Apologies if some words are not bolded/italicized/underlined like they're supposed to. I've updated this chapter 3 times trying to fix things, but FFN keeps on undoing the formatting.

~(Words)~ Canada/Matthew speaking

~(Words)~ America/Alfred speaking

~(Words)~ Finland/Tino speaking

~(Words)~ Belgium/Laura speaking

~(*Words or Action*)~ Sounds or Multiple People Speaking

America:

Pain.

Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain.

Oh, did I mention I was in pain?

Okay. Mattie says I need to actually tell you what happened.

So… yeah. We were falling to our very eminent almost-deaths (nations, remember?), which was, of course, completely and utterly terrifying. How was I supposed to know Mattie had a black hole in his refrigerator—Ow!

~(Very funny, Alfred. Now tell the actual story.)~

~(*Raspberry noises.*)~

So, I was panicking as we fell through the canopy. One branch cut my cheek, which stung painfully. As we fell, a flash of silver suddenly caught in the corner of my eye. It was some kind of cord, glinting the mid-afternoon light.

Wait, I remember thinking. Isn't it noon?

Yes, Matthew, I have a weird set of priorities. Now shut up.

Anyways, my survival instinct took over and I grabbed at the cord. At the rate we were following, however, we continue to drop, the metal burning and peeling off the upper layers of my hand and part of my arm. I bit back a cry of pain as we finally began to slow.

However, fate wasn't done with us yet, and we arced to the right, rushing towards a tree. I barely had time to brace myself for the impact, much less warn Mattie in time. Barely being able to turn my back to the impact, Mattie was knocked right out, and the breath smashed right out of my lungs. My brother's body slackened in my arms, abruptly even more dead weight than before.

I groaned, now hanging motionlessly above the ground. I was pretty sure I had skinned the palm of my hand alive. Blood began to trickle down my arm, sticky and hot.

Deciding to ignore that particular problem for the moment, I grunted, swinging my legs as I tried to get some traction so I could move. I dug my legs into the side of the tree trunk, noticing a thick branch sprouting out about a foot to my right and three feet or so below me.

Grunting, I walked sideways on the tree to the branch, arms aching from holding Mattie and the cords at the same time. Silently, I thanked the last decade for inspiring me to start going to the gym again. As I neared the branch, I glanced around us.

My eyes widened. We were in the middle of a forest of massive trees, each rising about 160 or 200 feet in the air. Their branches were also huge—the one I was aiming for was about six feet thick.

Shaking my head—I could think about all of this crap later—I found myself now over the branch. Silently thanking my years of military training once again, I lowered myself onto it, collapsing onto the wood with a large release of breath.

Wincing, I held my bleeding hand to my face for inspection. It was mangled pretty bad. There was blood everywhere, and it burned like I just stuck my hand and melting iron again.

Long story.

I glanced over at Matthew, using my uninjured hand to situate him next to me, leaning on the tree trunk. Assessing my brother, I found that he looked just fine, not counting the trickle blood oozing from his head. I hoped he didn't have a concussion from hitting that tree so hard. That would be a problem.

With his health out of the way, I quickly tore off part of my pant leg and used the cloth to bandage the palm of my injured hand crudely. It's stung like the dickens, but I managed to knot it with the help of my teeth.

With that part over with, I took a long look at our surroundings.

Just where in the world were we?

Well, we certainly weren't in Vancouver anymore. The trees were way too tall to be normal; only my redwoods in California could match their height and width, and they certainly weren't that kind of tree. Not to mention that it was afternoon, though it wasn't even midday back at the World Meeting.

"Hello?" I called, glad to go around to try and find any traces of human life. Predictably, no one answered.

Giving up on that endeavor, my eyes landed on a second cord, identical to the one I had grabbed, and looked up to its source, confused as to why it was out here in the middle of nowhere. Not that I was complaining, but I was curious. The top of the cord ended in some kind of grapple, so I didn't recognize its design. Raising my eyebrows in a self asked question, I looked down.

And promptly emptied the contents of my lunch onto the ground below.

You see, I have a pretty iron stomach, being through so many wars. I've seen people blown to bits by a cannon. I've seen plenty of men shot in the head and gutted by guns, and more than my fair share of suicides.

But nothing could prepare me for what I saw at the end of that cord.

It was a woman—or at least, what was left of her. The entire left side of her head, neck, and chest was just… gone. I won't get into too many details, since I don't want you to throw up like I did, but let's just say that's the gore was enough to make 300 year old men like me want to cry for their mommies.

Don't you dare laugh, Mattie.

She was suspended about 10 meters in the air by the cord, which entered a holster on her hip. There were two metal boxes, about two feet or so long, right below the holster. Attached to the boxes by a cord were two not-really-but-kind-of swords. The boxes, I noted, held blades similar to the one on the sword. She wore an unfamiliar military uniform, and leather straps alternated across what remained of her body.

It was no question that this woman had died fighting.

But for who and what?

Discarding the questions, I quickly looked away from the corpse, breathing heavily as I wiped the last bits of my mess off of my mouth.

Note to self, I thought. No more looking down.

Then Mattie, from his spot next to me, groaned, turning his head to face away from me, and moved no more. I looked at him anxiously, but he didn't stir any further, escalating my worries for how badly he'd been hurt. Shouldn't he have woken up by now?

However, I had no more time to think about my brother's health.

Abruptly, a large "crash!" echoed through the forest, and I scrambled my knees, hand on Mattie to keep him from falling.

A whooshing sound came not long after, followed by loud thumps and screams, and the hooves of racing horses came next.

And after them, the flying men.

When I was little, I had always wanted to fly. As a colony, I had asked England if I could do so. Only if you go wings, he had replied.

So I did.

Planes for always my escape from reality. During World War II, I was in the Air Force instead of the traditional place of a nation, in the Army. If I may say so myself, I'm a crack pilot.

So forgive me if I was mesmerised by the soldiers. They wore the same uniform the corpse below me had on: two emblazoned swings, one white, one navy blue, were on their jackets. They flew gracefully, gas propelling them through the air, moving too fast to make out any details.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers screamed, and I jumped, regaining my senses and pressing Mattie's limp body into the tree, trying to camouflage myself into the tree trunk as much as was humanly possible, though my bomber jacket and Mattie snow fitting outfit didn't exactly help our cause.

Still, though, I couldn't help but peek around the trunk to see what had made the soldier cry out.

And almost lost my lunch again.

A giant, just shy of 50 feet tall, was taking a large bite out of the unfortunate soldier who must have screamed, blood running down its chin. It was all disproportional, with an enlarged gut and thin, wispy legs, and wore no clothes, but had no genitals to cover. That, at least, was a relief.

But there was no question who had killed the woman below me now.

However, the soldiers didn't seem to be half as shocked as I expected them to be. In an instant, they were all on the beast, swords glinting in the afternoon light. Several people flew in front of the giant, and a couple swung towards its back. I watched in a mixture of awe and fear as the giant tumbled towards the men in front, hands outstretched like a child reaching for a toy.

I then concluded that the giant was an idiot. That was a bit of a relief.

A flash of wiring caught my eye, and I noticed a soldier rushing towards the back of the Giants neck. Though I was too far away to make out the details, I noted that he had a small, lean frame with reddish-brown hair.

Kind of reminded me of Romano, in fact.

Anyways, the soldier, in a flurry of steel swords, ripped out the nape of the giant's neck, it's blood splattering onto his clothes and into the air. The giant collapsed, dead, on to the dirt floor, and the squad was off again, out of sight within mere moments.

I blinked. Everything had just become so freaking weird! The giant's corpse, lying on the ground, was steaming heavily, having already begun to decompose into dust, vaporizing into the air.

Deciding to ignore that merry little fact, I sighed, turning around and closing my eyes, and leaning back against the tree. Oh, man. Iggy wouldn't be happy about this fiasco. At least he couldn't blame me this time, though! I wondered what he was thinking right now. Was he worried that I never came back with Mattie from lunch? Would he be searching for me once he noticed that I was missing?

Would he even care?

I laughed quietly. Well, Russia wouldn't miss me, that was for sure. Dirty communist. And China would probably go through my wallet, since I owe him so much money. Japan would most likely be his usual stoic self. Lithuania would be freaking out when I didn't return, though. That made me feel a bit better.

If worse came to worst, I reasoned with myself, then Rhode Island and Ontario could take over our positions as Nations until we made it back.

I refused to think of the real worst scenario:

What if we never got back?

The quiet shing of a blade quickly snapped me out of my thoughts, however.

My eyes snapped open and I jumped. Looking down, I saw a sword dangerously close to my neck. Mentally, I groaned at my idiocy. How had I missed this?!

I forced down my frustration, though, and took a deep breath, looking over to Matthew. However, he wasn't there. I immediately started to panic, despite my earlier efforts to say calm. And his place was the soldier who had killed the giant. Looking closer, I noted that he had auburn eyes, cold as ice. His reddish-brown hair fell in bangs on either side of his face. A lone curl stuck out of the side of his head. In fact, he was a spitting image of...

"Italy?!" I exclaimed. The soldier's eyes widened ever so slightly, and he took the sword away from my neck.

"Sir?" A female voice called out, and I started. Looking about, I noticed the whole squad from before was here. The one who had spoken was a ginger-blond haired woman, accompanied by a large man with black hair slicked back to a point, and a woman with red hair pulled into pigtails and green eyes. In the man's arms was Canada. "Who is this man? Is he friend or foe?

'Italy' gave me a long, hard look, and I shivered. This definitely wasn't Feliciano. Italy was happy, cowardly, and he loved pasta, but most of all, he was way too trusting of others. This man, however, was none of these things.

Well I couldn't be sure on the pasta part, but really, did he look like the type to be—ow! Matthew!

~(Story, Alfred.)~

"What's your favorite food?" Italy asked. I blinked.

"What?" I replied, now completely confused.

"Favorite. Food." He had a distinct Italian accent, I noted.

"Homemade barbecue."

"Family?"

"Uh, Matthew over there is my younger brother. I have two adopted older brothers, Francis and Arthur." I felt it was best to tell the truth to the guy who looked as if he wanted to slit my throat and be over with it.

"1939 to 1945. What happened?"

"World War II."

"What change to the Solar System came in 2006?"

"Pluto became a dwarf planet."

"2004 Olympics?"

"They were in Athens, Greece."

"September 11th, 2001?"

I winced slightly. "9/11."

"How did you defeat radical Islam?"

"Excuse me?" That war was still going on, thank you very much.

"2020?"

"What? It's 2007!"

Italy sighed and sheathed his blades, sliding them into the odd boxes on his hips.

"Friend," he announced the other three, of which all except the redhead looked completely lost, even more than I was. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not.

"You three go on ahead," the Italy look alike commanded. "Take Matthew to the carts. Let no one except the commander know that he's here. Got it?"

"But sir—" The auburn-haired woman started.

"That's an order, Petra," Italy interrupted. "Isabel, lead the way. We'll catch up later."

"Yes, sir!" The redhead did an odd kind of salute, fist bumping over her heart, before she was swinging off, the unnamed man following and Petra leaving last, sending me a suspicious look.

The atmosphere the three left us in was tense. I looked at the Italy lookalike, who regarded me tonelessly. Finally, I broke the standoff by standing up on the tree branch and asking

"Three main questions. Who are you? Where are we? And how in the world did I get here?"

Italy smiled at me, his teeth cold and unforgiving.

"Well, I believe question one is obvious," he began, raising one finger. "You know quite well who I am. Unless you really are that hamburger-loving idiot you made everyone else think you were."

"You're lying." No way. This man was not Italy. Nuh-uh. No way.

And no, I was not in denial, Matthew!

"Mm. Believe what you wish, but I am Feliciano Vargas."

"But—"

"Two," Italy interrupted, holding up another finger. "You are in the Oil Forests, just southeast of Trost District, Wall Rose, in Titan territory."

"What?"

Italy blinked, then sighed. "Of course you don't know where that is," he muttered, and before I could reply, continued. "You are just northwest of Oxford, England. And—" he pressed on, ignoring my spluttered surprise. "Don't go looking for Oxford. It doesn't exist anymore. Oh, and don't mention the names and places of people from your time, unless you want to experience a very long and painful death."

I just stared at Italy. What? We were in England?! That was halfway across the world from Vancouver! And Oxford didn't exist? The hell?! Don't mention places or names from my time? Death?

Wait.

I viciously backtracked through my thoughts.

"My time?"

Italy's smile turned into a smirk. "About time you figured that out," he replied. I suddenly felt very small. A part of me was viciously denying the fact, but I had a gut feeling that Italy wasn't exactly lying.

"Feliciano." My mouth was dry.

"Yes?"

"What day is it?"

"March 23rd, Year 847. Or in your timeline, sometime in the mid 2100s. I've lost count at this point."

I stared at him, mouth a gate. The 2100s. That was, like, 150 years in the future!

Kind of reminded me of all those time travel movies that I made all the time.

That thought helped me calm down a bit. After all, the hero always made his way home in the movies. On the other hand, Italy wasn't lying, that was for sure. Thanks to the NSA and CIA, I was practically a human (well, nation) lie-detector when it came to people that I knew. And I knew this man. Imposter or not, this man wore Italy's body. Maybe some alien had taken him over?

But, for my peace of mind, I settled with the idea that this really was Feliciano, at least for now.

"So…" I finally spoke up again. "You seem really calm about this. The people from a century in the past usually interrupt your military operations?"

"Do you usually travel 100 years forward in time?" Italy countered, not missing a beat. "And as for your question, yes, we expected you. Eventually. But here? No. Now, of all times? Well, we should have considered it, considering when exactly your friend arrived here."

"Friend...?" I trailed off, before facepalming so hard I left a mark on my face (I know, Italy told me later). "I am such an idiot! Tino! Oh, god, have you seen him? He was with us at first, and then we got separated! Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Italy replied. "Trust me, I would know if it were otherwise."

"Where is Finland?" I asked. "Oh, man, I hope he's not hurt. Sweden would kill me if he got injured!"

Something flickered in Italy's eyes, an emotion that I couldn't identify, it before was snapped under the mask once again.

"Come." he waved a hand, gesturing for me to come. "We need to get back to camp before the Titans are attracted to our scent."

"Okay~," I trailed off, just absorbing the weirdness of it all. "How are we going to get there? The ground isn't exactly safe at the moment."

Feliciano's face contorted into one of sight amusement.

"Isn't it obvious?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I carry you."

I have to admit, experiencing 3D maneuvering gear for the first time was completely exhilarating. We soared dozens of feet above the ground, swinging in between the trees with a practiced ease that could've only come from years of experience. Wind whistled past my ears and burnt my eyes, making me blink away reflexive tears.

I probably could have appreciated the experience more if I wasn't so distracted by the fact that Italy, the weak, cowardly, pasta-loving nation, was carrying me. Without effort! It put me off, not even counting how he had been acting since I had ended up in the... future... Well, my brain was still in partial denial about that part.

At one point, another Titan, as Feliciano had called them, emerge from the trees. It was much smaller than the one I had watched Italy and his teammates kill earlier, probably about 15 or 16 feet tall. Italy regarded it calmly before simply turning around and looping about a bit before we left it in the dust.

"You seem to have experience," I remarked after that little episode, tightening my grip as Feliciano made a particularly sharp turn.

"I would hope so," Italy replied curtly. "One has to be good to survive as long as I have."

"How long have you been surviving, exactly?" I questioned, the idea popping into my head, now seeming quite obvious. "And where is all the technology? Shouldn't we have, like, hoverboards and floating cities by now?"

"It's kind of a long story that I don't feel like explaining right now," Italy replied curtly, slightly out of breath now. "Why are you so heavy?"

I silently took back my earlier thought of Feliciano being superhumanly strong as the Italian continued.

"To be… brief," he huffed, landing on a branch and turning to the left, before taking off again. "The Titans appeared around the years of 2009 or 2010, killed everyone, and trapped us in here. We lost all of our technology, were thrown back into the 19th century, and have been fighting the Titans ever since."

Frankly, that left more questions than I had started out with, but I shut my mouth. Better to let Italy focus on getting us back to his camp.

~(Wow, Alfred shut up? It's a miracle!)~

~(Laura? When did you get here?!)~

~(A little while ago. You are a very interesting story teller, Alfred.)~

~(Back to the story, you two.)~

~(Sorry, Tino.)~

The last couple minutes passed in relative silence as I tried to process the information. Italy swung through the trees, and I spent the time just trying to figure this all out, especially the last 15 minutes (definitely the oddest in my life. And that's saying something). I hoped that Mattie was okay. Hopefully, he hadn't woken up while being carried this high up in the air. And I really hoped that Finland wasn't hurt. Injured!Tino=Angry!Berwald, and Angry!Berwald=Dead!Me. No joke. There's a reason they're close.

~(Shut up!)~

~(Haha!)~

Suddenly, the tree line ended, and Italy paused, stopping at the last tree and landing on one of its branches, letting me off to see the world outside of the giant forest.

The sight of the world outside the forest—a post-apocalyptic England, I realized, even if the trees were a bit bit—was both terrifying and beautiful. The plains outside were a vibrant green, the sky the purest blue I had ever seen since before my industrial days. The setting would have been breathtaking if the deserted town to our left didn't ruin the image. It was completely abandoned, buildings having been torn down and overgrown with ivy and weeds. To Feliciano's previous claim, they seemed to have come straight out of the 19th century; no technology in sight.

I tore my eyes away from the deserted village and looked left and right. As expected, there was no one in sight. I noticed several titans off in the distance, but nothing else moved. Truly, this was a ghostly land.

"Why did we stop?" I asked, confused, as Italy walked past me and checked the position of the Titans.

"Think about it," Italy replied. "Honestly, can't you infer anything?" He ignored my huff of offence and continued. "19th century technology equals 19th century clothing. You'll stand out like a sore thumb if we just walked into camp now. My squadmates can keep Matthew away from prying eyes, but we don't have the advantage of numbers with you."

"So…?" I began the question, but then quickly backtracked, wanting to answer that myself. "Wait. So... You're going to get me new clothes."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Italy's face.

"At last, we're getting somewhere," he answered. "Yes. Your outfit has to go. A good third of our rookies dies on their first mission. One of their spare uniforms is bound to be in your size."

"A-a whole third?!" I exclaimed, too caught up on that little fact to pay much attention to the last statement. "On every mission?!"

"There is a reason we can't drive out the Titans," Italy responded, still unnervingly calm. "Or why the UN—we, I suppose, it's odd referring to myself as a country after so long—lost the Third World War in the first place. They're just plain hard to kill. Heads blown off their bodies will regenerate within minutes. I assume you saw me slay that Titan when you first arrived?"

I nodded numbly, still trying to process all of the new information.

"That's the only spot where the titans are really vulnerable," Italy traced the nape of his own neck with his fingers, marking the spot. "1 meter wide, 10 centimeters thick. And we didn't even figure that out until we were long inside the walls. That was around 70 years ago, and the information didn't even become public knowledge until around 15 years after that."

I stared at the ground, a good 60 feet below me, in shock.

"We didn't even know…" I mumbled, trailing off at the end of my sentence. "It must have been a massacre."

A look of extreme pain crossed Italy's face, the first major emotion I'd seen from him in the last half an hour. It was so odd, seeing him like that. Sure, the Italy from my time did get sad, but it was more of a pitiful distress than anything. This expression of his was so unnatural on him, it took me a couple seconds to process it. By then, though, it was long gone.

"It was," Italy whispered, staring blankly out into the countryside.

The atmosphere was both tense and awkward at the same time. We just stood there, silent, until Italy shook himself out of the stupor.

"I'll be right back," he announced stiffly, almost embarrassed, and jumped off the branch, using his 3DM gear to swing as a blur on the edge of the forest, then into town, where he promptly disappeared.

I stared after Italy.

"What happened to you?" I found myself asking quietly under my breath, as if Feliciano was still standing next to me.

What had happened, indeed.

Italy, though being over 2,000 years old, was one of the cutest men you could ever see or meet.

~(That sounded weird.)~

~(Shut up, Laura! You know what I mean!)~

~(Our listeners might not.)~

~(Matthew! Not you, too!)~

I didn't mean that in a weird way. The others forced me to say that. And now the mood is ruined.

Great.

Anyways. Italy was always optimistic and silly, couldn't since the atmosphere to save his life—

~(Sounds like someone I know.)~

Ahem, and was a coward every sense of the word. An irresistible flirt and inescapably friendly, he was the soul unhated nation—Canada, you don't count, you're never even noticed!—when the World Meetings came along.

But this Italy was his present counterpart's opposite. Serious and intimidating, he showed no emotion—at least, he tried to—and was more sociopathic than Soldier-General-whatever-position-he-was-in.

Something had happened. Something, or some sequence of events, had been so traumatic that Italy, of all people, closed himself off to the world.

Sighing, I shook the depressing thoughts out of my head and checked my hand. It had already bled through my rough bandage, but was steadily healing, and at the steady rate of a usual nation's at that. I let out a silent breath of relief. Nation healing powers—check. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, expanding my mind. Sure enough, over 300 million Americans responded, flickering like lights right outside my mindscape.

The almost nauseating sense of relief that swept through me almost made me fall off the branch. Apparently traveling through time hadn't severed my connection with my people and land.

Still immortal! America: 1, Universe: 0!

Now all I had to do was contact Delaware and get him to ask England to find a way to magic me back, and—

Nope. When I tried to open the link that mentally connected me to my eldest son, state, whatever, it felt like I was being blocked. My thought was sent out, but it simply slowed until it stopped completely. I swore under my breath.

America: 1, Universe: 1.

I waited on the branch for about ten more minutes, trying and failing to contact Delaware and my other states, before Italy came back, this time holding a bundle in his arms. I looked over to him as he landed.

"You seem to be deep in thought," he remarked, raising an eyebrow in a silently asked question.

"I can't contact Delaware," I replied. At Italy's confused expression, I elaborated. "My states are personified, remember? I'm usually able to contact Delaware telepathically, but I can't right now."

"That's no surprise," Feliciano responded.

"But I can sense my people. They're more static than anything, but I can still feel them."

A flicker of shock passed through Italy's eyes.

"You can?" He asked in disbelief, then pinched his nose and laughed to himself. "I shouldn't be surprised. I guess I just forget that Tino's a nation too, sometimes."

"Yeah…" I trailed off. "When can I see Mattie and Finland, anyways? Where is Tino?"

"He is here," the Mediterranean nation responded. "And once you put on this uniform, we can get going and stop wasting time here—" He thrust some folded up clothes at me. "We can get going."

I took the outfit, but fingered my jacket, reluctant to part with it. It was my lucky charm. I'd had it since World War II, and it had seen me through thick and thin.

"Do I have to get rid of my jacket?" I asked. " 'Cause I am not leaving this."

Italy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Knowing you, I won't be able to convince you to give it up, however easier that would make things. Fine, keep it, but it's your problem."

I cheered quietly to myself and set to work, Italy turning away as I changed. The clothes took me a little while to figure out, since I hadn't worn clothing like that for well over a century, really took me back, but I was done in a couple minutes, the clothes that I had previously been wearing— except my jacket, which was bundled up in my hands—in a pile on the bark. Italy nodded at me in approval.

"You look exactly like a soldier," he remarked. "Good. Let's get going."

"Yeah," I agreed. Italy kicked the remains of my 21st century clothes onto the ground below and motioned for me to climb onto his back again.

As I did so, yet another question popped into my mind.

"Who survived?" I asked. "Ethnicity wise, I mean."

"A lot from the UK, obviously," was the reply as Italy jumped off the branch and into the air. "Around half or so are native here. A surprising amount are German. And another good portion are Polish, Dutch, Swiss, and Danish. Around 1/8 are Italian, Balkan, American, Canadian, and French. Some minorities are Russian and Spanish. Japan has only two citizens, last I checked. Most people here are mixed from interbreeding, though."

My eyes widened in shock, and I almost lost my grip on Feliciano, though looking back, I should have expected it.

"Human population?" My voice was the whisper.

"Not sure. I mean, there could be other survivors outside the walls, but we have no means to contact them. People here in the Walls, though—get used to the term, by the way, there are no countries anymore—is about 1 million."

The rest of the trip was silent.

"Here we are." Italy spoke the first words in since our conversion at the edge of the forest as he landed me behind the building. Having maneuvered into the deserted village I had seen him enter earlier, we were now right outside of what I realized to be the Military's (for what else would Italy be allied to?) camp. Already, I could hear men shouting and the neighing of horses.

" Remember, Alfred," Italy instructed as I hopped off of his back, looking at me sternly. "You know nothing of this world. You will have time to adjust once we get inside the walls—"

I really should ask him what that is, I thought.

"But for now, speak only when spoken to. I will answer most of the questions. Say nothing. Don't goggle. You created Hollywood, right? Act like it. You are a soldier who lost his gear while fighting the Titans. I had to come back to get you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" I replied, saluting. Best to get into the act right away.

"Oh, that reminds me." Italy took my right hand and removed it from my forehead. Ignoring my look of confusion, he curled it into a fist and placed it over my heart.

"New salute," he explained, performing it himself flawlessly. "It means that you are willing to dedicate your heart and life for humanity's sake and survival."

"Oh," was my reaction.

Italy rolled his eyes and turned around, beckoning me to follow.

"Come on, burger boy," he instructed, ignoring/not seeing my eye twitch in annoyance. "We have to get to the carts. That's where all the supplies are, and where we'll hide you."

He walked out of the alley we had landed in and into Main Street, if the old street signs were anything to go by. The buildings themselves were in a horrible state of disrepair, covered in moss and plants with a good portion in the process of crumbling to the ground. Set up in what probably had used to have been the Market Square was a company of about seven or so wagons and about five times as many horses.

As we entered the perimeter, a soldier jogged up to us. She had short brown hair and looked to be Canadian.

"There you are, Feliciano!" She exclaimed, stopping her run to walk alongside us. "The Coporal was about to send out a squad to go search for you!"

"I'm fine," the Italian ex-nation responded easily, waving a hand, though he stiffened almost imperceptibly at the word 'Corporal.' "Alfred here lost his gear while fighting a 15-meter class. I had to help him get back."

The Canadian's expression turned sympathetic as she turned to me, the three of us stopping our walk for a moment.

"Wow," she remarked. "I understand how you feel. That must have been terrifying. Anyways, I'm Nifa. I don't think we've met before. It's nice to meet you."

I took her hand and shook it firmly.

"Alfred," I responded.

"Nice to meet you, Alfred," she smiled, before turning around. "Anyways, I better get back to the Corporal and let him know you're here!" With that, she ran off, disappearing around a cart.

"Corporal?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Long story," Italy answered shortly, continuing on.

"What was the purpose of this Mission?" I asked after a minute. Italy shot me a glare.

"Quiet!" He hissed, and I felt my teeth 'clack' together at the sound of his voice. Scary. Not a word I ever thought would describe Italy.

The rest of our walk was spent in silence, me trying not to be too discreet in my analysis of the camp.

It was impressive, to say the least. Honestly, when I had heard that we were back in the 19th century, I was thinking of the unhygienic kind of disorganized camps that were common back then. However, it seemed that the people hadn't lost their sense with their technology. Soldiers rushed to and fro with purpose, knowing exactly where they were going and what they were doing. Men patrolled the rooftops, likely on the lookout for those Titan things. Distantly, I heard the shouts of a squad fighting the beasts.

Walking briskly, Italy led me past most of the carts. They reminded me of the covered wagons my people used to take while moving West, except instead of a family's belongings, they held gas, food, and other war supplies, some of which I couldn't identify.

Finally, Italy led me to the last cart in the line. There were a lot more people here, each one nursing one injury or the other. Feliciano walked past them all without batting an eye, moving to the medical cart, as I then recognized with a jolt. It was kind of obvious with the sterilized smell coming off of it and the injured troops. With a breath of relief, I saw Canada, being dressed by Italy Squad in a uniform.

"Mattie!" I cried, running forwards, ignoring Italy's exclamation to stay silent, and leaped over the wagon edge to sit next to my brother, before wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. "You're awake! And alive!"

"Losing... air…" Mattie gasped, and I reluctantly loosened my grip on him. My brother took several deep lungfuls of air, trying to catch his breath.

"Sorry…" I apologized. Mattie punched me. "Ow! Sheesh, I said I was sorry!"

One of the women—the redheaded one—chuckled, and I turned to her.

"Oh!" The auburn-haired lady exclaimed, sending a look to the redhead. She seemed to have calmed down slightly from her previously hostile demeanor. "We haven't introduced ourselves to him yet! Don't be rude, Isabel!"

The redhead rolled her eyes at the auburn-haired woman, but answered anyway. "You are such a stiff neck" she cheeked, before turning to me and sticking a thumb at herself. "I'm Isabel. Isabel Honda."

I blinked and surprised her name. Honda? Probably a coincidence, I rationalized to myself.

"Petra Ral," the auburn woman introduced herself. "Pleased to meet you."

"Gunther Schultz." The large man said with a grunt.

"Don't run off like that!" Italy ruined the good mood as he entered the wagon. He didn't look very happy with me. "I swear, you are infuriating!"

"Wait," Canada murmured into my ear so that only I could hear him. "Is that Italy?! What the—"

"Long story, I'll tell you later," I cut him off. Mattie fell silent, effectively shutting his emotions off of his face.

~(See, Al? That's how you act.)~

~(I hate you…)~

"You three," Italy gestured to Isabel, Petra, and Gunther. "Go find Tino. He should be back by now. Bring him here and tell no one that these two have arrived except Erwin."

"But sir," Gunther spoke. "The Military Police—"

"I don't give a damn what the MPs think," Italy interrupted harshly. "They can all die in a hole for all I care. This is a private matter, you three. You are not authorized to ask questions."

Mattie stiffened from his spot next to me, likely from shock. I glanced over at my twin, mentally asking him to hold in his questions until the other soldiers had left. Thankfully, he got the message and relaxed.

"Where is Tiny, anyways?" Isabel asked. "I didn't see him on the way out here."

I stiffened a chuckle at the nickname, shoving down my fears for the Nordic nation. He was perfectly fine. He had to be.

Italy shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "Erwin had him in the right wing, but he could be anywhere by now. Just ask around, you'll eventually find him. Or news of him."

"Yes, sir!" The three saluted. Isabel flashed me a brief smile, and then they were gone, off to find our lost friend.

"Okay," Mattie said as soon as the trio was out of sight. "Where—and when—in the world are we? Some alternate dimension?"

I smiled. "Well, there's a reason why Italy is completely out of character…"