Hello, everyone! I've finally gotten around to updating this!

And, sadly, there's a bit more death.

So, without further adieu, enjoy (or not. I know I didn't enjoy writing it D:)

...

Italy sat on the steps to the hotel, staring out at the street. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the image of Japan…dead…lying on the floor. The blood had been cleaned from the carpet, and he and Germany had been transferred to another hotel, free of charge, but the memory wasn't going to go away. And Japan was never coming back.

He took a deep breath. He had stopped crying a while ago. He was stronger inside than he showed. When it was little things, like a scrape or a harsh word he broke down, but when it was something this undeniably serious he was almost calm. It was as though he was numb inside. He couldn't feel.

Germany was inside, sleeping. He hadn't said a word to anybody since they'd taken Japan away. He was in shock. Italy had still made the food, and Germany had eaten it. They'd watched the television. They'd slept in the same room. But it was still so unreal. Like it hadn't happened.

Someone was walking down the street, holding a raincoat. It had stopped raining long before. That meant that he'd been walking a long time.

"Italia?" the light, uncertain voice asked, walking up.

"Hm?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about Japan. And I brought you some snacks," Latvia said quietly. Another figure came running down the street after him.

"Latvia! You just left me!" Sealand yelled as he ran up, looking annoyed. He saw Italy, and immediately his attitude changed. "Hey," he said, sitting down on the stoop next to him.

"So, here are the snacks," Latvia said, handing Italy the box he was carrying under the raincoat.

Italy took it, not bothering to look inside. Maybe he and Germany could share them later. Then maybe he'd speak.

"Thanks," Italy said, doing his best to smile up at Latvia. It was harder than he'd expected, but the smile still came. He tried to make it genuine.

"Hey, you want to go get a bite to eat?" Sealand asked, probably hoping to lighten the mood. He put his arm around Italy's shoulders.

"More than just a bite, please," Italy joked lamely, standing.

"Where you want to go?" Latvia asked, smiling.

"I don't know," Italy said, looking down. Sealand grinned.

"Group hug!" he said, giving Italy a huge hug. Latvia smiled, timidly following.

Italy hugged them back as well as he could around the box. Oh, wait. The box.

"Let's go after I put this inside," he said, pushing the two countries away. Then he turned around, starting up the stairs. The other two waited patiently outside.

Italy closed the door after him, walking across the hotel lobby. The lady behind the front desk smiled, and Italy smiled back. It was a soulless, unreal smile.

Then he went to the elevator, casually pressing the button to go up with the corner of the box. After a few seconds the elevator doors opened, revealing a man wearing a gray hoodie. He walked nonchalantly past Italy, not giving him a second glance. His face didn't show either.

Italy barely noticed him, walking into the elevator. The doors closed and he pressed the button with the "4" on it. Room 417. Can't forget the room number.

There was a bit of soft music playing as Italy leaned against the wall. It was an old song. From the sixties or something. He didn't recognize it. It was American.

After a few seconds, the elevator ride was over and the doors opened. Italy walked out, looking down the hallway before he continued. The room was right here, on the right. He pulled out the little card and stuck it into the slot. The light on the door turned green and it unlocked.

Not bothering to do much else, Italy set the box down on the coffee table. The shower was on, so Germany wasn't around. Italy walked out of the room, putting the key card in his pocket.

As he rode back down the elevator, Italy looked down at the little watch Japan had given him. It had Mickey Mouse on it, and since Japan's death Italy had made sure he knew exactly where it was at all times.

It had been about three minutes. So Latvia and Sealand hadn't been waiting long. The elevator opened and Italy stepped into the lobby. Once again he smiled at the lady behind the desk. It was another empty smile.

He opened the doors, stepping out onto the steps. Latvia and Sealand weren't there anymore. For a second Italy felt a pang of panic. No. He had to stop worrying.

He walked down the sidewalk, looking around. Where had they gone? They hadn't stood him up, had they? No, they weren't the kind of people to do that. They were a bit too nice, weren't they? Yes, definitely.

He passed a narrow alleyway, looking down it. As he did, he saw a figure standing in the near-dark. It was starting to get late.

There was another figure, lying on the ground. Italy's eyes widened. No. No.

He started running down the alley, heart pounding. No. This couldn't be happening twice. He approached the figures, eyes searching the littered ground for blood.

He ran up, and suddenly a flood of relief rushed through him. Nobody was dead. He almost passed out.

Latvia was on the ground, clutching his shin. Sealand was staring at him, slightly amused.

"Remind me again why we don't climb walls?"

"Shut up," Latvia said, sitting up. "It really hurts."

"W-what happened?" Italy asked, lightheaded.

"Spiderman here tried to climb the wall."

"There were little spaces in between the bricks. I could get my fingers in there!"

"And then one of the bricks fell out and he dropped like a rock."

"It sounds stupid when you put it like that!"

"It was."

"A brick fell out?" Italy asked, looking around. He didn't see anything.

"Oh, I stuck it back in," Sealand said, pointing up. About ten feet above the ground there was a precariously balanced brick.

"It'll fall out and hit someone!" Italy said, eyes wide.

"Nah, it's in there pretty good," Sealand said matter-of-factly.

Latvia stood up, wincing as he put weight on his foot. "This really hurts!"

"Your own fault."

"Is not!"

"How is it not?"

"If you hadn't been yelling at me the entire time I could have concentrated!"

"Sure, I broke your concentration. Half the time you don't even acknowledge me!"

"You aren't an actual country, you know."

There was silence. Sealand stared at Latvia in disbelief. "What did you just say?" A cloud of darkness seemed to hover over him. Latvia's eyes widened.

"Ah, um, nothing. Uh…shouldn't we take Italy out?"

Sealand's dark aura disappeared immediately. "Oh, yeah! Where were we going to go?"

"There's an Italian restaurant down the street," Latvia offered.

"American-Italian food? They'd probably serve pizza or something," Italy said, furrowing his brow.

"Pizza isn't Italian?"

"They'd probably serve American pizza."

"Oh, yeah. Don't you like pasta?"

Italy's ears immediately perked up at the sound of the word. "Pasta?"

"Yeah. They probably have that, too."

"We're going."

Italy started to walk down the alleyway, back toward the street. Sealand helped Latvia to his feet.

"Who's paying?" Latvia asked quietly.

Sealand smiled. It was not a good smile. "None of us," he said happily, pulling a small card out of his pocket. "I have England's credit card."

"How did you get that?"

"Don't ask questions."

"Is that what you bought the cookies with?"

"I told you not to ask questions."

…

"So, how have you been…lately?" Sealand asked, shoving in a mouthful of spaghetti. Italy watched in horror as the younger nation mutilated the perfectly good pasta.

"Uh, okay, I suppose," he said, eyes fixated on Sealand's hand. It moved over to the ketchup bottle, and Italy could feel his fingers twitching. Ketchup? On pasta? It was practically blasphemy!

"Good. Everyone's been taking Kiku's death pretty hard, ya know?" The ketchup bottle was raised, the cap flipped open. It was tilting slowly, and the contents started to slide around inside.

"Yeah." It was an empty response. Italy had no actual idea what they were talking about now. All he could see was the ketchup bottle as it turned, and the horrible red paste plopped disgustingly into the cap. It was about to come out, destroying what was left of the beautiful pasta…

"You seem to be pretty okay, tho—aaah!"

Italy's hand shot out, catching Sealand's wrist a moment before the ketchup fell onto the plate. He twisted, bringing the bottle back into a safe position. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster averted.

"What was that for?"

Italy silently picked up Sealand's plate, standing. Latvia watched in amusement as the older country walked through the restaurant determinedly. Sealand's eyes widened as Italy walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

There were a few tense moments as Sealand and Latvia waited for Italy to return. The kitchen of all places? Was he even allowed back there?

About a half hour later, Italy returned. The plate looked the same as when Sealand had first gotten it, except for the color of the sauce. It was a bit different. Just a little darker.

Italy set the plate down, taking his seat again. He cleared his throat, took a bit of pasta and smiled.

"So, what were we talking about?"

"What did you do?" Latvia asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"I fixed the pasta. Now, what do you want to talk about?"

"How did you fix it?"

"I added better sauce. Is this all you want to talk about?"

"You took forever!"

Italy stood up, his hands slamming down on the table. "I got you new freakin' pasta, now shut up!"

Both Sealand and Latvia froze, eyes wide. What was wrong with Italy? He never raised his voice unless he was afraid of something.

Italy cleared his throat. "Um, I mean… 've?' Or something like that."

"Um…are you okay?" Latvia was shaking. Sealand raised his eyebrows.

"You aren't Feliciano. What did you do with him?"

"Uh…what would make you think that?" Italy asked slowly. Sealand narrowed his eyes.

"Italy doesn't swear, or yell, or act mean…and your voice is lower."

Italy sighed. "Well, if you already got it then I'm not playing his retarded game. I'm Lovino."

"South Italy?"

"Oh, gee, thanks. Way to remind me how much I'm loved. Feliciano's always just 'Italy,' but I have to be goddamn 'South Italy,' don't I?" Lovino rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair. Sealand still looked confused. "What?"

"Why are you here?"

"Why not?"

"That's not a good answer."

Lovino sighed. "Okay, whatever."

Latvia bit his lip timidly. "I-I s-still don't understand…"

Lovino leaned forward as though he was about to tell a story. "Okay, so my dumbass brother goes into the kitchen to get some pasta sauce or something, right?"

Sealand nodded.

"Well, some people catch him, and they ask him what the hell he's doing in there, staff only. So he tells them he's Italy, and they're like 'Okay, but what the hell?' And he says he's there to get some pasta for a friend. They kick him out, and he calls me. Tells me that I need to come take his place so you guys don't think he ditched you. He and I switched clothes for some unfathomable reason, and then he went running off somewhere. So, here I am."

Sealand looked at Latvia cautiously. "Um…"

"Look, I have to meet Antonio at nine, so I can't hang around. See ya." With that Lovino stood up and left, leaving the two smaller nations thoroughly confused.

…

Spain stood in front of the coffee shop, looking up and down the street for Lovino. The latter was supposed to have arrived on their date a few minutes before. He hadn't, and Spain was worried.

It was dark, but with the street lights he could easily see the man walking down the sidewalk. The man had a grey hoodie, shining orange in the lights. The hood obscured his face.

He walked past Spain without seeming to have noticed him, but the brunette nation saw the piece of paper slip from his pocket and fall to the ground. The man kept walking, and as he did he seemed to fade away. Spain picked up the paper curiously.

Wait all you want, he's not coming it said. Spain raised his eyebrows. A coincidence, probably. He put the note in his pocket, looking around.

Suddenly, he felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone. It was a text.

"Hey, it's Lovi. I have a surprise for you," Spain read aloud. "There's a vacant building in front of you. Go inside."

Spain looked down the sidewalk again. There was nobody else there. Man, did he choose the most secluded corner of New York or what?

He walked across the street. As the message said, there was a vacant building. The street light was out right in front of it, so it was completely dark inside. Spain looked in one of the windows, but he couldn't see anything.

He opened the door, finding it unlocked. "Lovino?" he called, expecting it to be a prank. South Italy was just like that.

There was no response. "Lovi?"

It was completely dark, so Spain opened his phone, using it as a flashlight. It cast a bit of blue light for a few feet in front of him, and he took a few steps forward.

Suddenly, he saw something on the floor. He couldn't quite make out the shape, but it looked like a hand.

"I found you," Spain said, stepping toward the figure on the floor. He knelt down beside it, shining the light from the phone on it.

There was blood.

Spain gasped, stepping back. He stumbled over something else, falling to the floor. Oh, God. It was another…

He was up in half a second, trying to find his way back to the door. He backed away from the bodies, his back hitting the wall. Something pointy hit him in the spine, and he whirled around. The light switch.

He flicked it on, eyes wide. His breath was quick, his heart pounding. The light that flooded through the room momentarily blinded him.

Spain squinted into the building, his fist clenched tightly around the phone. The first thing he saw was the blood. The entire floor seemed to be coated in it. His nose started to sting. No. He couldn't cry. Dammit.

His footsteps made red tracks across the floor, weaving in between the three bodies. Three. And one of them…one of them had short brown hair.

"Lovino…" Spain whispered, eyes watering. No, dammit. Don't cry. Please don't cry.

Dammit, Lovino. Don't be dead. Please don't be dead.

Spain sank to the floor, staring in disbelief at the body. The tears started to flow down his face, and he choked back a sob. There was so much blood. Oh, God. So much blood.

He dropped the phone, crawling across the floor to Lovino. He wasn't dead. This was a practical joke. It was all fake. No. He couldn't be dead.

"Come on, Lovi, get up. You got me, come on…" Spain whispered, staring down at the other's face. All the blood was coming from his chest. The blood was now soaking into Spain's jeans.

"Lovino, joke's over, okay? This isn't funny anymore!" Spain yelled, tears blurring his vision. He wiped at his face, smearing a bit of blood over his eye. "Dammit!" he screamed, slamming his fists into the ground.

He started to feel lightheaded. Spain let his head rest on the ground next to the body. "Come on, Lovi, you know I love you. Just wake up. It's okay. Está bien. Todo está bien."

His eyes closed, and let the tears go. He was drifting off, almost asleep. Was he really that tired? Maybe he'd wake up at home. That would be good.

As he was falling asleep, he felt the lights turn off. Then there were some footsteps, and the door closed.

…

It was the last day of the international meeting, but nobody came. After the murders of Sealand, Latvia and South Italy, the meeting had been cancelled. Spain had been found with them, but there was no evidence that he'd killed any of them. None at all.

So he was safe. But he wasn't talking anymore, to anyone. He'd taken a plane back to Spain and wasn't coming back. Isolation, they said. He was cutting himself off.

North Italy had taken the death of his brother hard. He wasn't himself anymore. Kiku, and now this? It was too much for him to take.

Germany was quiet. Italy was in their hotel room, sleeping. He did that a lot more often now. The taller nation had gone out to give him some space.

It wasn't that he'd ever liked South Italy, who called him a potato bastard and hurt him every time they met. But seeing Italy so broken was so completely wrong.

"West!"

Germany turned to see Prussia running up to him. The latter was slightly out of breath.

"I've been looking everywhere! You need to go talk to England."

"Why?"

"He's setting up a freaking task force with China. To find out who's been killing people!"

Germany absorbed the information. "Does he want me to join?"

Prussia shook his head, eyes wide. "Dude, you have to talk to him."

"I don't understand."

"Man, China thinks you're the fucking murderer!"

...

Okay, I actually started crying. But that was probably due to the music I was listening to at the time. (Kissing in Cars, by Pierce the Veil) Yeah. It's a pretty emo song.

If you find any typos I'll gladly fix 'em!

Please review! Is it sad? Did you laugh (I hope not...)? Did you want to kill me? Or do you not care? Any way, gimme some feedbackz plz!