Chapter 1: Artist in the Making

Hey y'all! It's my first time writing the chibis, so take it easy on me, okay?

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.

Italy hummed quietly to himself as he swept the floor of the main hallway. Other than that, the only noise to be heard throughout HRE's gigantic mansion was the swishing of the broom against the wooden floor. Seeing as not many people frequented the labyrinth of hallways, the only residents being little Italy, Austria, the Holy Roman Empire, and Hungary, there was always a thin layer of dust building up in the many corridors.

Sometimes, if Italy happened across some tucked-away room that he had forgotten to clean, he would find the whole room to be coated in a few inches' layer of dust. Needless to say, those unfortunate happenings were a lot of work for Italy's small hands.

The corridors themselves were rather barren, save for the wall lights, the chests of drawers, and of course the abundant oil and watercolour paintings that were hung every few metres or so.

The paintings themselves took up most of the space on the patterned walls. Fantastical landscapes and faraway kingdoms, summer countrysides and winter forests, all of them stood to attention from their high positions. Often, Italy found it very hard not to admire the magnificent pictures while he did his chores.

No matter how many times Italy's observant eyes scrutinized the paintings, he was always blown away by their intense colour schemes and dazzling settings. He too enjoyed spotting the magical creatures that his among the dense underbrush or the high canopies.

Oh, but how he wished he could draw like that!

Before Mr. Austria had taken young Italy into his custody, his Grandpa Rome had been responsible for his upbringing. Indeed, it was he that taught Italy all he knew about the arts.

Italy missed sitting beside his grandfather on warm summer afternoons, painting the beautiful Italian countryside with his soft words of advice and rough, calloused hands to guide him. His grandfather's warm presence was always a source of comfort throughout Italy's childhood, something familiar throughout the troubles of nationhood.

His heart hurt thinking about his famiglia, so far away. How was his fratello doing? Italy had had to leave before he could be sure.

Drawing, other than singing or dancing, gave him a distraction from his homesickness. It was something constant that kept both his mind and hands busy.

If anything, he simply wanted a scrap of paper to sketch on. He hadn't really gotten the chance to show anything to the other residents of the house. Italy wasn't really sure whether Holy Rome would be interested in his art, and neither Austria or Hungary had seen his pencil sketches, let alone his paintings. But then again, there was also the question of whether Austria would give him anything to draw with at all, considering the stunt he had pulled last week.

Italy giggled to himself as he remembered the horrified look on Mr. Austria's face when he happened upon the ruined portrait of himself, vandalized by no other than the tiny, delicate hands of Italy Veneziano. Well, he supposed he also had the help of that can of ink.

But just black ink?

No, it wasn't enough to draw effectively. Maybe, if he had a fountain pen, which he didn't.

Italy remembered Grandpa Rome had always told him that practice was the key. Even if he wasn't there with Italy, practice would always be his guide to improvement.

And so, when he wasn't doing his many chores, the child spent most of his time outside observing his surroundings. There were so many places around the house, in Holy Rome's land-body, that were perfect to paint!

Sometimes, if he was really desperate for something to do, Italy would resort to drawing in the dirt with a stick. However, he soon found that brown didn't really suit the sky very much.

Again, Italy's thoughts strayed to the wonderful oil paint that all the best artists used. Red, yellow, blue, the endless colours that he could get by simply mixing the three of them in a palette.

How great it would be if-

Italy was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden crash that resounded around the empty hallway. Panicked, Italy searched around for the broken vase so that he could clean it up before Mr. Austria saw it, but he found that it hadn't been him who had knocked it down.

There was a clamor of noise that originated from behind the closed door in front of the small nation. Still holding his broom, Italy glanced up at the metal plaque that would state the purpose of a room if it was important.

Meeting Room. Of course.

Mr. Austria had informed both Miss Hungary and him about his conference today, and that they shouldn't disturb him, the archduchess, and the other guests. The loud shouting and banging coming from inside the room was actually no real surprise to Italy; all too often he had been the one caught in the crossfire as he attempted to serve tea.

Italy was about to move past the door when he hesitated. His childish curiosity was piqued. He hadn't any interest for politics, but maybe, maybe, he could get lucky and find a stub of charcoal, maybe a slip of unused parchment too. He felt a bit guilty about stealing, but Italy reassured himself that surely they wouldn't miss a few pieces of paper…

Italy stood up on his toes in order to reach the brass doorknob. As soon as he pushed the wooden door inwards, Italy's senses were bombarded with the chaos that was the meeting room. Italy's eyes widened in surprise, he soon realized that the noise was much louder than what he had initially thought. It almost reached such a deafening volume he couldn't hear his own heartbeat.

Everyone present in the room was either shouting at the top of their lungs or staying well away from the commotion in order to remain unscathed.

Austria himself was one of the latter, watching from the sidelines with an expression of distress marring his usually-calm demeanor.

Italy quickly ducked behind the door as one of the saucers smashed against the wood above his head.

No wonder Mr. Austria told us to keep away, Italy thought, worried for the safety of everyone in the room.

But, much to the aspiring artist's delight, pieces of parchment were flying askew in all directions. Italy snatched a few of them from the air when they passed the doorway, and hugged them all to his chest.

Italy would also have darted in to grab a pencil, but seeing the war unfolding before his eyes, he thought that maybe just ink would do for now. He could always just sneak into Mr. Austria's study with the excuse that he was cleaning. Again, a slight feeling of guilt.

Italy abruptly stepped back, broom and parchment in hand, and shut the door with a tight click. He was eager to leave the meeting confined in that room, thank you very much. Almost immediately the sound of war was muffled through the walls.

With a small, relieved huff, Italy scampered away to the kitchen as fast as his short, stubby legs and billowing green dress would allow. Maybe Miss Hungary would have a kitchen chore for him.

It was a bright, sunny afternoon when Italy decided to use his newfound 'resources'. He had taken a charcoal pencil from Mr. Austria's study; Italy was sure he wouldn't miss just one. Italy had also borrowed a hardback book from the library to keep behind the paper and ensure it from breaking.

The sheet he wanted to use had evidently flitted past the fireplace, there were vague burn marks along one side. Italy was using it as he figured that he should save the others for something more important.

Pressing the pencil into the parchment, Italy watched the fragile tip break slightly, leaving a dark mark on the light yellow.

Now, what to draw?

The countryside, although beautiful, simply wasn't a good choice of subject when he only had a pencil to draw with. He needed a figure. An object. A tree? No, it had no grace. An animal? Moved around too much.

Italy was suddenly struck with an idea. No use suggesting things to himself when he could just look around, right?

He got up from the stone bench before he made his way around to the back of the house. He ran his hand along the wall as he went, enjoying the countryside.

Once there at the backyard, he was met with the sight of Miss Hungary's training grounds. Often, Prussia would visit and spar with her(when he wasn't off conquering vital regions, of course). Austria wasn't very thrilled when he'd been informed, probably still bitter from the Austro-Prussian war that had happen a couple of decades back. It was definitely only because of Hungary, he didn't want to hold back her training. She was the one always protecting him, after all.

Italy was usually happy to see the albino nation. He treated Italy like a fellow soldier, not like the child he appeared to be. He still called him 'kid', though, and Miss Hungary always stopped Prussia from being too rough with him. When Italy had first attempted to call him 'Mister', Prussia had just laughed uproariously and patted young Italy on the head with his unnaturally pale hand. "Just Prussia, kid." was fine as well, apparently.

Prussia was here that day, too.

The sound of his and Hungary's practice battle rebounded against the surrounding trees magnifying it, sending the sound through to all the surrounding hills. Even from far away, Italy would have been petrified if he hadn't known better. The clang of metal on metal could be heard among the playful threats coming from both parties' mouths. Prussia, of course, was the more boastful of the two. They both looked so consumed in the heat of the battle, Italy was afraid to break their concentration. They exchanged blows which would have been deadly, had they not owned years of military experience fighting to protect and conquer.

"Psh, Hungary, you really thought you could get me with that?" Prussia laughed, dodging Hungary's sudden thrust. "It seems you haven't been improving at all! No, quite the opposite," Prussia grinned as he parried another one of the other's attacks.

"No indeed, I was just getting your guard down!"

She was quite correct in that, as not two seconds later the tip of Hungary's saber was pressed against the red-eyed country's throat. She had gotten under his guard while he had been talking, something that he often did on the battlefield. It was fortunate that most of the soldiers he faced were young, inexperienced buffoons. Only sometimes, when facing a real enemy, did he drop his happy-go-lucky façade.

Prussia chuckled, dropping his sword and raising his arms in surrender.

"Hmph. It seems you've been getting better after all..! Not everyone can defeat this hunk of awesomeness!"

Hungary rolled her eyes, but smiled warmly at him nonetheless.

Italy watched their banter from a bench across from the makeshift battle arena. Hungary, being very graceful in battle, was the perfect choice for a model to draw. Prussia too, Italy supposed. Despite the albino's annoying and unnecessary boasting, he really was exceptionally talented and ruthless in battle.

Italy watched them closely, and once he had gotten the overall base positions for the figures he worked on the clothes and detailing. The shading came after that as well.

This is just a rough drawing, Italy thought. Maybe when I get paint, I can make it a real work of art.

Italy was just finishing the faces off when the piece of paper was snatched out of his hands. So involved was he in his drawing that he didn't notice both of the sweat-drenched nations coming towards him. The sun had already set behind the far hills, the trio had spent all afternoon outside. Prussia was the one who had taken the paper, of course.

Italy stood up on the stone bench, trying in vain to take the drawing back from Prussia. The latter, however, held it well away from the child's reach. Italy felt tears in his eyes. Prussia was going to tease him, wasn't he? He was going to say how ugly the whole thing looked, how Italy didn't get anything right. The arms were probably too fat, the swords too wonky…

But for once Prussia was quiet. His eyes roved the parchment, for what Italy wasn't really certain. Gilbird twitted shrilly from his perch on Prussia's shoulder. Surprisingly, Prussia held the piece of paper carefully, not like he was about to rip it into shreds.

Then his face broke out into a huge grin. "Mein Gott, Hungary, look at this! I didn't know the kid could draw!"

Confused, Italy wiped the water from his eyes. Did that have a hidden meaning, or…?

It didn't seem like it. Prussia passed the paper to Hungary, who's face too cracked into a smile. She glanced at Italy, still holding that warm expression.

"Wow, Italy! This is really good!"

Italy swallowed thickly. They weren't making fun of him? Usually, all the human kids he'd met had torn his sketchbook from him, either dropping it into a puddle of water, snickering, or ripping the pages out while actively insulting his hard work.

"You guys really think so?" He asked quietly, eyes wide.

"Yeah!" Prussia volunteered, still grinning. "You even included Gilbird! That's always a ten outta ten in my books."

"Although.." The albino's grin faltered for a moment, as he looked over the sketch once more. "You did get my jaw a bit wrong." Prussia rubbed said jaw unconsciously.

"That's 'cause you were talking too much, ve~!"

Hungary openly laughed at the witty comment, elbowing Prussia in the ribs smugly. He grumbled at the abuse, but anyone could see he wasn't taking it to heart. Prussia never did.

She then scooped up the child nation into her arms with ease, and the three of them made their way back to the front of the house.

"But really, Italy, you don't think your drawing is good?" Hungary glanced down at him, frowning slightly.

Italy shrugged embarrassedly, staring down at the gravel underfoot. He fiddled with the green fabric of his dress.

Prussia reached over Hungary's shoulder to ruffle the little Italian's hair through the head covering, still grinning in what he thought was an encouraging manner. Really, it was just terrifying. Hungary gave him a warning look. He chuckled a bit, retracting his arm sheepishly.

"You'd better go, before Austria sees you," She snorted at him. "God knows you're more trouble than you're worth!" Prussia laughed again with his rough voice, but he promised HUngary he'd leave as soon as they got to the front gate.

"But really, kid, I haven't met many people that can draw as good. But still, even your drawing cannot compare to mein awesomeness!"

Hungary rolled her eyes again, then raised Italy up so his eyes were on the same level as hers.

"If you keep drawing like that, maybe he'll allow you some more paper. I'll show him this one, see what he thinks." She smiled at him again.

Italy immediately perked up at the statement. If he could get paper, why not a canvas? A charcoal pencil, why not paint?

"Say, Ms. Hungary…" Italy hesitated. But before he could voice his suggestion, Hungary seemed to read his thoughts perfectly.

"Canvas and paint, hm? I'll ask Austria, but we'll see if the old grouch'll allow it." She winked conspiratorially at Italy, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

Perhaps the young Italy really could pursue his aspirations to be an artist! Even if he had to work at Holy Rome's... For Austria…

But that was what revolutions were for, right?