Yet another fanfic I am cranking out. How shall I ever keep up with this? Well no worries fellow readers, I will keep writing in all of my stories, I promise! Here's an interesting fic about parallel worlds. Hope you like it!

"Spring cleaning! Pulizie di primavera~"

A cheerful voice echoed throughout the rooms of the house, a hum accompanying them as dust was dislodged from their hidings spots in corners and behind objects. A slim figure was dancing along to his little tune, auburn hair shining in the sunlight. A small curl bounced here and there as objects were removed from where they lay so that cleaning could take place. The sunlight filtered in through the large windows to make everything brighter and more homely.

"Fratello, stop singing, it's driving me crazy!"

There was a pause in the humming and a head popped into view from the living room, staring at the only other occupant in the house, who was attempting to clean and reorganize the kitchen. Tilting his head as the bright smile slipped off his lips, the younger brother looked confused to as why the other yelled at him. It wasn't as if he was singing some new catchy opening song from one of Japan's new anime. As tempting as that was now… He scratched his chin, almost oblivious to the vein that was pulsing in the now red-faced southern Italian. Actually, that was very tempting to do so, or make up his own little tune…

"Veh? But Romano, it is fun to sing while cleaning up! Even Ger-"

"Don't you dare start rattling on about that potato bastard now! J-Just get back to work already…. I'm almost done with the kitchen."

Pouting at his brother, who now was ignoring him in favor of messing with the order of their spice rack, he drew back into the living room. Dust could be seen in the air and he sighed. At least it was clean now; but only by their standards and not Germany. He was worried about what would happen if he came over for an inspection. He shuddered, his curl jagged due to his nervousness in what he was imagining. Germany would walk into the house and instantly start lecturing him on how he has to properly clean everything. He'd have those strict eyes that would make him shiver with fear underneath their gaze… Yes; he was glad that he wouldn't be coming over in quite a while.

Grabbing a replacement for his swifter, he tossed the used one in the garbage can nearby. All that remained to be cleaned was the attic. Rubbing the back of his head, the Italian giggled dryly. They hated to go up there simply because it was too much for a hassle, but not only that, there was another reason as well…

There were too many things up there that brought memories, both good and bad, that he and his brother would rather not look upon. Plopping into the nearest armchair, he sank into the soft cushions, sighing in relief. Almost done… There was a clatter and a small curse. Opening eyes that had fluttered shut, eyebrows creased together in concern. What happened?

"Fratello? What happened?" he called out, about ready to jump up and go see what had crashed to the ground. Romano yelled back, agitated about whatever had happened. Italy furrowed his eyebrows curiously. He didn't quite catch what he said, but due to his tone of voice, he decided not to push him further. An annoyed fratello would mean that their house would never get clean, and that was something he didn't want to happen. He closed his eyes, listening to the chirping bird outside and to the wind which blew through the trees.

Jumping slightly when something poked his chest, his dozing mind instantly assumed the worse and broke out into a terrified cry of jumbled words that went along the lines of 'Please don't hurt me, I'll clean everything up I promise, but let me keep the pasta and tomatoes!' His eyes snapped open, arms flailing at his side until he came back to reality.

Wait.

Blinking at the unamused look on Romano's face, he couldn't help but focus his gaze on the metal spoon that had apparently poked him. He then sniffed, a familiar smell drifting from his apron-clad brother. What was it?.. He saw tiny particles of something that were covering his brother's clothes.

"Is that… oregano?"

Italy leaned closer to sniff at it again before swiping a finger along his shoulder and licking it. Ah! It was! Romano simply rolled his eyes, brushing the excess off that would have to vacuumed up later anyways.

"W-whatever… I accidentally knocked the jar off and the lid wasn't screw on tightly enough, so it got everywhere… I cleaned it up already." Romano's lips pursed, not wanting to speak of it anymore. It was embarrassing enough that he had spilled it in the first place.

"So we can go shopping for more after we clean! I mean, we were going to anyways." Italy had a bright smile on his face, not at all fazed on losing most of their oregano spice. It simply meant they could have fun together as they planned the rest of the month's meals.

"Yeah yeah, let's just get up to the attic already. The kitchen is done." Without listening for his little brother's approval, the older Italian simply turned and threw the apron and metal spoon onto the couch nearby, heading towards the stairs with cleaning supplies now gathered in his hands. Blinking, Italy simply followed him, grabbing some supplies himself so that they could work apart and cover more ground. Flailing slightly as he almost tripped on the stairs, he headed into the open attic, turning to the left since his brother decided to take the right. Placing most of the supplies on an unopened box, he sighed and turned in a full circle to survey exactly how much they had to clean. Boxes upon boxes of nearly forgotten items, and so many other relics that simply were scattered underneath a thick layer of dust. Coughing slightly, he shook his head.

Dust…

A flash of green fabric caught Italy's eye and he looked in the direction where it had come from, waving the dust particles away. Something was poking out of a box to his left. The curious Italian walked over, abandoning his held cleaning tools on a nearby chair. Quietly, he opened the box and pulled out a maid outfit. His eyes opened slowly, a nostalgic expression overtaking his facial features. It was the last girlish item Austria had made him wear until he hit puberty and found out that he was a boy. That had been such a hilarious experience; the way Austria froze, not understanding how he had missed that.

He let out a soft chuckle. It had been too many years since then, but he had always let Hungary play dress up with him while he was still in their house. But once he left, he never had dressed up in it again. Women's clothing was surprisingly nice to wear, non-constricting and so soft… He didn't have the heart to let his old caretaker throw them away. So here they lay, almost forgotten in the attic…

Folding the clothing and putting it back down into the box, he briefly wondered where his deck broom was nowadays. The last time he had it… he had given it to the Holy Roman Empire… Slowly the smile watered down into a deep frown, all joy from the day vanishing into the air. He still was gone… Or maybe not… Sighing and rubbing his forehead, he tried to drive away the negative emotions. But more memories began to pour into his head. Memories of being separated from his brother, of being an underling for so long until he finally fought back to get his land. Everything that had gone downhill in his history assaulted him due to being in the room. It was why they liked to leave the attic the way it was.

No, he had to stop thinking about that; it would only depress him, especially if the memories from the world wars began replaying in his mind… Immediately he began to think of other things, of pasta and being with his brother, of having friends who cared about them. Think of the good memories to outweigh the bad. Which reminded him… His brother and him had plans to go have some fun in the city and perhaps even get some gelato. Hurrying back to his cleaning supplies, he continued on, wanting to complete the task as soon as possible.

A peculiar sound made him tilt his head, the northern Italian pausing in dusting off a table nearby. What was that he heard? It sounded like humming, so soft yet playful. But it wasn't him… So who? Frowning slightly, he looked around. There was only one other person in that room but he couldn't be…. Could he? He hated singing; at least, that's what he though. Silently, he waited to hear the humming increase into actual words.

"I'll give you another one! I'll give you a beautiful one! Eat a delicious tomato and come dance with me! Amore~"

Italy covered his mouth to prevent himself from giggling. Romano was singing! Actually singing with him around! He peered over the tall stack of boxes so that he could properly see his brother. What he saw was surprising. His brother, stubborn and grumpy, was shimmying in place as he sang, one hand tapping out the tempo in the air as if it was a piano, and the other dusting off pieces of forgotten furniture and other relics that hadn't seen the light of day in quite a while.

Spinning around in place, the southern Italian saw that his brother was watching. Immediately he stopped and his face went as red as a tomato. He had forgotten that his brother was up here with him. He grumbled something along of the lines of "Don't judge me and stop smiling!" Turning away from his brother, the now embarrassed Italian was quiet.

"Veh, Romano~ Keep singing! I didn't want you to stop." He giggled, seeing those lips attempting to twist into a half smile. Dancing back over to a covered mirror in the corner and away from his brother, he was happy to hear music begin to fill the air. Soon words burst from his own lips in an upbeat tune.

"Spinning, spinning, hand-in-hand, it's the spinning world round. Stomp your feet to the beat and carolare. Twirl the pasta round and round and toast with a boot. Say "Ciao~" to the spinning, spinning world, Hetalia!" The words faded away into another hum so as to not disturb his brother, who surprisingly was in a lighter mood. His smile grew bigger as he heard the other Italian start to sing louder. Inspecting the mirror, his smile faded slightly, memories wanting to pour from them. Putting up a mental wall to protect himself, he tugged on the fabric that was draped over it, letting it land on the ground in a heap. He coughed, waving his hand as particles of dust that had stubbornly eluded the swifter and that had been disturbed by the fabric danced in the air to create shifting patterns overhead that went unseen. The mirror was so dirty. How long had it been covered up? Of course it didn't help that the Italian brothers had been lazy on cleaning the attic for so many years.

Shaking his head, Italy went to work, using the cleaning materials he had to slowly bring back the ancient relic to the proper shine it deserved. A thought came to his head as the dust was cleared away. Why hadn't he and Romano taken it to be placed around the house? They had plenty of space, and it was getting rather plain around the rooms as well. Perhaps after a while, maybe next week, they can start redecorating again. His stubborn-headed brother would jump at that chance. Perhaps they'll even find more tomato collectable stuff.

A giggle slipped from his lips and he glanced around to make sure his brother didn't hear it and demand what he found funny. Only he and Spain knew of his brother's habit of collecting things that had to do with tomatoes. There was a room sealed off to any and all guests, filled with his little collection. Italy simply found it amusing and encouraged his brother to continue. It did make him happy, so he wasn't about to take that away from him. Leaning back to inspect his work, he was happy until something caught his eye.

There was a black streak that wouldn't come off the reflective surface. Spraying solution onto the mirror, the Italian scrubbed it hard with the cloth, intent on making it shine. No amount of spray or cloth could get the streak from where it stained the mirror. Looking frustrated, Italy made an annoyed face, a small pout on his lips. Why wouldn't the… whatever it was… just behave and go away so the mirror could shine like it used to before… Wait…

Pulling back, the Italian tapped his chin, trying to remember exactly where he had gotten the mirror… It had been something he kept from his grandfather, right? No. They once had a hand mirror that the two had ended up integrating the unbroken piece of polished metal into the new frame that Romano had picked out, with a nice tall square mirror that had been stylish in the neo-classic times. He nodded his head slowly, glancing up at the old piece of history. He wiped at his forehead, frowning. Why had they put it here to gather dust? It had been so useful in the time they had it.

Something seemed wrong about both the metal mirror and the reflective surface. The shine seemed to have warped since he had cleaned it, but that couldn't have been possible. It had been fine a second ago, but now the surface showed strange images as if it was a funhouse mirror. Wrinkling his nose in disdain for those silly things, he inspected it closer. Something suddenly changes in the mirror, devoid of his brightly lit attic, seeming darker.

Looking surprised at the glass, he leaned closer, his breath fogging up the surface. Why did it look as if it was only a window to another place? Frowning, Italy gently poked it and a shiver went down his face. With only the tip of his fingernail touching the glass, it had seemed to give way, liquid coating his skin. The room began to get cold and goosebumps spread across his skin. Unable to make a loud yelp, he pulled back his finger, light eyes staring at the mirror in fear. What…. What was this? That wasn't regular liquid…. It was sticky and seemed too wrong. It was hard to explain, but it couldn't be happening. It was the dust.

Yeah, just too much intake of dust; he should go sit down already, make some lemonade or have a glass of wine.

The Italian was about to turn away to drag his brother downstairs, not wanting to be up here anymore with his eyes and senses playing tricks on him when something even stranger happened. The reflection became distorted, ripples from the disturbance. The color darkened to a near black, the shades seeming to breathe as if they were alive, ripping each other apart only to create new strings of monochrome. The mirror shuddered in its frame, the metal above it glowing darkly. Tendrils of that strange liquid shot out, ensnaring his arms and waist.

"R-Romano!" His voice choked, fear climbing into his eyes, panic overtaking him. He flailed, trying to rip the liquid tendrils off of him, knocking a box to the ground with an elbow, contents spilling. The sound was muffled, never truly making it to either Italian's ears, just a simple low echo of a thud.

The first few times were successful and he backed away, only to yelp as more solid ones ensnared him, dragging him towards the mirror. The air seemed to darken around him, to the point where he couldn't see the boxes around him properly. Squeaking, he squirmed and tugged until he was pressed up against the mirror. The surface began to change colors, speckles of ranging hues shining from its depths, swirling and fading away, yet getting closer, reforming to that strange reflection of the darker attic.

Craning his head back, he saw a shadow that was identical to his own, struggling exactly like him. Crimson eyes glared into his before a shock ran through his body, originating from the mirror itself, which began to glow. Lips parted to scream in terror; nothing came out, and all that was seen was darkness as he was sucked in.