat like bile.

That's when he saw it, rising thick and black over the line of houses bordering the street.

Smoke.

He swore violently and turned hard on the wheel, slowly inching his way out of traffic as his protective instincts kicked in. Where there was smoke, there was a fire, and where there was a fire, someone was bound to get hurt...or worse.

Antonio parked his car on the side of the road and raced out towards the thick black cloud, pushing through crowds of people milling aimlessly across the sidewalk until he reached the yellow police tape. He ceased struggling and froze, becoming one of the many people craning their necks over the yellow tape to stare, horror-stricken, at the scene in front of them.

A stretcher bearing the body of a man wheeled past. He was dead already, as evident by the copious amounts of blood seeping out from under the sheet half-concealing him, but they still tended to his wounds: a last resort, the human instinct to defy Death's touch too overwhelming to accept defeat. Then a young man in charred clothing, dazed and clutching at his head, stumbled clumsily past Antonio in a desperate attempt to follow the stretcher.

"Grandpa Roma," he choked, seemingly oblivious to the nurses tying to urge him to sit down, let them check him over for injuries. Tears streaked down his cheeks and painted red-black trails through the blood and ash. "Grandpa Roma!"

"Please, Feliciano!" a nurse cried, ineffectively trying to get him to sit down. "Please, just let us help you!"

Antonio's heart ached. Anyone who knew Feliciano (and this included nearly the entire population of the town) knew that he was just an innocent Latin boy who did not deserve an event as traumatic as this.

"KNOCK IT OFF!" a voice roared. A doctor shoved through the nurses, scattering them. Antonio recognized him right away; Ludwig Beilschmidt, the German workaholic whose icy-blue glare was probably strong enough to scare the sickness out of his patients. "You're crowding him!"

Feliciano screamed at the sudden loud voice. The various nurses backed off and let Ludwig take charge of the situation. He remembered his training well, as well as the many manuals on nursing; never crowd the patient. Beside, this kid had Roman blood coursing through his veins. He was bound to be tough and-

"Oh, mio dio! You are scary!" Feliciano shook his head from side to side, blood spraying from his hair in a shower of crimson red droplets. "Please don't hurt me! I don't want to die! I'm only a virgin! You know, like the olive oil? Please, Dio...I don't want to die yet. I don't want to die. I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

Ludwig's pale blue eyes widened in surprise. "Calm down! I'm not going to kill you!"

"R-really?" Feliciano sniffled.

"Really. Now please...just sit down."

Ludwig gently touched Feliciano on the shoulder and guided him to a flattened patch of grass, hand pressed firmly on his back to ensure that he did not fall. Feliciano sat with his legs crossed, rocking slowly back and forth while Ludwig sat on one knee to get a good look at his head injury.

The skull had been cracked, and was bleeding pretty badly. Blood ran down his face and into his eyes, painting crimson trails on his neck and soaking into his charred white shirt. He smelled horrible; a disgusting mix of blood, sweat, snot, tears, and ash.

"How are you feeling?" Ludwig asked, still inspecting his skull.

"Dizzy."

Ludwig checked his patient's pupils and sighed. Just as he expected, the man had a bad concussion. "What is your name?"

"I..." The man tilted his head, like he could not remember. "I'm the tomato box fairy. Are you my friend? I've never had a friend before. You seem like a nice guy, too. Those nurses were mean to me. But you seem nice, even if you have a scary face. You are my friend, yes?" Feliciano asked, a dazed grin on his face. His eyes were squinted shut so tight that Ludwig suspected that there was too much blood and ash in them to see properly. But in reality, Feliciano just did not want to get hit again. "Friends?"

"Sure." Ludwig noticed extra blood seeping out of Feliciano's left ear and sighed. Another injury to check. "Let's get you inside the ambulance."

"What about my brother?"

Antonio caught the tail end of Feliciano's conversation and gasped. Another person was still inside the house? But the mansion was nearly consumed in flames by now-how could anybody possibly survive?

While he was lost in thought, the hordes of people had pulled him away from the tape again. He pushed forward, trying to see through the crowd, then suddenly stopped as a second stretcher emerged from the burning ruins of the house.

This time, the person lying on the white sheets was alive. Ragged breaths tore at his chest, scraps of his shirt glued to his skin with congealed blood and ash. Dark red blood seeped through the bandages hastily plastered on his face, revealing horrific burn wounds where the dressings didn't reach. Antonio stopped, horrified by the damage, then nearly retched as the unit turned and revealed a new injury, nearly three times as worse as the last.

The man's right arm had been completely torn off at the joint, blood and bits of blackened flesh coating his side. His shoulder was horrifically mutilated, deep, choppy gashes exposing bone. It almost looked as if some massive beast had descended upon him in a rage and tore his arm off with a gnash of sloppy teeth, the misarranged corona of fangs causing a terrifying amount of damage as it dug through bone and sinew. Antonio had the sinking feeling that with a wound that terrible, infection was already inevitable.

"Oh, God! Of course Lovino would be the one to get hurt. I hope he's okay."

"You crazy? Do you even know the boy? He's horrible. I hope he bleeds to death."

"I'm so glad Feliciano is okay."

"Poor boys."

"Wasn't Lovino voted one of the worst troublemakers in the school? My daughter told me she heard he was a leader of a gang. 'Course, no gang was ever found, but still, if there were rumors out that he was a criminal, then he must be bad..."

"I'm almost glad Roma is dead. If I had a grandson like him, I wouldn't want to live!"

"Oh, no," Antonio murmured. He ducked under the police tape and ran out across the lawn to help when suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The person on the gurney had shifted. His head lolled lifelessly to one side, the movement almost boneless, and slowly fluttered his eyelids open. Two glittering hazel eyes, their light dim with pain and shock, stared deep into Antonio's bright emerald orbs. They were like two stars, burning vividly against the gore and ash, and they absolutely transfixed Antonio, despite how numb they were. He felt almost drawn towards them, like they were really stars, pulling him closer with their gravity. Their gaze passed over him, unseeing, then shuttered closed when the man finally succumbed to his injuries and fell back into unconsciousness.

The Spaniard stood still for a moment, stunned, then turned and raced back to his car. The crowd parted like water before him-scared, perhaps, of the mad resolve burning in his eyes, but Antonio barely noticed. He merely pulled his car out of the mess of traffic, revved the engine, and followed the ambulance. His previous dilemma flew from his mind; in the face of this catastrophe, a half-remembered event seemed like nothing. His mind was completely focused on the need to help, running through procedure checklists and medical regulations. Every once in a while, he worried if the patient on the gurney was too weak from blood loss to make it to the hospital in time.

He had no idea that the survivor had not turned away because of the pain in his side, but because the burning fire flickering in the Spaniard's blazing green eyes reminded him, distantly, of all that he had lost.

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A/N: Finally, it's done. You have no idea how many months of planning, rewrites, improvs, and cuts happened while writing this piece. We can't wait to write the second chapter now that the story's going well, but first off, here are some things that you need to know.

1: Feli will not be depicted as the innocent little shit you see in every other fanfiction. Remember, he's blood related to Lovino: he DOES have a temper on him-he just hides it better.

2. Luciano and the rest of the Second Players will not show up in this fanfic. Feli was just pissed about Sadik eyeing up his brother, and his mind flashed to Luciano because he was tempted to lash out the same way his cousin (second player) would.

3. Yes, Lovi went "ve". It's a common language tick for Italians-kind of like saying "umm" in the English language, so it's not limited to Feli in particular. Feliciano just happens to be far more absentminded than Lovino, so he says "ve" more.

That is all. Thank you for reading the first chapter of Dismemberment, and we hope to see you in the next chapter! Please review! :D