It took forever for me to finish this. I get so stressed about my stories… I have to double-check EVERYTHING and make sure nothing is out of place. But enough about my paranoia, on with the story! Oh, and thanks to ladyofthelibrary410 for looking over and proofreading my story. Grazie!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya-san.

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2:00 am. I should probably have been sleeping, but the neighbors were keeping me up again. I turned over, pulling the covers to my chin and wedging my head beneath the pillow. Why do they stay together if all they do is scream at each other all night?

"Rena?" said a voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise. "I can't sleep."

I sat up just as the pitter-patter of footsteps reached the side of my bed. Large green eyes stared back at me in the darkness.

"Jeanne, sweetie, you'll never sleep if you don't go back to bed," I said, patting her head.

"But I'm scared of the noise," she protested, hugging her blanket close to her body. "Can I sleep with you?"

I waved her over, moving to one side to give her room. She's only six after all, and ever since the accident… well, let's not get into that right now.

"Thank you, sorella," Jeanne said, curling up next to me.

"G'night."

Sweet silence filled the room, and for a moment I almost believed the couple next door had stopped arguing for the night when…

BANG!

Jeanne screamed at the noise and clung to my side as I shot into a sitting position. I gently pried her off and got out of bed, slipping on my sneakers. That was the last straw, dammit!

"Jeanne, I'm gonna go and talk with the neighbors," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here and don't leave this room."

"I don't want you to go!" she whimpered, clutching the covers like a lifeline.

"I'll be back in a little while, okay? Don't be scared."

She had tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but nodded. I mussed her hair, then quickly trotted downstairs and out the front door.

I didn't want to scare Jeanne, but that noise sounded a lot like a gunshot. Maybe it was stupid to head toward the sound of gunfire, but there was something in me that couldn't just ignore the commotion and run away… even if these idiots had caused me to lose more sleep than I'm willing to admit.

When I got to the front door, I found it locked. Of course. The house was eerily silent—nothing like the yelling of just a few minutes ago—and that scared me a bit. Gently putting my ear to the door, I caught bits and pieces of words before the yelling started again, even louder now that I was outside the house.

"Per favore, non!" squeaked a small voice, in what I realized was Italian.

"I said speak properly, dammit!" slurred another, much deeper voice, followed by a resounding smack. "You wan' what happ'ned ta her!"

"No! No, please!" pleaded the first voice in English.

"This's all yer fault! If I wasn't for you, we'd still be gettin' along nice an' happy."

Another smack, this one even louder.

"Aiutami, ti prego! AIUTAMI!"

"Wha' did I jus' say?"

I gave the door a swift kick, to no avail. Instead of beating myself to death on the door, I tried the nearby window. And by "tried", I mean I kicked it in and carefully unlocked it before hopping inside.

The shouts sounded like they were coming from the living room, so I made my way there as quickly as possible. (Hey, if the slurring, drunken bastard hadn't heard the window break, I figured stealth is unnecessary.)

Screeching to a halt at the doorway, I felt faint at the sight of the room. A redheaded woman (one of the neighbors who was always yelling, I noted numbly) was face down in a slowly expanding pool of blood, a bullet hole in her back. Crouched near her was a sobbing child I didn't recognize, who was cowering from an obviously intoxicated man (the other neighbor, I noticed) with a pistol in one hand.

My blood ran cold at the sight of the gun, and my Italian genes urged me to run as fast as I could and never look back. However, I found I couldn't just leave the kid to be killed by some hammered buffoon.

I grabbed the first thing I could find (a lamp) and chucked it at the bastard's head. Now, I'm no softball pitcher, but I hit my mark and sent the inebriated man to the floor. Without thinking, I ran over and kicked the gun halfway across the room, then kicked the man in the ribs to make sure he was down.

I turned to the kid, who was still shivering next to the woman's body, and walked over to… her? Well, the kid was wearing a dress.

"Hey, you alright?" I asked, crouching in front of the trembling child. "He's not gonna hurt you anymore."

The child whimpered and finally looked in my direction with terrified golden eyes. I gave her a reassuring pat on the head, but it only caused her to flinch and pull away. The poor thing was traumatized, not that I could blame the kid.

"I'm gonna call the cops and an ambulance, alright? I'm not sure what we can do for her," I motioned to the unmoving woman, "but we should get you checked out."

There was a slight nod, and I gave a sweet smile before starting my search for the phone. I dialed 911, explained the situation as best I could to the operator, and went back to comfort the kid.

I managed to get the trembling tot away from the woman's body and into the other room, where I gave the babysitter a call and had her come over to watch Jeanne. I feared the cops would want to question me, and it would probably take half the night (well, whatever was left of the night).

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The police took both me and the child to the station soon after arriving. The questioning was fortunately much shorter than I'd expected, though also I stayed while they questioned the child. They didn't get much out of her, but at least they got enough from me to lock the crazed drunk up for a while.

As the police escorted the kid back out, one of them walked over to me and cleared his throat. I quirked an eyebrow and looked up.

"More questions?" I asked.

"No, ma'am," he said politely. "There is, however, a slight problem."

"Problem?" I echoed, glancing at the child being led over to me.

"The child found at the scene wasn't Mr. and Mrs. Shaw's child."

"So, she's adopted? Illegitimate? Kidnapped?" Okay, maybe that last one was just my wild imagination.

"Er, well… He is not a normal child."

"He? But the dress—Wow, that's…" I shook my head, organizing my thoughts. "Why was he wearing a dress?"

"That's partly because of what he is, ma'am. He's what's called a Unit."

I gave the policeman a look indicating my confusion.

"Well, it's like… He's kind of—What I mean is…" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "They're like real-life anime characters, cloned in a lab. They sell 'em on some websites. People can buy them as companions or something like that."

"…Are you kidding me? That sounds pretty ludicrous."

"I know it sounds insane and you think I'm on something, but it's true. I know a girl who has one she got as a gift," he said, looking sheepish. "Plus, I recognize the little guy here from the show. Ever hear of Axis Powers Hetalia?"

My eyes widened and I looked at the child the cops had dropped off, who was standing a short distance away. How had I missed it before! Chestnut hair with that one wild curl on the one side, maid dress… Holy shit, I was looking at Chibitalia.

"Yeah, I've heard of it," I squeaked out, turning back to the policeman.

"Anyway, he belonged to Mrs. Shaw, who apparently ordered him by accident. Her husband was angry about it, but she refused to send him back."

"And that caused the late-night arguments."

"Partially. It likely sparked Mrs. Shaw's murder when Mr. Shaw came home drunk," he said, matter-of-factly. "But since both of them are indisposed at the moment, he has no owner."

"I see," I said tentatively, feeling uncomfortable with how much this guy was making these Unit things sound like slaves. I mean, really! Owner, buying them, sending them back!

"As neither Mr. nor Mrs. Shaw have any close relatives, we really have no place for him to go." Ah, now he was getting to the point.

"You want me to take him in?" I asked, though it was less a question and more a statement.

"That's correct, ma'am," he said, nodding.

"And you know that I'm single and already caring for one child?"

"Yes."

I sighed, scratching my head. It's not that I didn't want to bring Chibitalia home, but I wasn't sure I could handle another mouth to feed. I almost considered telling them I couldn't, but looking at Feliciano… I knew I couldn't leave him here.

"I'll take him with me," I said, my logical half already starting to beat my emotional half with a mallet.

"Great!" the policeman chirped, giving Chibitalia a gentle push toward me. "I'll go get his things and the two of you can go home."

"Yeah, awesome," I said tiredly. I extended a hand to Feliciano, who took it timidly. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's head home."

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Translations:

Italian:

Sorella—sister

Per favore, non!—Please, no!

Aiutami, ti prego! AIUTAMI!—Help me, please! HELP ME!