Chrome Shelled Hetalia

Chapter 13: Uccidere

Chapter 13: Uccidere

The nations were treated to a montage of Feliciano returning to the United States and tracking the men from the organization. One by one, he picked them off, each time, checking off a name on a list in his little black notebook.

"Mind giving us some context? I thought you were going home to get help from your brother?" France asked, worried for the little Italian.

"Er... I tried going home, but I ended up chickening out. I couldn't face Fratello for more than a few minutes." Italy looked down at his shoes. "It was too hard. Every time I looked in his eyes, I saw my own mistakes thrown in my face."

"Veneziano..." Romano looked at his twin with a heavy gaze.

"I lied and said I was going to say at Germany's place, only to head back to America. I spent months on the streets of New York City tracking the movements of the group and how many members there were."

"You lived on the streets of New York? Dude, you mean you stayed in a hotel, right?" America hoped he'd just misinterpreted that.

"No. I learned pretty quickly that this group had connections. They were tracking me, so I had to hack a few systems and lay out a fake trail that showed myself in Germany. That meant laying as low as humanly possible. I couldn't risk anything—not even word-of-mouth. So I lived on the streets."

"Not like it'd be the first time." Romano sighed. "Though I wish you'd have told me, you fucking ass. I would've helped, even without you explaining shit."

"Let's see if this works." Feliciano took a deep breath as he sat beneath a bridge, out of sight of any pedestrians. He said a few words in that strange, rolling tongue, and England quickly whacked Italy upside the head.

"You twat! Are you messing around with time?!"

"Not exactly. I wanted to see if I could retake my older form. Sort of, gain back my own time." Italy explained sheepishly, as his memory-self grew a little taller. His hair grew longer, stopping at the small of his back, and silver-grey streaks formed in the auburn locks. His golden eyes became framed with light wrinkles, and his skin gained a bit of a darker tone, like he'd spent far too long in the harsher rays of the sun. His chin formed thick stubble that was bordering a short beard that was also speckled with grey.

In all, he looked just as he had before going back in time. "Perfecto." He smiled at his own reflection in a broken mirror.

"But... why?" Romano tilted his head, concerned.

"Two reasons, fratello." Italy explained. "One, this organization knew what I looked like, and I couldn't risk them connecting my face to yours—beyond that, I'd only managed to pick off their helpers at that point. I had only managed to kill one member of their Inner Circle, of which there were five people. And the last guy sent a photo of me to the others before he died."

"So it'd be easier to kill them if they didn't know what you looked like." China nodded along as he listened.

"Precisely."

"Und the other reason?" Prussia pressed, curious.

"So we wouldn't recognize you." Germany was the one who spoke up. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Si... I didn't want any of you involved. Canada showed me just how terrible I'd become at human interaction over the millennia, and I couldn't risk the mission. I had to disappear." Italy sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Wait... but I thought your brother said you were just busy with work?" Germany tilted his head.

"I covered for him, the idiota." Romano shook his head. "We've had to vanish before, but usually we let the other know at least some of what's going on. When I realized he wanted to disappear, I covered his damn ass because I'm a good brother."