Dro: For some reason, I really like this chapter. It's the first part in a major arc of this story. Yay! Anyway, have at it, peoples! I know you've all been waiting for some Italy action.

Chapter Summary: A lost Italy finds himself hurt and confused. It doesn't help that he's bent on proving that he's just as good as his parallel self. It also doesn't help that there are people out to get him.

Warnings: Violence; Depictions of serious injuries; Language

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. That is all.

He awoke in the same damp alley he'd fallen asleep in the night before. He sat up, stretching his sore, cramped limbs. He cringed at the pain in right arm. He was pretty sure he'd sprained it in a fall, back when he'd nearly gotten trampled in the crowd as they'd fled from the bombs. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his face into his dirtied pants, trying to fight back the shivers. He was lost now. He had no clue where in Berlin he was, and he was afraid to ask for help after what had happened yesterday.

He had found Gilbert unconscious on the second floor of the building they'd been in. The whole story had been threatening to collapse, and he'd hauled Gilbert down the steps and outside as fast as he could. He'd been trying to wake the man up for several minutes when a horde police officers had surrounded him. They'd taken one look at him and gone in for the kill.

He'd barely escaped being shot to death.

Fuck his other self! That stupid assassin was a wanted man, alive or dead. He was a dangerous fugitive, and it just so happened that Feliciano shared his face. He was terrified of going out in public now. What if he got killed because of that bastard? He was already taking up all of Ludwig's attention. Now this? Now he was going to get Feliciano killed too? He hated that bastard. This was all his fault. All of it. If he hadn't been out in their world to begin with, then none of this would have happened!

Finally, he managed to pull himself into a standing position. He cradled his arm against his chest and started walking slowly toward the end of the alley. He peered out, scanning the area. It was disturbingly silent, and he shuddered. It was like all life had been wiped out of the city. Just yesterday it had been flourishing with life and happiness, and now everyone had fled from fear and death. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

He still wasn't sure what had happened either. A terrorist attack? It had been a long time since he'd seen one this effective. Not to mention he felt like Gilbert and his new government had been so on top of things. They had really tight security all throughout the city, and everything seemed to be in order. Low crime. High productivity. The newly rebuilt Berlin had been a city teeming with jobs and wealth. And now it was almost empty. Overnight. Just like that.

Feliciano hugged himself tightly as he exited the alley and headed down the street. He had no idea where he was going and no clue where he should have gone even if he'd known the layout of the city. He couldn't go the police, obviously, and he didn't know the contact information for any of Gilbert's government people or Gilbert himself. And even if he had, he didn't have a phone or any money. How was he going to get out of this? He desperately wished Ludwig was here.

Ludwig. He frowned. Ludwig was with the bastard assassin. Ludwig had left him here and gone with the assassin. He bit his lip. He almost hadn't believed it when he'd woken up to find Ludwig gone and Gilbert in his place. He couldn't believe Ludwig had just abandoned him like that. On some level, he knew Ludwig cared about him more than anything and that he had done this to protect Feliciano, to keep him from harm. But this just wasn't right. It just wasn't! He wasn't useless! He wasn't weak! He may not have been strong as America or had magic like England or had the skills of his parallel self, but he wasn't that weak, that powerless. He could have helped. He knew he could have.

So why wouldn't anyone let him?

He felt dejected. He walked aimlessly down a sidewalk that was littered with debris, unsure of where to go or what to do. Hell, he didn't even know what his purpose was now. His bottom lip quivered, and he fought to hold back tears. He hadn't wanted Ludwig to leave him again. That was the only reason he'd come along. Ludwig had been gone so long last time. Feliciano had begun to think he'd never see him again, had begun to think that Ludwig had died and was never coming back. He'd almost fallen apart back then. And then Ludwig had returned, and he'd been so happy. But…but he couldn't go through that again. He couldn't sit idly by while Ludwig was off in a place he couldn't see or hear or get any news from, fighting a dangerous enemy that could easily cost him his life.

But then his great idea to tag along had ended up like this. He was in the right universe this time, and Ludwig had evaded him again! Once more he had no idea if Ludwig was all right. For all he knew, his lover could be hurt or worse. Who was there to say that he hadn't already lost Ludwig for good? He'd wanted to be there this time for Ludwig, and somehow, he'd screwed everything up…Maybe his stupid other self was right. Maybe he was just an ignorant, weak…No. No, he wasn't! And he was going to prove it!

He just had to find everyone first.

He kept a slow pace down the sidewalk, scouring the area for any signs of life. There were some signs of looting, and Feliciano felt a chill run down his spine. It was like Berlin had become a ghost town in the course of twelve hours. It was so eerily silent here, and there was nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the debris on the ground and his own, slow, solemn footsteps. Maybe most of the people had just fled to an unaffected part of the city? If he kept going forward, he was bound to run into someone eventually, right? Someone who, hopefully, was not a policeman out the shoot him.

He froze, all the thoughts and worries leaving his mind in an instant. He could have sworn he'd heard footsteps behind him. His body started shaking, and he had the urge to run for his life. He bit his lip until he tasted blood. No. He was not going to run away like a petty coward. He was not weak and scared and useless. He would prove that to the bastard assassin, and he would prove it to himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

Someone suddenly darted toward him.

He whipped around just in time to see a figure in black come at him with a knife. He yelped, leaping out of the way just in time to avoid having his neck sliced open. He landed on the ground and rolled away, pushing himself back up just in time to see several more men spill out of an alley and rush toward him. They were all armed. He swallowed nervously. He had no weapons on him. He scrutinized them quickly, coming to several immediate conclusions. One, these people were human. Two, they were not just civilians, and they were not part of any German forces of any kind. Three, they were out to kill him for a very specific reason. They were targeting him. This wasn't some random attack. They were too organized. Which could only possibly mean one thing: they were working for Yao.

He tried to control the tremors that wracked his body. He'd run away from many a fight before. This time would be different. It was hard too control his flight response though. His body was screaming at him to run away. But he wouldn't. These people were just human. Well trained probably. But still just human. Nations were more hardy than human. Naturally stronger. At least to some degree. Plus, they had weapons. He spotted several guns strapped to them in various places, though the only weapons they'd drawn had been knives. If he could just grab one of those guns, he could take them down.

One of them lunged at him. He ducked just in time to avoid the knife. He rebounded, shooting up and tackling the man, grabbing for one of his guns at the same time. He felt a sharp sting in his side, but he didn't let it deter him. Not this time. He was going to show them—all of them—that he wasn't a coward. He wrenched the gun out of the man's holster and quickly rolled away and back up, disabling the safety. Four of the other men were coming at him now at a breakneck pace, and he knew he wouldn't have time to shoot them all. So he aimed for the one in front of the group and pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the knee.

He went down, tripping two of the others. Feliciano whipped the gun to the right just as the fourth man came at him. He pulled the trigger at point blank range just as the knife sank into his shoulder. The man careened into him and sent them both down. Feliciano felt the man's blood soaking through his clothing, and he suddenly felt sick. He pushed the man off him and pulled himself up, quickly grabbing one of the fallen man's guns too. Each one only had so many bullets.

He barely managed to stand, the man's knife embedded in his shoulder. And he realized for the first time that the sting he'd felt a few minutes prior had been the first man's knife stabbing his hip. The men started to recover, and he knew he couldn't fight anymore. He was outnumbered. Had there only been one or two of them, he might have been able to win. But not with this many. He backed away for several moments before taking off down the street. He tried to ignore the churning in his stomach, the pain in his side and shoulder. Dio, don't look at the knife! It was hard not to. The hilt was plainly visible in his periphery.

He ran until he couldn't run anymore. Then he collapsed and threw up everything in his stomach. He pushed himself away from it, crawling backward until he hit the wall. He knew he'd probably left a trail of blood for them to follow, and he knew he needed to stop the bleeding. The wound in his shoulder was barely bleeding, the knife staunching the blood flow, but his hip was bleeding profusely, and he felt like his hip bone had been grazed. He tried to catch his breath, ignoring the acrid taste on his tongue.

He dropped both of the guns on the ground, tossing them several feet away. His hands were shaking wildly. He'd just killed a man and wounded two others. With his adrenaline levels waning, he started wondering just the what the hell he'd been thinking. He'd killed somebody. He didn't kill people. He wasn't the assassin bastard. He was Feliciano Vargas, Italy, and he was a genuinely nice person. What was wrong with him? Was he honestly so jealous of his other self that he'd resort to killing just to try and make himself compare?

Or was it something else? Was there some other side of himself that he didn't know about? The assassin bastard hadn't always been an assassin. He'd been nice at one point too, right? Or so Ludwig had claimed. He'd become the bastard he was today because something had happened to him or Russia had corrupted him or something. But if he had the potential to become a killer…didn't that mean Feliciano did as well?

It started to rain.

Feliciano began to shiver from the cold, but he was thankful for it. He got up, hesitantly grabbing the guns again—for defense only this time, he swore to himself—and stumbled into an empty drug store, hoping the rain would wash away his trail of blood. He made his way over to the medical section, hoping the store hadn't been completely looted yet. He was in luck. He grabbed a handful of medical supplies and sat down. He was losing a lot of blood from the wound in his hip.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled his pants down until the wound was revealed. It was a narrow, deep stab wound, and he knew it would be hurting for a long time. He figured it probably needed medical attention, but where could he go? There would probably be police at the hospitals trying to keep the peace in this chaos. He opened a bottle of disinfectant and pressed his teeth tightly together, knowing this was going to hurt. It did. He barely contained a scream, and tears started streaming down his cheeks. Once the burning subsided, he pressed a thick cotton bandage against the wound and taped it on, hoping it would hold for at least a while.

Then there was the knife in his shoulder. Looking at it almost made him vomit again. He wanted to curl up and cry hysterically. He wanted to cling to Ludwig or Lovi or somebody. But he couldn't do that, could he? Because they weren't here. He was all alone now. He breathed deeply. You can do it, Feli. You escaped all those masked guys. You can do this. You've been in many wars, for God's sakes. You've seen much worse. And you've treated much worse on the field. Certainly you can treat a simple stab wound to a non-vital area in a quiet little drug store, right?

Granted, he'd never treated any wound on his own body worse than a scraped up elbow, but that was besides the point. He was sure the assassin bastard could treat his own wounds. Ludwig had certainly treated his own wounds, and he knew America and England and everyone else probably had too. And if they could do it, then so could he. Because he wasn't a weak coward. He was a strong nation, just like the rest of them.

And he was going to prove it.

So he wrapped his hand around the blade, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He didn't want to look at it, but he knew he had to. He needed to pull it out straight. It he twisted it by accident, he'd hurt himself even more. He tried to relax the muscles in his shoulder, but as soon as he started to pull on the knife, they contracted tightly, sending a wave of pain through his body. He cried out. He almost gave up right there, but he knew he had get the damn knife out. It he didn't, the wound would get infected. So he left his entire left arm go limp, and he clenched his teeth again, eying the knife with caution. He began to pull on it, slowly and carefully. Every millimeter sent another wave of pain through his system, and tears poured down his cheeks.

But he never made another sound.

After stripping his shirt off, he cleansed and dressed the wound, staunching the bleeding before it got heavy. He put a thick cotton pad on it and taped it like he had on in hip. Just in case it needed extra support, he deftly wrapped the wound, part of his arm, and his chest with gauze. Once that was finished, he let himself rest for several moments. His body was its limits. The rain continued to get heavier, and he watched it soak the floor behind the cash registers as it poured in through a broken window. The sound began to lull him closer and closer to sleep, and at some point, he gave in.

Dro: Yay! Italy being badass! Sorta...

Next Chapter: Feliciano's troubles continue as he tries to find Ludwig and the others. Meanwhile, Ludwig and the others are being evacuated from Berlin. And like usual, they get attacked while trying to.