SOY: I decided to post this thing here to see if I can help someone's brain explode. Please enjoy the first chapter!
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Rating: K+
Warnings: the most you can see is a suggestive image, a lot of magic, and crack.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I do not make money for writing about it, but I do have fun.
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Unspoken Truths
Chapter 01
At first, England had just learned to work through things by himself.
If one wanted to learn magic with no outer assistance, and only a bunch of faeries to help out (faeries that were more interested in shiny things than helping out, and that usually liked to play around), obviously he had to understand that things could go wrong.
England knew that, but magic flew through his veins. He could not ignore its pull.
It wasn't that easy, with having to hide the random stampede of unicorns in the basement until all humans were out of sight, or with demanding ghosts being, well, demanding… but England managed it pretty well, all considered.
Also because after a while, he realized that some of his 'creatures' were invisible to normal people's eyes, and even those of his kind had a hard time noticing them.
Unfortunately, on certain occasions, even with enough time to go through his many tomes of magic, not even he could come through a way to undo his… he wouldn't call them mistakes, more like… well, incidents of sorts. As it was, these incidents happened, every now and then.
England had to bury them deep… somewhere, and try to forget about them.
Not even his huge knowledge of books could help, sometimes.
That was why that giant spider he had summoned once was still living in the caves of Galles, and had turned into a scary monster for the small village whose name he couldn't even begin to pronounce.
Same for the poor Manticore he had asked Norway to keep –the poor thing didn't have much to eat nowadays, but alas, England could do nothing about it.
Not to mention that poor, poor Scottish castle. Scotland, his older brother, still didn't know he had been the one to destroy it.
Even with his skills, things were not as easy as the books depicted them, and no real master of the Arts could be called one without a past of learning from mistakes.
Nobody had to know, nobody needed to know, so why bother? They wouldn't understand –they would mock him, like France did despite his own ability to sometimes sense England's friends.
That was, of course, until the day England managed to make a diplomatic magical incident that he could not hide. At all.
It was somewhere in the early eighteenth century, if he recalled correctly –he had been brewing his own kind of Ale beer, back then, angered at the fact that others kept calling his alcohol 'warm piss' and all that stuff…
And then, his brewing beer had turned into a mass of summoning charms, all because of… he wasn't sure, maybe a fly, or something, and… and without understanding how, he had the yard filled with an army of trolls (of the big kind –the armoured ones).
He had done the nice thing, offering them food in compensation, promising them he would send them back where they belonged, but no –they had raged against him, insulting his food and accusing him of attempted poisoning (his ears still flushed red in anger, thinking back about it).
Things didn't look fine at all.
Books had never bothered warning him about angered trolls wanting to kill your King and destroy your whole country!
That was exactly when England had received an unexpected, random visit that had turned out to be his saviour…
~Flashback~
"W–what am I going to do now?" England panicked, pushing the giant door close and feeling cold sweat roll down his chin.
How could that have happened?
He had an enraged army of huge trolls standing in the backyard of the castle, demanding to see the king, ready to fight to death…
And he had no way to send them back.
His books were blank on that matter –summoning trolls worked much like summoning demons, after all, and it meant that once they had fulfilled their deal, they were sent back.
Unfortunately, England had no idea how he had gotten them there, in the first place… he had meant to brew beer! How would he know?
Now he had to do something before his King noticed –no human so far knew about his dealings with dark magic (or magic in general, except a few) but since this was a bad period to do magic, he feared that not even revealing of his status as a Nation would help.
On the opposite, he had a rooted fear that it would be detrimental instead.
"Ve~?"
Gasping and turning around in shock, England found himself facing a young boy around thirteen years of age, dressed in the typical clothes of the time, holding a small block of paper under one arm and a stack of coal to draw in his hand.
He had a quite familiar face, but England, in his panicking state, could not for the life of him, recognise who he was.
"W–who are you?" he screeched, pointing a finger at the boy and paling considerably.
"Ve~ Arthur, you have a bad memory~"
The voice was that of a girl, though… high–pitched, loud… England frowned, noticing the curl bouncing on the side of the boy's head.
"Uh… I–Italy?"
England had only met Italy a few times before, mostly when France had been around to parade the young girl around ("mon petit bonbon~ Italie, tu es très jolie~ not like you, England, with your caterpillar eyebrows, non?"), but this was a boy, not a girl…
Or at least, the clothes were those of a boy, and the voice… the feminine face…
"Sì! I'm Italy, of course," the little… boy, girl, whatever… smiled, eyes close in a silly expression. "Ve~ I was visiting brother France, but he got all scary so I ran away, and here is so beautiful that I wanted to paint before returning to Austria's house…"
England was both pleased to hear the small… he'd go with girl for now, as Italy was a girl before, right, so she couldn't have changed sex… the small girl say that England's place was beautiful, and also terrified to have her see the trolls.
This was not a good moment.
"Eh, you can't stay here, shoo!" England stepped forwards, and Italy eeped in fear, backing away from him. "I–I mean, er, Italy… I have things to do, so go back to Francis' house, ok?"
The scared expression returned tenfold.
"Uh, no, per favore!" she pleaded, shaking her head. "He was so scary~ he had me read a book and said he wanted to have 'intercourse' with me! I don't get it, but he was scary, ve~"
England's face turned slightly violet at that, and a shiver ran down his back. Truthfully, a voracious France was scary for him too, at times.
He glanced at the teen, shaking his head. "Ah… c–can't you just go back to Austria's house then?"
"Uh, he gave me the whole day~ if I go back now, I'll have to go back to work and it'll be a waste~ come on, Arthur~" Italy pleaded, using England's name as leverage. "I'll be quiet and I'll stay in the front garden to paint~"
England really couldn't resist the cute face, but the trolls… "uh, no, better if you come inside… I'll offer you some tea, but it's better if you stay in for now…"
With a shrug, Italy followed him inside, looking in amazement at the various beautiful paintings, the statues and the armours that England had in the castle.
England kept looking back at him, the question whether Italy was a boy or a girl itching in the back of his mind, yet he didn't want to seem uncouth, so he kept silent. Once they got in England's room, he had Italy sit on a chair and awkwardly patted his head.
"Ve~?"
"I'll go… I'll bring tea up, please don't leave the room, ok? It might be… dangerous for you, little Italy".
"Feliciano, ve~" Italy replied, swinging his legs whilst looking around, fingers twitching as he opened his sketchbook, ready to draw something.
'… ah. That answers my question, indeed…' England blinked.
With that, he closed the door of his room, locking it just in case, and ran down the castle's halls, hoping against hope that the army of trolls had remained outside without venturing in… it would be hard to explain, of course, but if they kept to the forest around the castle, sure he could think about something, and…
He looked outside one of the windows, and paled.
A small embassy of the trolls was climbing the protective walls of the castle, almost reaching where the guards were standing…
England widened his eyes, running towards them and muttering curses under his breath.
For the following two hours, he ran around the castle, somehow managing to block all the trolls, one way or the other, but their leader was adamant –he wanted war, and he would not care about whatever England had to say.
He was in utter despair, and didn't know what to do anymore –he had no time to check his books for information, and there again, none of those had helped till now.
The trolls were impervious to many spells and charms because of their sturdy skin and enhanced armours, and magic breezed past over them without much effect…
There was going to be war, and it was all his fault, and then his King would kill him and…
"Ve~"
Freezing in shock, England turned around and watched in horror as Italy bounced towards him, eyes noticing the trolls (especially the one that was holding the sword against England, pointed at his chest) and actually widening, brown irises staring at them in wonder.
"Ah, Ita… Feliciano, this is not… why are you out of my room?" England hurried towards him, about to push him away (he had no time to babysit! Stupid Italian…), but Italy evaded his outstretched arms and smiled at the trolls.
His eyes were a bit darker than usual, strangely focused, one hand twitching on England's arm as he turned around.
"You should have told me you had problems with trolls, ve~" Italy looked at him with a pout, his tone really low "I could have helped~ silly Arthur!"
"Eh?"
Much to England's shock, the young Italian Nation stepped forwards, looking at the gigantic troll with a conciliating smile. "Hello~" skipping to them, directing towards the boss of the group. "Ve, war is not good when you are hungry, don't you think~ I'll cook you something first, and not that icky food Arthur offered you! It's real Italian food! It's yummy!"
Each word punctuated with a small wave of his hand, in motions England recognized only after the third time –a sort of magic compulsion spell– and had him gasp loudly, shocked.
The little Italian… knew magic?
England could do nothing but stare in shock as Italy directed the trolls down the corridor, before following them as well.
~End Flashback~
And Italy really did help.
In less than fifteen minutes, he had speed–cooked something for the trolls (much to England's shock, the embassy had happily munched on them, forgetting all about war and revenge), and then, with the group looking woozy and unsteady on their feet, he had sketched inverse summoning circles under their feet, anchoring the circles to the trolls still outside the castle, waiting in the forest…
And then he had activated them, banishing the entire army away. Just like that.
Something that England had not been able to do. At all.
Italy could see creatures –he'd been able to see the Unicorns around England, and also the green flying thing that the Englishman had mistakenly summoned one day and that had never abandoned his side.
He could also do magic –of a vaguely different kind, but magic nonetheless.
Offering England his help with settling down a few other mista… accidents had been the following step, and it was amazing to watch the younger nation cuddle the giant spider instead of being afraid of it, and then storing a bit of its poison before dispelling it away into nothingness.
Same with the cute Manticore, except Norway had been a bit sad to see it gone.
Scotland's castle had no way to be rebuilt, though. Almost unfortunate, but England wasn't that guilty about that either.
Ever since then, England had gladly called Italy for help whenever something regarding magic came up, and he had no way of solving it with his knowledge or books.
It was not that the Italian had stronger magical powers that England had –actually, Italy had been tinkering with magic less than England– or that he had more ancient books, or practice, or skills…
But the Italian Nation had a different way at approaching magical stuff, that left England wondering which one of them would actually come out as winner if they were to battle.
He thought things in a different way –he was more inventive than England, as the Englishman followed books, since adding his own to the spells often worked against him (hence his incidents), whilst Italy had a knack at adding a bit of his own, meddling with the spells, the potions and mixing things together when he needed it without complications arising.
For one, he kept his magic down, and that was why England had never felt it when they had met before. England didn't bother hiding his own, because no one else could feel it, or so he thought.
Then, he never actually did magic, unless it was to help England out –how did he get so good, with no practice?
And his creative way to use spells and potions… England would have never known about him using salt and a mix of herbs for the cookies he gave to the trolls if Italy hadn't told him.
"Ve, but it was obvious to me~" the Italian Nation had stated, tilting his head left and right. "If they are impervious to magic from the outside, hit them from the inside, ve~"
Whenever England did one of his incidents, those he couldn't fix, he called Italy.
When the dragons, clearly bothered by something England had done, had attacked in the north of China (actually, Yao was still wondering about that, but Arthur had no intention to explain it to him), Italy had been the one to focus his magic onto them, making them vomit water instead.
He had demanded England some of his best herbs afterwards.
When he had somehow obliterated part of Buckingham Palace on a hot summer day, Italy had promptly dropped everything to come and fix it (England was still wondering how the hell he had managed to do that).
Italy had asked some cookies for that.
When England had been drunk out of his mind and had somehow substituted the Museum of Arts in London with a bottomless pit from which sulphuric fire came out, Italy was the one to cover it up and call the museum back into its place, without asking questions.
Italy had left with a small bag filled with Unicorn hair.
When England had somehow transformed America into a small baby not once, but thrice over the course of the first World War, Italy had grudgingly helped him out, shaking his head and shrugging it away with promise from England to be fed with good pasta afterwards.
Italy happily helped him out, after all these incidents only happened with a low frequency –one every month or two, sometimes even going as far as one every five to six months.
Besides, since Norway was busy fending off attacks from a determined Denmark (attacks regarding his Vital Regions), Italy was the only remaining nation that England could talk to in regards to magical creatures.
It helped that Italy was terribly against other Nations knowing about him, for a different reason than England himself.
"Ve~ it would be a bother if brother France knew I do magic~" Italy had stated, eyes close as he poured a mix of lotus juice on England's wand. " or the others. Don't you agree?"
Indeed, England had to give it to the silly nation that was bad at war yet amazingly sly when it came to magic –he had been hiding his power partly because of just how much others made fun at him, and partly because it was better if not many knew of it.
Once realised how deep Italy's knowledge of magic was (England had extracted that information through long sessions of strict questioning), the English Nation had decided that forming a friendly bond with him was the way to go.
Asking for help was mainly what that friendship consisted of.
At first through short letters.
"Dear Feliciano,
How is the weather at your house? I heard you finally turned independent, congratulations! You might have heard news of how the King's treasure room was emptied by thieves… in truth, I think I was a bit too drunk that night, and somehow turned all the gold in the room into feathers.
I hope that, despite how busy you will surely be as you move into your house, you will find some time to get here…
Sincerely, Arthur K."
Letters that turned into telegrams during the first world war.
"Feliciano –stop– hydra slashing in my basement –stop– urgently in need of help –stop– thank you –stop– Arthur K."
Then there was the phone.
"Feliciano, I have a small problem with a Cerberus roaring outside of my –go away, you Hell fiend! Stop munching on my carpet!"
"… ve~ I'll come straight away, Arthur…"
The phone was really a great help. Even during the second world war, when they were technically on opposite sides, magic was considered neutral grounds.
"Feliciano, I think there is a Banshee on the rooftop of my neighbour's house…"
"ve~ you think?"
"I might have… upset her somehow".
"Somehow…?"
"I might have… cut her hair whilst levelling my hedges…"
"… I see… I'll be over there in a hour or so".
Of course, there were times even Italy didn't want to help. These times, England had just to suck it up.
"Feliciano… I think I just summoned Ivan's head in my basement! That git won't go away!"
"V–ve~ A–Arthur! D–don't call if it's him! U–uwaaa! He's so scary! S–seal the basement!"
Internet had been terribly helpful. Not as immediate if Italy was not online, of course, but still good for piling up smaller requests that he could postpone. Sometimes.
'You received a new mail from Arthur Kirkland (bloody_.uk) – subject: running leprechauns in backyard.
Dear Feliciano,
I made a drunken bet with a Leprechaun and now they are living in my backyard, hunting for gold, and if I show my face, they start a creepy dance and I've lost my left eyebrow already by one of their attacks. I would appreciate your help, but take your time.
Cordially yours, Arthur Kirkland'
Nowadays, England had gathered enough skills and experience to be able to solve almost everything, and the calls or mails were rarer (once every year, if things went well and the faeries didn't act up).
Unfortunately, a night of drinking alcohol always happened at the worst of times…
Which brings us to the current setting, and why England was hiding in his bathroom, back against the door, trembling, cursing under his breath as he quickly dialled Italy's number on the phone, hoping that the Italian nation was already awake.
"Come on, you bloody lazy arse! Pick up the phone!" he hissed on the receiver, closing his eyes and holding still the wiggling green flying bunny so that it wouldn't make noise.
"Arthur? Are you in the bathroom, Arthur?"
He froze, eyes snapping open at the familiar voice on the other end of the door. There was a soft scratching sound from outside, then a rapping noise.
England refused to allow a sob to pass through his lips. This was hell. Why did he accept Prussia and America's offer to drink all night? Why hadn't he refused? Why did he say yes, right after having fought with that Dark Faerie about why her dress was not that cute?
Oh, gods, this was bad. This was really bad. He could not fix this alone. He needed…
"Is that you, Artie? Answer me, won't you?"
A trickle of sweat rolled down his chin, and England started praying.
The phone kept ringing, no one picked up.
'I need to get there –this time, if Italy can't help, I'm doomed…'
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SOY: so, that's it for the first chapter, I hope you liked! ^^
mon petit bonbon~ Italie, tu es très jolie~ (French) – my little candy~ Italy you're so nice/cute~
non (French) - not
Sì (Italian) - yes
Per favore (Italian) - please