Not sure where the idea came from—Black Cat, maybe? I've been thinking about rewatching it...

Anyway! Here, the characters are very young. Francis is the oldest, and he's only twelve. Lovino himself is only around nine or ten.

Rated for Lovino's, and a few others', ever-lovely vocabulary.

Don't own Hetalia, no matter how hard I wish. Feel free to correct my mistakes and criticize what must be criticized! :D


"All right, boys, that's 20.46." The baker told the young boys. She was surprised they were here on their own. One seemed hardly ten, if not younger, while the other had to be a little younger, no older than eight. Their clothes were out of shape, too—was their mother that cheap? Then again, she was giving them twenty dollars to get bread. Maybe it was just how the younger parents were. She didn't really understand them. She hated those kind of thoughts—made her feel old.

The elder one nodded. "Uh, yeah. Feliciano, give her the money," he said, taking the bag full of various kinds of bread quickly, almost snatching it. Kids could be so impolite. Take this one for example. He kept shifting uncomfortably and didn't really look at her.

"Ve? But, fratello, we don't have any money," the younger replied, confused. He didn't seem to notice his brother grit his teeth and curse under his breath.

"Excuse me?" The baker woman suddenly appeared much more frightening than before, her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips. "Boys, how exactly were you plannin' on gettin' my bread?"

"Shit!" The older exclaimed, using language that no boy his age should know. "Feliciano, run! Now!" The two rushed out of the bakery, the bag of bread still in the older's tiny hands.

They were in such a rush that they didn't notice the curious, excited green eyes of a young Spanish boy watching them.

The woman, outraged, tried to give chase while one of the workers contemplated calling the police. They were just little kids and were already almost gone, and it was only a little bread, so would it be worth it to call the cops on them?


The baker tried to find them once she was outside, but the boys had long ago mastered the art of blending in, then hiding in the nearest alleyway. There were rules they knew and memorized. Don't draw attention, don't allow yourself to be caught by storeowners, don't let anyone else think you might be in trouble. Don't be anything other than completely normal, but be quick because they might catch you. Once in the alley, don't allow other people (if any) to spot you. Hide your food and possessions. Keep a careful eye on anyone who could possibly be a threat—or anyone, period. Lovino and Feliciano always followed these rules to the letter when escaping things like this. Lovino liked to think that it was just bad luck.

They stayed behind some abandoned wooden structure in the alley, both peeking out every now and then to look for danger. Finally, once they were sure they wouldn't be found, Lovino rounded on his brother. "Idiota! Bastardo! Stupido! The idea was to act like we did have money, then get out once there was an opening! Why the hell did you tell her we didn't have money? What goes on in that airheaded damn mind of yours? Did you really forget the plan?"

Feliciano flinched in the face of his brother's anger. "V-ve… sorry, Lovino… I forgot I wasn't supposed to say that…"

"Damn right you forgot!" Lovino raged. He checked the bag to see if all the bread they'd collected was still there. He sighed in relief. Most of it was safe. "At least we still have the food. Arthur and Vasch won't murder us, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Lovino." Feliciano said again, looking on the verge of tears. Lovino knew that if there was Feliciano truly hated, it was their life right now, stealing food to eat or taking charity from anyone who'd give it. Lovino hated it, too—but it was all Nonno's fault for dying on them like that.

The older brother waved his hand dismissively, still angry but unwilling to see his brother cry. "Whatever. Let's just get the food back to the bus."


Eight of them lived in their little abandoned school bus, and they worked to collect food and money in pairs. There was Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, two young Italian boys who specialized in theft. There were twins Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams, but they couldn't be more different. There was Vasch Zwingli, kind of like a leader, and his little "sister" Lili, who was not only the youngest of them at seven years old but the only female there. Finally, there was Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy (the oldest), and when not "on the clock", so to speak, they spent their time arguing and fighting. When they did work together, though, the results were always much better.

"If you're another homeless asshole, I have a gun and I'll shoot!" Vasch yelled at them from the bus, waving around a pistol he'd gotten through unknown means around three years ago (the others had knives if they needed defense). Lovino wasn't even sure if it had bullets, but he never bothered asking because Vasch might want to demonstrate. It was kind of funny, since Vasch was only eleven and he looked less dangerous with a gun than he would have if he was a bit older.

"We are homeless assholes, smart one," Lovino snapped back to him, getting on the bus. "You are, too, in case you've forgotten." Feliciano followed behind silently, carrying their bread, likely spacing out and thinking about pasta.

"W-welcome back," Lili said quietly. Feliciano acknowledged it by beginning a conversation with her.

Most normal people didn't know about their hidden home—it was abandoned in a less populated part of town. That didn't mean some other homeless older ladies and gentlemen tried to get on, but that was what the gun and knives was for. The kids there were very, very careful about not getting followed, and were very fierce in protecting their bus.

The bus itself was pretty rundown, with some of the windows broken or cracked, and many of the seats with giant holes or even just missing altogether. One of the tires had mysteriously disappeared at some point, along with the steering wheel. The boys also noticed that it was missing its engine. It was basically a broken down piece of crap, but they loved and treasured it.

"Sorry, sorry," Vasch said dismissively, "What's the profit?"

"Bread, about twenty bucks worth. It's that tiny bakery on Oak Street, so me and Feliciano can't go back there, especially while the baker lady's there."

"It's 'Feliciano and I'." Arthur, who had already returned with Francis, corrected him. "Learn your English, Lovino."

"Fine. 'Feliciano and I'," he spoke the words mockingly, "actually got something. What about you idiots, where's your contribution?" He noticed that only he and Feli seemed to have brought back any food.

Arthur jerked a thumb to where Francis was putting money in a plastic jar. "Thirty dollars and 24 cents, a new record." He smirked. "Vasch says it all has to go to savings." He shrugged. Lovino never knew why Vasch insisted on saving money when they could buy food or clothes or something useful with it, but the Swiss was practically the leader, and so he must know what he's doing, right? Not that Lovino wouldn't mind using it to get some real good food…

"But nothing we can use tonight to, you know, not starve." He finally countered, earning a glare from both Arthur and Francis, who was now looking for something—probably the newspaper they stole every day.

"V-ve, fratello, don't get in a fight." Feliciano begged.

"We're back!" Alfred's voice rang out from the entrance, interrupting the possible Lovino-Arthur fight. He and Matthew both had their arms full of tomatoes. Round, red, likely very juicy tomatoes. The Vargas brothers' mouths watered at the sight of one of their favorite foods. He didn't know there was any place but the supermarket to even get tomatoes, and they couldn't go back there for the next few days 'cause the stole from there yesterday. Alfred noticed their staring, and grinned triumphantly, causing the older Italian to glare at him. "Got the jackpot!"

"I don't want to hear it unless you actually won the lottery," Arthur told him.

"Take a look, though! Matt found the place today when we were exploring that Shadow Ridge neighborhood for food!" The twins set the tomatoes down gently with the bread, and Matthew ran off to get his stuffed white bear. "We had to wait until the family left the house, and then we took as many as we could. Oh, and we found a few quarters on the street!" Matthew nodded and dug in his pockets for their change. Alfred glanced at their other food. "Got some bread, too, huh?"

"Yeah, but Feliciano almost screwed it up," Lovino stared accusingly at his brother.

"I-it was an accident, ve~" His brother said, waving his arms in front of him defensively. "A-and we got away in the end…"

"Let us not worry about the past," Francis interrupted them, an arm resting on a confused Matthew's shoulder. "We have much more food than we did even last week, along with some money that we could spend at any time soon." He said the last three words pointedly to Vasch, "Now, now, mes amis, how about we eat dinner and go about our night, hm?"

Although, on its own, it had seemed like plenty, when splitting up some bread and tomatoes among seven growing boys and one girl, the food was not as much as they would have liked. Still, they were grateful, and Lovino knew why—just last week, they were all eating dog biscuits.

"S-so," Lovino looked at Alfred, "where exactly is the house with the tomatoes?"

"I'll take you and Feli there tomorrow to show you!" He responded with a smile. "Right, Matt?" Matthew just nodded, quietly eating some of his tomato. He seemed mesmerized by the tiny fruit. As he should be, Lovino thought, since tomatoes are the best things ever.

Near what used to be the driver's seat, the older boys were talking. "Do you think I'd pass for fourteen?" Francis was asking Arthur and Vasch.

"You hardly pass for a male," Arthur replied. Personally, Lovino thought Francis looked more masculine than, say, Lili did feminine. She could pretend to be a five or six-year-old boy if she wanted to. "You're twelve, and you look it. Besides, what job did you see?"

"This newspaper company hires people for smaller jobs at fourteen," Francis responded, looking at the ad in the paper again. They stole it every day from someone different, and would always go through the job listings to see if they could find a job for a steady income. It never worked out. "Perhaps Vasch could try and look fourteen?"

"Vasch wouldn't look fourteen, either," Arthur pointed out. "Not even close."

"We could both try!" Vasch snapped at him. Lovino knew, though, that even if they did try, they'd probably both fail miserably. That was the hard part in getting a job—it always failed for one reason or another.


Antonio watched the doors where the young Italians had run out with their stolen bread. He'd watched as the baker woman came back from her chase, severely pissed, and then called the police. He'd watched when the police tried to explain that things like this happened, but they would keep an eye out for the thieves (but honestly, he knew they figured a nine and eight-year old thief seemed kinda unlikely). His mind always went back to the boys, though. It was really fascinating watching them, or, more specifically, the older one. He'd wondered about what they did and where they lived and why they would steal someone else's food and why they didn't have any money. And the older one—who was he? Why was he stealing when he was so young? Was he smart? Did he have friends? Was he nice? Thoughts about the two young boys kept running through his mind, even when he went home with his mother and father.

"Mamà," he said during dinner that night, "why were those boys from the bakery taking food?"

"Because circumstances force them to." His mother replied quickly, not really intent on thinking about how she witnessed a crime.

"Like what?"

"Like not having any money."

"Why wouldn't they have any money?" The idea confused him. He figured most people had enough money for at least an apartment, and besides, kids' parents were supposed to care for their kids, so that they didn't have to steal bread from a local tiny bakery. That was how life worked.

"There are various reasons, querido. Now why not go check on the tomatoes?"

", Mamà."

Strangely enough, when he went out to his backyard to check on their extensive tomato garden, it almost seemed… like it was missing some. When he checked the plants, he could see some where the tomatoes had been carelessly plucked. Was it those boys from earlier? He wondered, thinking back to the two brothers.

Well, if it was, then they could have those tomatoes because they needed their food, he decided.

He hoped he would see them again.


A/N- Aaaaand there we have chapter 1.

I, for one, think Francis looks plenty masculine as a kid... kind of.

Review, please!