(A/N) Heh, heh, heh; yeah, sorry for being late with this, but here is Chapter 10. This was actually supposed to be published in December, however, due to the fact that coming up with ideas for this story has been difficult lately, and stuff happening in my real life, it was delayed... 'til now. I know it's late, but Happy New Year! Anyway, as you can see, this chapter is shorter, due to writer's block, and I also believe that its quality isn't the best either, but I didn't know how to improve it. Hopefully, the next chapter will be better, as I do have a scene for that chapter written... it may be from the very old version, but still.

Yeah, I'll shut up now...

No flames please, if you hate it, keep it to yourself. However, if you think it could be better, recommend improvements, as well as what was good, and what was bad.

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Hetalia, or its characters; it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

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Chapter 10: When Things Go Awry

"Wait! Hold fire!" Thurston ordered, his face reddening in frustration.

"What's up, Thursty? Lost your nerve?" America jeered, a slight smirk on his face as he got into a fighting stance; this was his time to do something that was true heroism. He just hoped that Italy had manged to gain some distance; the Italian was quick on his feet, so there was a high chance that he was far away from the commotion anyway.

The Finnish man didn't look amused, both by the new nickname that the American had given him, and the fact that the auburn haired male had managed to escape.

"Oh no, Mr. Jones, I haven't lost my nerve," Thurston growled, clenching his fists tightly. "You've just infuriated me to no end."

"Why? Because, I came here to save my friend? That's so - "

"All you had to do was hand Mr. Vargas to us, and then surrender yourself, but I guess you just wanted to make this difficult." He combed his hand through his hair, with a sigh. "Well, unfortunately for you, we are now going to have to do this the hard way."

"And that is?"

"I'm going to get into trouble for this, but I'm sure Master will understand," Thurston whispered to himself, before looking at the American with an almost psychotic smirk. "Let's paint the walls red, using your blood as the paint, shall we?"

"What?! That's messed up!" America took a step back, keeping his stance, though he couldn't hide the fear on his pale face.

"Leave us, soldiers! Go after Mr. Vargas, two of you stay; if he's anything like Allen, he'd be tough to take down."

"Yes, sir!"

The American felt like he was frozen in place, as soldiers ran past him. Is that really what a hero would do in this situation?

'No!'

He sharply turned to follow the soldiers; he couldn't let them hurt Italy, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. However, he felt a yank on his sleeve, as he fell to the ground. Thurston loomed over him, his smirk widening, as he pointed his gun at the blonde.

"I didn't think taking you down would be this simple, how disappointing."

'I'll show you disappointing...'

Without thinking, America rolled out of the way, then proceeded to punch the gun out of the man's hand, before kicking him in the gut. The Finnish man fell to his knees, as the blonde male turned to the two stunned soldiers, who just had their guns pointed at him. Taking out the knife Luciano had given him, he turned it so the blade was facing him, and the blunt end was facing the soldiers, and after inhaling deeply, he ran at the soldiers, who then promptly started firing their guns. Ignoring a sharp pain he suddenly felt in his arm, he stabbed one of the soldiers in the head, knocking him out, then punched the other one in the head.

Panting heavily, he looked at his arm, which had blood running down it; the same went for his shoulder.

'Shit!'

He knelt down, as he looked at his wounds in horror. What was he going to do? He can't do anything like this. Bandages. He needed bandages, then he was good... hopefully. Before he could stand, something hit him on the back of the head; which caused him to see nothing but darkness.

'D-Damn...it...'

'Not like this...'

'Italy...'

'...Please...be okay...'

(...)

Running. Running was all he could do; he couldn't think of anything else. America had told him to run, and meet someone outside, so that was what he was going to do. But, what if this person was deceitful? He didn't know how long, or even how, America met this person, so there was a lot of room for a possible betrayal. However, he thought it would be better for him to keep an open mind, considering the situation he was in; he should be cautious, and open to anyone wanting to help, if that was possible.

Due to the rapid pace he was moving in, it didn't take Italy long to reach the exit and step outside in the thunder and rain. Shivering slightly from the cold, he looked ahead to see a blurry silhouette similar to his own, complete with a hat, and even a curl. Wiping away tears that he didn't even know were coming from his eyes, he still couldn't make out who the silhouette belonged to. He was thinking that it could be Romano, but it couldn't be; Romano's curl was on the right side of his head, and in addition to that his curl was almost at the top of his head; the silhouette's curl was identical to Italy's own, which gave the nation goosebumps.

'America has a lookalike, and that lookalike said that there were more of them,' the Italian recapped in his head. 'So, could this one be mine?'

He was surprised by how calm his thought process was, however, that was until the silhouette turned around and their eyes met. Magenta, the person's eyes were magenta; further crushing the hope that it could have been Romano, although it was obvious to him anyway. He wanted to run back inside when the person started to approach him cautiously; the further he got, the more clearer the unknown man's facial features could be seen, and what his face looked like, gave the Italian a heart attack.

The person was him. This person was Italy; just a slightly more tanned version. His 2P?

"Oh, so it is you," the man sighed, as he placed a hand on his hip. "And you appear to be in one piece, so that is a relief, but where is the self-proclaimed hero? He was supposed to come out with you."

"He's...inside," Italy replied, his voice shaking. He was also confused; America met this guy?

"Shit," the man growled, looking down at the ground in frustration. "So much for this being simple."

"...Who are you?"

"Luciano Vargas, leader of the Axis Powers, and your 2P, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Luciano said passively, releasing his knife from its holster. "I was able to aquire a helicopter to aid with our escape, unfortunately, we now have to rescue the American Idiot, so that has to be delayed."

"Are you going to save him?"

"Of course I am, I - "

'So, I was wondering if you could help me find him? 'Cos ya know, a hero can't rescue the damsel in distress without a sidekick; and you've heard the saying, 'the more, the merrier,' right? Well, back to the last statement, I wouldn't call him a damsel, as he ain't female, but -'

'Alright! Quit with your rambling, you are getting on my last nerve!'

'You mean -'

'Yes, I will give you a hand, but only to save my idiot of a 1P. Then, you are on your own.'

'Thanks, dude. I'm so grateful for -'

"Luciano...? Is that your name?"

That question shook the 2P out of his thoughts. He just remembered; he only agreed to rescue Feliciano, not to help Alfred himself. So he could just take his 1P and leave, if he wanted, and leave the blonde to die in the dust; but for some reason, that thought was painful. How? He hadn't known him for very long... why did he want to help him? He didn't have time to ponder about this.

"Yeah, that is my name," he sighed. "You are surprisingly calm for someone who is seeing their 2P for the first time."

"Well, I've seen America's," Italy looked down at the ground. "So I knew I'd see mine, you, eventually."

"Hmm, that makes sense. Let's rescue the idiot."

"Si," Italy nodded, a small, determined smile on his face. "I'll try to be useful, and - "

Before he had even finished his sentence, Luciano was already making his way to the building.

"Hey! Wait for me!"

(...)

"So, you didn't get the key?" Allen asked, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "What a pain in the ass."

"Allen!"

"Sorry, Ollie," he responded with a chuckle.

"What are we going to do now?" François asked, sounding a little bored. "No key, means no entry."

"Yeah, you're right there," Allen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can't we use your magic, Ollie?"

"We can," Oliver replied, looking down at his hands. "Unfortunately, we may draw too much attention to ourselves if we were to do that."

"It's worth a shot, right, Ollie?"

"Well -"

"May I have your attention 2Ps," a soft, female voice interrupted over the speaker. "Master would like to see Mr. Allen Jones, the 2P of America. Allen, please make your way to the top floor. Failure to do so, will result in severe consequences."

After the speaker cut off, Oliver and François looked panicked at the American, who also showed equal concern for his own well-being. With a sigh, he turned to the two with a slight grin.

"Wish me luck, guys," he said, before walking away.

'If I don't come back, you'll know where to find me.'

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Well, this chapter was something! It was supposed to be much longer, but I thought it'd be better to just cut it, since it would make more sense. I sincerely hope that you got some enjoyment out of this, and I hope that the story is getting better, not worse. Also, sorry for the many font changes in this chapter. Improvements are appreciated, please tell me what I did right, wrong and how I can improve. If you would like, you could also favourite and follow this fic, as well as suggest ideas for future chapters. R&R and thanks for reading!