Okay, so for this chapter I apologize in advance. I really do. I know I try my hardest not to write anything remotely resembling a filler chapter...but...but I just don't know. :( I hope this isn't too filler-ish (even though it kinda is...). Whatever.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed :D and favorited or alerted or anything else! I love you guys X3

Aaaaand, I have other news. I'll be going on a vacation (Italy! Whoop!) for two weeks and may or may not have any way to write or post any more chapters for that time. It won't be forever, but I'm leaving tomorrow and it'll be a while. Just a warning, in advance.

Now I have rambled enough, and here is the chapter.

...

Waking up in the morning to a cheap motel ceiling was not on Lovino's to-do list. Waking up on a stiff, uncomfortable bed with springs sticking into the small of his back was also not on that list. The vague smell of mold and a water stain in the corner was not nice either. To top it all off, however, were the memories of the day before. They rushed into Lovino's mind in almost an instant, and he realized his predicament. He also realized how much of an idiot he was.

"Goddammit," he whispered, sitting up in the bed. The last few hours of the night before were pretty much a blur of running and then, it appeared, checking into a hotel. His suitcase was sitting unopened on the floor, and he realized that he'd slept in his clothes from the day before. It wasn't like he had much of a presence of mind to care, however.

So much had happened in the past day, and it was almost too much for his mind to handle. He swallowed thickly, standing. The only real furniture in the room was the bed, but there was a hint of a nightstand and a lamp in the corner as well. This place was definitely not his first choice to stay, but he wasn't exactly loaded at the moment and without the free room offered by the hotel for the meeting there wasn't much else he could do. It was good enough for the time being, he decided as he changed. The carpet was too thick and kind of sick-looking, and he swore he saw a suspiciously blood-like stain by the bed, but it had been a place to sleep, and judging by the time on his watch he had definitely slept a while.

It was after he had gotten dressed and was ready to check out that he realized he had nothing to do. The meeting was going to continue one more day, but after the events that had transpired earlier everyone may have just decided to go home. Not caring much either way, Lovino figured he could just go back to Italy and work things out with himself before…before what? Going to find Spain? Spain was dangerous.

He'd never put those words together before. Spain being dangerous was…it was never a thought that had crossed his mind before this meeting. It wasn't something that had even been an option. And now the goddamn bastard had to go and be all fucking vigilante action hero and go missing. Lovino could feel himself getting worked up. It really wasn't possible for anyone to be more stupid and impossible than Spain, was it?

"God I hate the world," he said out loud, once again just liking being able to say stuff like that. Being completely alone was one of the few pleasures in life, and it was just one of the things he did. "The whole fucking world!" Call it a quirk.

"Whoop-dee-fuckin-do!" he heard through the wall. Oh. So maybe not so alone.

"Fuck off!" he yelled back, and it was met by laughing. He held up his middle finger.

It was decided, he was leaving now. He snatched up his suitcase, carrying it at his side as he left the room and started down the hallway to the front desk. It was just built into the hallway wall, so he didn't have to go out of his way. There was something vaguely admirable about how streamlined these little, dingy places were, as opposed to the over-complication of high-concept places. That was being too fucking philosophical about stupid motels, though, and he decided to stop thinking about it.

The man behind the counter was sitting on a stool, a newspaper propped up on his lap. He didn't look as disgusting as the rest of this place looked, though, so Lovino didn't feel too awkward talking to him.

"I'm leaving," he said simply as he reached the man. The guy looked up, eyebrows raised. Then he sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it to the side.

"Mmkay. Fifty bucks." Lovino immediately liked the man; he was blunt and simple. That was more than you could say for most people. And shit, no wonder this place was so crappy, judging by the price.

Lovino pulled out the bills, mostly in ones and fives, setting them on the counter. As the guy counted them, he started up some small talk.

"You foreign?"

"Mmhmm."

"What you doing 'round here?"

"Getting the hell out."

"If only," the guy said, tapping the bills on the counter and putting them in a locked box. "Well, good luck."

"I'm gonna fucking need it," Lovino said as he walked out the door. The guy grunted, picking up his newspaper again.

That was how Lovino liked his human contact. Quick, easy, to-the-point, no dancing around whatever you wanted to say. Not like Spain. He was way too complicated, and half the time he didn't even know what the hell he was saying. Bastard.

Lovino was now on the street, and he had no idea where to go. He had the plane tickets somewhere in his suitcase for the trip back, but they wouldn't be valid for another day. He was at a complete loss for what to do, so he decided to walk around. Maybe…maybe he'd run into someone and talk. It was completely impossible, but he was really desperate for some contact that wasn't depressing as hell. (But not really. Oh, go fuck yourself.) He wandered down the sidewalk, mostly just wanting to get out of this part of town as fast as possible.

Ah, futility. Before he'd gotten ten yards toward the safer, more commercial road up ahead, he was joined. The man had a crummy old sweatshirt and sweatpants that were way too big for him, and he was wearing a fleece hat that covered his ears. Lovino originally intended to ignore him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the man followed him down the street. He quickened his footsteps, discreetly, of course, and felt a little twinge of annoyance as the man started to walk faster as well.

Lovino didn't look over his shoulder. He really didn't fucking care what the guy who was probably going to try and mug him looked like. Unless he was going to go tell the cops or something. But this was New York, he was in a part of the city he shouldn't really be in, and he was wearing nice clothes. They were nothing like the suit of the day before, but they weren't exactly crappy.

"Hey, buddy," the guy said, kind of quietly. Lovino didn't say anything. There was a pause. "Hey!"

Lovino sighed, keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead of him. Just a little bit farther and he'd be on a street with more people, safety. There were a few upsides to crowds, like the anonymity and the fact that most of the time nobody tried to beat the shit out of you. Never mind how annoying people were, being around a lot of them who couldn't care less was better than being around one who did.

"C'mon!" the guy said, fairly loudly. Lovino swallowed, continuing ahead. He heard the footsteps behind him speed up, and he knew the guy was right behind him. Then he felt a hand grab his shoulder and jerk him back.

Lovino was turned face-to-face with the man. He blinked once before an idea came to him. It was time to initiate plan 'I'm-really-fucking-foreign-and-don't-understand-English-and-now-you-made-me-pissed-off,-asshole.'

He immediately started yelling, his voice rising as he cursed the man to hell and back in rapid Italian. His free arm started to jerk around, accenting each word. The man stepped back as Lovino got louder. "You fucking bastard! Get the hell out of my face before I fucking kick it in for you! Hell, that would be a fucking improvement on your sad, disgusting existence, you piece of shit! Go suck your own cock, God knows that's all you get!" He continued on in this manner for a bit longer before whirling around huffily and storming back up toward the road.

"Crazy fucker!" Lovino had only a second to react before his feet were kicked out from under him.

He grunted as he fell to the ground, dropping the suitcase in an attempt to catch himself. Pain shot through his hands and forearms as he landed heavily on them, and before he could gain his bearings a foot collided with his side. He rolled onto the street, coughing as the pain blossomed in his rib cage. Jesus Christ, this was a fun week.

"Pete!" he heard another voice yelling, and he looked up to see another guy running down the sidewalk. He got up shakily, his side still burning. Clutching it with a bruised hand he snatched up his suitcase and started to run away. The two guys started after him, the first one yelling.

"Come back here, you Spanish fucker!"

Lovino considered bitching them out for calling him Spanish, but his side hurt like hell and he just wanted to go and actually relax for two seconds. Or at least get away from these guys, who were clearly either drunk or poor as dirt. His goddamn suitcase was too heavy, though, and the punks caught up to him in just a few seconds.

One grabbed his shirt and yanked back, nearly choking him. The second kicked in his knee, making him fall to the ground again. Now everything hurt, but the adrenaline was really starting to do its work and Lovino hopped back up as fast as possible. He whirled around, his knuckles connecting with the shoulder of one. As he did a fist collided with the side of his face, and the pain shot through his head and down his neck.

He stumbled, his foot coming up to kick at whatever he could. Another swing came at him and he ducked, letting it fly over his head. Then he launched himself at the first man, Pete, knocking him hard onto the sidewalk. The man started yelling various profanities as Lovino slammed his elbow into the guy's stomach. In a second, though, the second guy was pulling Lovino off, throwing him down. He got back up again, trying to get the other man's feet out from under him. He nearly succeeded.

Another fist, or maybe a foot, hit his stomach and he was down for good. He clutched his torso, curling up as another foot hit his lower back. Constant kicks battered his body, anywhere they could reach, and he felt a hand come down to pull at his collar, flipping him onto his back. He was screaming something, anything, at the two guys, in Italian and English and some garbled gibberish he was barely aware of. The kicks continued, and all Lovino could register was the sharp pain filling his entire body.

Then a shoe hit into the back of his head and the world fell into darkness for a few terrifying seconds. Vaguely he heard the thuds of footsteps as they ran down the street, but it was like they were an echo and not really there at all. He stayed on the ground, concentrating on making sure he could still breathe. If there was any way to add any more insult to injury on an already shitty week, this was it.

After a few moments he sat up, wincing as he tried to take a deep breath. If he had a fucking cracked rib after this…bitches were gonna get it. His mafia days were over, and he needed to get back on that whole fighting thing. Dammit. His entire body hurt like a bitch, and he crawled across the sidewalk, surprised to find his suitcase still sitting there, unopened. So he got beaten up for no reason, huh? Well shit.

He shakily stood up, swallowing thickly. Lovino then picked up his suitcase and started back up toward the road. If he were human he'd probably need to go to the hospital, but as a country everything would probably be healed in just a few hours. It was one of the few upsides.

There was suddenly a buzzing in his suitcase. He blinked, staring at it blankly before realizing it was his phone. He retrieved it, but not before making sure he was safely on the main street. Carefully he flipped it open, gingerly putting it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Fratello!"

Oh God. "You have to come back! Rapidamente!"

Lovino leaned against a building, gasping as a dull, throbbing pain erupted on his back. "Perché?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why do I have to go back?"

"England and America declared war on Spain, and I neeeed youuu!"

Declarations of war were serious business. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"They said that shooting someone was 'immature and he needs to be taught a lesson.'" Feliciano tried mimicking England's accent as he said the last bit. Lovino swallowed.

"Stop them."

"I can't do that alone!"

"France'll be fine in a few days. They're fucking overreacting."

"Ve, I know! But they're too big and scary!"

"Jesus. Just…just wait. I'll be there."

"Are you going to cry again?"

"Fuck you," Lovino mumbled. He was done crying. He'd had enough of that, and anyway the past few days had been a fluke. He was never that emotional. It was all just fucking Spain's fault. Dammit. "Just don't screw anything up before I get there."

"Okay!"

Lovino said goodbye (and then, because it was Feliciano, a grudging "love you, too") and closed the phone. He tossed it back in the suitcase and sighed. The bruises all over his body were starting to ache, but he did his best to ignore them. Damn punk bastards would get it later.

…

"Lovino!"

As Lovino approached the hotel (the goddamn hotel), Feliciano came dashing up to him. He paused as Feliciano threw his arms around his older brother, and immediately he groaned. How did the kid manage to hit every single fucking bruise?

"Ow…yeah…hi…" Lovino pushed Feliciano away.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Feliciano didn't seem convinced. He lifted up the edge of Lovino's shirt, peeking at his stomach. This was all much to Lovino's distress, and he tried to push his brother away.

"You have bruises! Was it Spain?"

"No!" Lovino said, maybe a bit too loudly. He paused. "It was just two kids."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking sure."

"Oh. I can get you some ice!"

"What about the whole war thing?"

"Oh yeah!"

Lovino shook his head in exasperation as Feliciano grabbed his wrist and pulled Lovino into the building. Immediately he heard lots of shouting. It was all coming from the meeting room. Lovino suddenly wished he wasn't there. Back home would be the best place, instead of facing this.

As they entered, they saw England and Canada yelling at each other, as America was arguing with someone else…Portugal. Lovino looked around, sighing sharply. Now was probably about the time he should make an entrance.

"Hey!" he yelled, but nobody seemed to notice. He cleared his throat. "Everyone! Listen to me, goddammit!"

Everyone glanced over to him, surprised to see him there. Not all of the countries were there, and Lovino figured they'd decided to stay neutral on this whole thing. That was something he didn't figure he'd have the luxury of doing.

"Finally!" England threw his arms up into the air, striding over to Lovino. "You're joining us."

"Hell no."

"You, of all people, know how dangerous Spain can be! It's only a little longer before he starts the war himself!"

"He'll be fine, okay? Just don't be a fucking asshole!"

"Then you can go talk to him."

"Artie! We need to get ready!"

England held up a hand to silence America as he came bounding over.

"I can do that."

Shit. What the hell was Lovino even offering? First of all, he had no idea where Spain was. Second, Spain just shot someone and was probably going crazy. Third…well, he just got beaten up. He wasn't exactly pining for that to happen again. Either way, England continued.

"Seriously. He's a criminal now."

"Aren't we all?" Greece mused from somewhere at the table.

"I can talk to him. He'll listen to me," Lovino said, suddenly turning very serious. England raised a thick eyebrow.

"I doubt it."

"What the hell do you know?" Lovino asked, trying to sound indignant. Inside, however, he was feeling kind of sick. "I'll fucking do it."

"Dude, Spain's gonna kill you," America interjected helpfully.

"Shut up. He fucking shot France to protect me. He wouldn't touch me."

"That's some deep stuff," America said, clearly just as skeptical as England.

"If I talk to him there's no war, got it?"

"Awww…" America said quietly, looking really put out.

"We'll still be preparing," England said determinedly. "This behavior is unacceptable."

"You go do that."

"You have a week."

Lovino groaned. "Jesus, this isn't a fucking movie. Chill. Since when do you care about France so much?"

"I'm being lenient. It shouldn't take you a week to talk."

"Lenient? God, in that case, I got some late homework to turn in too. Don't give me detention." Lovino rolled his eyes.

England sighed sharply. "This isn't the time for games."

"This isn't the time to get all butthurt."

"I can't deal with you!" England whirled around, slamming his hands into the table. "A week."

"Fine. What-the-fuck-ever."

Lovino turned, leaving the meeting room. England was a dick. Feliciano followed, looking very worried. Lovino was just pissed off now. And, for some reason, it was the most normal thing that had happened in a long time. He gritted his teeth, leaving the damn hotel again. So he'd just promised to go talk to Spain and…and tell him what? Get him to come back? Make him apologize? Lovino realized with annoyance that he had no idea what he was expected to do.

"Where's Spain?" Feliciano asked.

"Hell if I know."

"How are you going to find him?"

"No clue."

"What are you going to say?"

"Dunno."

"What if—"

"Look!" Lovino cut Feliciano off. "I don't fucking know, okay?"

Feliciano stayed quiet for a moment. Then Lovino stopped, sighing.

"I can do this on my own."

"But…"

"You know you don't want to come."

"Well…"

Lovino didn't even bother to let Feliciano answer before he pulled the plane tickets out of a pocket of his suitcase and then thrust the rest into his brother's arms. "Take this and just…go do something with it."

"Where are you going?"

"Finding Spain." Lovino paused for a moment before adding: "Duh."

Feliciano watched him for a second before nodding and smiling. Then he leaned forward to kiss both of Lovino's cheeks, grinning even wider. "Buona fortuna."

There was another pause. "Grazie."

Then Lovino turned and left the plaza. For the first time in a few days he had a goal and something to do, and it felt good. He was still scowling, as usual, but inside he felt a bit more hopeful. So he had a week to find someone and then convince them not to be crazy. Easy enough, right?

It was with this far more positive outlook that Lovino decided to eat something for breakfast.

…

For some reason Lovino had found himself drawn to the restaurant where…well, you know where. It was the same one where he and Feliciano had almost eaten with the potato bastard, and he told himself that he just wanted to see what the food tasted like. As he walked in, though, he saw that it was very different inside than he'd imagined. Instead of being packed wall-to-wall, the place was almost deserted. Then again, it was an awkward time to go for a meal on a weekday.

A waitress who looked very familiar came up to him. "Hello, sir! Just one?"

Lovino nodded and was led to a table. It was just for two people, but he would be eating alone. The waitress was far too chipper, and he swore he knew her name…

"I'm Kelly! I'll be your server for today! Would you like anything to drink?" She was smiling very widely, and Lovino remembered thinking something about badass cheek muscles...

"Um…just water."

"Okay! I'll be back in just a minute!"

She was just as hyper as before. Lovino looked around, actually seeing the décor for the first time. It was kind of dull and brown, and very uninteresting. There were only a few other people inside, eating silently, though, so it was kind of peaceful.

In just a moment Kelly returned, carrying a single glass of water. Lovino realized for the first time that there was, in fact, a menu in front of him. He opened it just as she set the water on the table.

"Here you go!" Then she paused for a moment. Lovino looked up at her, eyebrows raised. Then she snapped her fingers.

"You're the guy who got dragged out yesterday!" She seemed really pleased with herself for having figured it out.

"Shit, really? I didn't notice." Lovino couldn't help it.

"Yeah!" Lovino felt the sudden urge to slam his hand into his forehead. Kelly sat down across from him, still looking excited. "What happened?"

"…are you supposed to be doing this?"

Kelly grinned. "What happened?"

Jesus. She was just like Feliciano. Lovino sighed, closing his eyes. At least he knew how to deal with her.

"Just a fight. That's it."

Kelly's smile turned kind of lewd. "A lover's quarrel?"

"Fuck off," Lovino said, as close to an answer as he decided he'd get. "Are you gonna take my order or not?"

Kelly didn't move. "It's okay, you know." She seemed far too excited. "That's so cute!"

"Look, if I'm in the market for a fag hag I'll call you, but now I'm really fucking hungry."

"Did you make up?"

"No," Lovino said simply. Then, for his own satisfaction, he added, "Unless shooting someone counts as making up."

Kelly's eyebrows shot up. "Are you in the mafia?"

God, she was a ditz. "Yeah. Totally."

Kelly suddenly rolled her eyes, and the grin was dropped. "Look, no matter how much I act like one, I'm not an idiot."

Lovino blinked. "Right."

"So, what's up with Spain?"

Lovino froze. Wait...wait...what? He didn't say anything for a long time.

"How do…" he trailed off, not even sure how to phrase the question without sounding stupid.

"I heard he shot Francis, but why would he do that?"

Lovino still couldn't speak, as Kelly started going on and on about how Spain could do such a thing, and then how happy she was that she'd actually managed to talk to actual nations and eventually she stopped making any sense at all. Lovino swallowed.

"How do you know about…the whole…country...thing…?"

"Oh my God!" she suddenly yelled. "I'm being so rude!"

And suddenly she had an English accent.

Lovino was now so far beyond confused he had swung all the way back around into understanding. So obviously Kelly was a nation, or someone who knew about them and had connections…or something.

"I was just so excited to actually meet some of you!" she exclaimed, grinning. It was very apparent that she was from somewhere in the UK now, and it made no sense.

"Who the hell are you?"

She grinned and puffed up, as though she'd practiced this before. Then, with what others would have considered an award-winning smile, she spoke.

"I am…" she paused for effect, "…the Kingdom of Lovely!" she said happily, flashing thumbs up. Lovino blinked. "Isn't it cool? Now, I think we have to go find Spain, right?"

Lovino wasn't sure he'd ever been more confused in his life.

...

I...I just couldn't resist XD

The Kingdom of Lovely is an internet-based micronation created by a guy named Danny Wallace, a British author (he's the one who wrote the whole Yes Man book that the movie was based off of). It had a lot of citizens and stuff, and I personally love the idea and think that making an internet nation would be cool. I also think that they need Hetalia characters XD Actually, I just kind of wanted to make Kelly a semi-country, because I like her, and it was the first thing that came to mind. You can look it up.

Please review, favorite, alert...anything. I BEG OF YOU. (and I have cookies.)