Feliciano groaned as visions flashed through his mind, visions of being beaten and bruised by shadows and silhouettes. It was only two, he was only an hour into his afternoon siesta, and now he couldn't sleep thanks to the waves and waves of white hot pain, flashing through him. A cough was ripped from his throat; there was something severely wrong. Technically, he'd known something was wrong ever since he and Germany had returned from the G8 summit meeting yesterday afternoon, in New York. Still, he had paid it no mind. At least, not until now. Another groan let his lips as he swung his legs down onto the ground. He made a move to stand up only to immediately sit back down, putting his head between his knees as lights flashed before his eyes. Why was he feeling so nauseous?

A kick to the chest, another to the ribs and stomach. Shadowed people swarming him and beating him. 'Let me go, you fucking bastard!' he growled, a groan coming from his lips as a boot met his face. 'Vaffanculo! Fottiti tua madre!'

Feliciano stumbled to the bathroom, and immediately started dry heaving into the sink. Tears rolled down his cheek as blood and bile burned his throat, making its way into the sink. "Germany..." he croaked, voice no louder than a Canadian's whisper. He whimpered a little, feeling another invisible kick to the chest, winding him. "Germany!" He tried again, the yelling drawing another groan from his lips in pain.

Germany, who had been going to check on Italy anyways, paused mid-step. Italy had yelled for him before, sure, but the tone wasn't the same. It was scared, and in pain. Why was Italy in pain? "Italy? Italy are you–" he paused in his words as his eyes fell on Italy, slumped over the sink. The young Italian looked up from his position on the sink, blood dripping drown his chin. His fingers gripped the counter as his legs shook in his effort to keep upright. "Feliciano! Vhat's zhe matter?" The blond gasped, rushing to wrap an arm around his waist to support him, "is your economy okay?" he asked in concern. He didn't understand, there hadn't been any issues in Italy, not as far as the German knew, anyway.

"Ve... Germ... any... find fr-fratello..." Italy groaned, leaning into Germany. Ludwig paused. Fratello? Wasn't that Italian for brother? What did Feliciano want with Romano?

"Vhat's wrong viz Romano? Vhat does he have to do viz zhis? Did he hurt you? Italy, speak!"

Italy shook his head gently, before a cry left his lips as an invisible blade dug into his chest. He gently waved off Germany's concern. It wouldn't be too long now before he built up an immunity to all but the most extreme of pains, but for now it was all he could feel. Not his pain, but his brother's. "No, no, Germany. Fr-fratello... he is hurting. Wh... When fratello... when fratello hurt, I hurt... Sa... ngh.. merda... Same country, same pain." he explained gently, squirming once more as a knife raked against his skin. It didn't dig in, didn't hurt, but it definitely wasn't comfortable for the pale Italian.

"Vhere is Romano, Italy? Do you know?" the blond male spoke gently, laying Feliciano down on the bed once more. He quickly moved to the bathroom, wetting down a cloth and wringing it out before returning to Italy, wiping the sweat from his brow and the blood from his lips. He watches as the Italian man paled once again, eyes clenching shut. "F... Fongula..." he muttered breathlessly.

"He is not in Italy." he said dazedly, taking a shaky breath. He took a deeper breath as his mind sought out the faint edges of the Roman Empire, feeling for his brother. Nothing. He wasn't anywhere in the Roman Empire, or the former Empire, as it were. "He's not anywhere in... in the former roman Empire... not... not as far as I can... can tell."

Germany paused as he felt something odd brush against his mind, "how can you tell?"

Italy whimpered and cried out, his back jerking upright in invisible pain. "Fongula!" He yelled as he writhed in pain, slumping back down onto the bed breathlessly. Tears rolled down his cheek, his lips parted in a silent 'o' was he fought to think through his pain and answer Ludwig's question.

"My... My grandfather Rome was the... ehm... head of the Empire, you could say. Almost as important as... Holy Roman Empire who... I knew... once.." he sighed as memories of that little boy went through his mind, "because of grandpa Rome, I still... have ties to the old Roman E-Empire... ve... and... I can... can feel when a nation is inside the... ah.. the former Empire." he explained breathlessly. His eyes clenched shut as he was once more drawn into a vision.

'Shut up, ya Italian bastard. We know who you are.' the man spoke, voice cold as he slid the blade cleanly into Romano's ribs, 'we know what you've done.'

Romano gave out a strangled cry, trying desperately hard to show no weakness to these men, even as he thrashed against his shackles. 'Vaffanculo! I don't know what you're talking about! Ah! Fangulo! Che cazzo! Cazzo vai via bastardo! Pezzo di merda! Porco Dio, coglione!'

'I said shut up!' The man snapped, digging the knife in harder, 'you killed my sister!'

'Fan... Feli! Felici..."

"Italy?! Italy, vake up, Italy!" Germany called, shaking the red haired man's shoulders roughly.

"Ve..." Feliciano whimpered weakly, taking in a ragged breath. "Ludwig... Lovino... he's in America."

Dun dun dun! I apologize for the OOC Italy, I sort of imagine that there's more to Italy than everyone thinks and, once his sensitivity to the pain starts to fade, you'll see more of that. After all, not all Italians are weaklings, just ask the mafia. (Uh, actually, you probably shouldn't). Also, Germany is a touch OOC too, but considering his Italy is hurting...

The head canon that Germany is the HRE still remains, but considering there was both HRE and Rome, I'm trying to fix some of the plotholes or at least make it make sense to my plot, hence Italy's ability t sense the borders. Anyways.

Ciao for now~