A/N: I'm new to this site and writing my first fanfiction, so if you have any questions, reviews, or suggestions please send them my way! Thanks :) P.S. I don't own any part of Hetalia. I own the person England finds.

"Damn! That bloody kid can run!" shouted Britain. "All I need is one good shot in the leg! Then we'll have him for sure." Britain's voice echoes around, bouncing off every vine, leaf, and tree that was in the dark, humid jungle. He stopped in his tracks and waited for his friends to pick up their pace. America, Russia, France, and China marched their way over to their friend.

"What took you so long? We'll lose his trail if you guys don't hurry up!"

"Dude, there was this totally awesome boar! So I dared the guys if they would ride it and…." America's explanation fell short as he looked at Britain's unfriendly frown. "Well I was the hero anyways."

"Why don't you tell me after we CATCH HIM!" Britain was furious. "Now we LOST HIM!"

"No, he's right there." Russia gently smiled and pointed to the man straight ahead.

Exiting the jungle, the man sprinted onto an open field. Tulips, roses, daisies, and many more flowers bloomed in the tall, green grass. The man could run for miles but still be in a clear shot. The never ending valley was a perfect place to stalk the Allies' prey. The man tried running under the clear blue sky, but he slowed down. In China's eyes he was obviously getting tired, but he had will power, and his stamina was greatly stronger than his speed.

"STOP! France get out of my aim!" Britain spat out.

Britain kneeled down on his left knee and aimed his shot gun at the man running, confused of where to go. "Amateur. You're going down to bloody hell," he murmured. He immediately pulled the trigger and reloaded in seconds. Everyone there knew that Britain had shot him, but he decided to shoot 2 more times, just to be safe. The bird songs fell dead silent and watched as the man shrieked, grabbed his leg, and fell to his side. In those seconds it was almost as if the whole world was killed. Nothing made a movement or sound. Even the wind fell short of breath. The Allies made their way over to the man who they shot. Each country had a different thought or feeling about the whole event. America thought it was awesome. Britain was proud. France was probably thinking of a romance with the enemy. Russia was smiling in the background. China was disgusted.

"Is that him?" China asked

"Oh yes it's definitely him! He has the same hair and coat." Britain retorted.

"And it's NOT his brother from the south?"

"Yes, it's…" Britain did not have any time to finish before America started to claim he caught the bad guy.

"Dude, I'm the hero! This is, like, so awesome! I'm 1000% sure this IS North Italy." America looked down at North Italy. Blood was running from the wound, staining the perfect field. America got a sad look on his face and started talking to himself. "Dude, that's like, got to hurt. We should get medical help."

France did not like the idea one bit. He walked up to America and slapped his face. "America, he killed tons of Britain's people, so he deserves it!"

"Dude, we should at least wrap it!"

"Well, I know what to wrap!" China stated excitedly. He got a paper bag and some rope. "There we go!" He hog-tied Italy's legs together and put a bag over his head which he lightly tied at the neck.

Bickering between the nations erupted. The three got Russia involved, and they all tried deciding what to do to Italy since he killed some of England's people. Flinching at the current subject, Britain remembered the raid and battle of his home and swore to never forgive the other nation.

"Oh you guys shut up! You're acting like a coward Yankee, America! Russia give me that knife you brought with you, NOW!"

Obediently, Russia gave Britain the knife, unaware of what he was going to do with it. However, they all went back to their bickering. Britain walked up to North Italy who started to squirm around on the ground at a chance to loosen the knots. Britain took the knife and with a mighty scream stabbed North Italy's side and dragged it down to his hip. An ear piercing scream stopped the bickering countries in their tracks. They all nodded as if they approved for what he had done, though America didn't believe it was all right.

"Hey, why don't we take off the bag on his head so we can show him our beautiful faces?" France suggested while flaunting his rose in his hand.

"OK!" Britain said victoriously. "On the count of three, I'll pull the bag off!"

1.

2.

3!

Britain happily pulled off the bag and threw it to the ground! "Ha! I shot you to bloody hell! You're going to die in my hands and…"

Britain's eyes widened as his jaw dropped. He froze and fell to the ground crying. The rest of the men looked too shocked to speak. Britain cried so hard that the dry, cracked dirt underneath his hands and knees turned to mud. Instead of seeing Italy's brown eyes he saw something worse. They were the same eyes, but they had a different look in them.

"I….I…It's not…..Italy….I...I was for sure….it…was….him." England whimpered in astonishment and grief. Instead of looking into Italy's eyes, he locked his gaze with something else, something much, much worse.