Repression and Warm Goodbyes
Italy knew that he was persistent. When it came to begging Germany to let him eat pasta after training, or pleading with Romano to sleep in the same bed because he needed comfort, it shows. Persistence was one of Italy's defining traits, despite having been known to surrender quite easily.
He never really thought that it could be one of the things he hated about his younger self.
It wasn't often that he would visit; like his Grandpa Rome who visits on a completely inconsistent basis, his younger self would visit whenever he wasn't expecting it.
Even when he did expect the occasional visit, he felt as if it wasn't completely welcome to him anymore. In fact, the thought sounded daunting- the child in the green maid dress reminded him of the very things that he wanted to forget, and the child had always acknowledged the fact that it was, indeed, his purpose. It wasn't as if he had chosen to be there, Italy thought, but fate was fickle and he keeps wondering why the child wouldn't go away.
The child was hurting him- every visit became worse for Italy. It wasn't a physical kind of suffering- it was messing with his head too much, driving him crazy.
To Italy, it was like the child gave a whole meaning to his least favorite sentence- 'Your worst enemy is yourself'.
When he came home from a meeting, he heard a faint sort of singing, and he knew what that had meant for him. Carefully, he set his bag down on the couch, and made his way to the back door. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Indeed, he was greeted by the sight of a young brunette in a green maid dress, sitting down on the grass and singing to the air and the animals that had come to watch him pour his heart out. Italy closed his eyes, and listened. It was going to hurt, but really, when was the last time heartbreak had killed someone?
He sat down as quietly as possible on the porch. The wind was whipping against them both, copper curls bobbing along with the air current. The child's beautiful song kept flowing in the wind, words lacing the air with all of the intense emotions Italy had kept repressed within him for decades. All of the sorrow, the longing, the crying, the praying- they were all gone with the wind. Italy found himself wanting to take it all off his chest as well, but he knows inside of himself that he can't- it would be too painful for him.
After all, pain was something the two had hated for a very long time.
They both knew very well who he was singing for. He wasn't coming back- it was a subconscious realization within both of them that they chose to ignore. It wasn't doing them any good, but they would rather live in a blissful lie and wait, than to plunge back into a harsh reality.
The song came to a close, and his younger self finally turned around to face him. Italy was not surprised to see the tears rolling down his cheeks, or the hands that were trembling by his side. Noting that his eyes were open and bloodshot, Italy opens his own.
"Welcome back," He tried to sound optimistic- to sound like he was oblivious to his younger self take all of his hurting out on the song. The child smiled a sad smile.
"Are you happy to see me?" He said, looking at him. Italy flinched. He asks this every time. It doesn't annoy him- it was just that they both know what the answer to that question was and it wasn't what either of them had hoped. So instead, he stays quiet.
He hadn't noticed that he looked away, but the child had. The child approaches him, tiny boots rustling through the grass. He paid no mind to the beautiful flowers within range of his tiny hand, or the rabbits that hopped next to him, or the birds that flew behind him. However, he had paid attention to Italy's shaking. His smile melted into a thoughtful frown, and he raises a hand to his older self.
"I'll take that as a no then."
From under a veil of auburn hair, Italy's eyes returned their focus to the child in front of him. He sighed, his own frown making its way onto his face.
He had never tried to delve into this mystery before- this insane mystery of being able to meet his younger self.
But he knows himself very well, and he knows that he wouldn't act like this as a child. This child was himself, and yet, he was his own person. A hurtful pain disguised as his most painful memories- that was what this child was. He was the only one to witness all of his suffering- simply by the fact that this child was his suffering. It was as if fate pulled another cruel joke on him, and personified his internal struggle.
Whenever it happens, the painful feeling rests in his chest, and stays there until the child leaves. It was why he never looks his younger self in the eye; because he sees himself in those eyes, and himself is an immortal entity with a broken heart.
The void in his heart was still there, even after decades past. The grief never left him, and so didn't the love. He never really found the solace that he needed to escape, and he gave up trying a century ago.
Italy figured that repressing his childhood might have been the next best thing.
But, as they stood together on the porch, with the wind whipping against them and the child's hand still outstretched, Italy confirms that the decision backfired on him.
Gently, he pushes the child's hand away. "Why do you do this?" He asks. The child stares at him with a pained expression, his eyes almost immediately brimming with tears and hands balled into fists.
This wasn't new to Italy at all- he had thrown quite a few tantrums during his last visit. Really, it was amazing how fast his younger self could switch between personalities… He doesn't remember being so emotionally unbalanced. He was fully aware that this would hurt him more than it should, but he'll keep trying to get his answers.
It seemed like a cruel thing to do- watching himself cry to satisfy the many questions swimming in his head. But when you were over a thousand years old and seen worse things, even a nation like Italy would have to make decisions like this.
"I want you to acknowledge me!" The child shouts at him. It was always the same answer, duly noted in his head. Italy's frown deepened.
"And I still don't understand…" He said, looking away again. Italy hadn't stopped shaking and once again, he regrets making the child cry.
The child glares at him, tears falling in large drops and staining the oak floor beneath them. "Why is it that you always forget about me? Am I not important to you?" He was choking on his own tears now, and Italy's instincts forced him to put a hand on the child's shoulder. However, the child angrily pushes the hand away.
"You always push me at the back of your mind like I'm nothing! It's like those times weren't important to you at all!" Italy looks down on him with sadness in his eyes. This sadness wasn't new to him either- it was the kind that made his breath hitch in his throat, and made his knees feel weak. He hated it.
The tears started to form. "They hurt me. They hurt too much, and you of all people should know that."
The child shakes his head furiously. "No! That's not what's hurting you, I'm sure of it!"
Italy always thought that someone had to draw the line sometime. This was going on for far too long enough.
"Why do you care? I'm sick of being so sad all the time! I just want to smile and forget about the past- is that really too much to ask for?!" Italy shouts, finally letting out what he has been holding back for decades. "I can't take it anymore! It hurts so bad- and I don't even know why it still hurts! I just want it gone! I just want to be free of this!"
"All of the memories! I hate it that I'll always remember when he was still there… when we were still so happy! And it all ended when he left!"
"He'll come back! He promised us, don't you remember? He promised that he'll come back!"
"You know that he won't. You know that he's gone…"
"He's still out there! You don't know what you're saying!"
"I know exactly what I'm saying! And- and I want to forget! It hurts too much!"
"You can't do that! Y-you'll leave me in the dark if you do that…" The child starts to cry harder. "I-I don't want to be alone… Not again!"
Italy's eyes widen.
It's been so long since he's ever truly felt alone. Long since before he met Germany and Japan… The feeling wasn't welcome to him. Being alone was the most terrible feeling in the world- and he never would have thought that his younger self was feeling so right now.
Italy continues to stare at the crying child. Alone was agony, among many other things. To him, it was the most painful thing. Even more so than the memories that haunted him at night, or the times when August the 6th would come by.
…Had it really been so long that he started to lose his faith in him? He's clung onto the childish belief that he would return for so long that it was unbearable. He's convinced that he's been fooling himself since France had told him that he was long gone.
Why can't he see that he's gone? Why can't he see that this will just end up hurting him more in the end?
Italy leaned down to the child's level, and took him in his arms, allowing the smaller him cry on his shoulder. He sighed, closing his eyes, and letting the tears fall freely. "You miss him, don't you?"
"You miss him just as much as I do," came his younger self's muffled reply.
"Yes I do…" The faint image of a small, blonde boy clad in black appeared in his mind, and Italy grits his teeth in a hopeless attempt to choke back a sob. "But he's not coming back. You know that, don't you?"
Italy could feel the child's eyes snap open. Not a second later, he felt a shove, and he stumbles backwards. He looks up to see his younger self stare down angrily at him.
But the sadness in his eyes overpowers all of his other emotions. "I can't believe you…"
Italy just barely catches the disappointment and desperation in his words, before the child runs away.
And he was gone.
Italy doesn't try to stand up. He sits there, and places his head in his hands.
He lost his resolve for him long ago, and he doesn't want to try to get it back. No, he will let his heart take a short rest from the rest of the world. Repression was a bittersweet thing, but acceptance was a worse thing.
If Holy Roman Empire wasn't coming back, then there simply wasn't any reason to wait for him. But the devotion was still there, and Italy had held on to that notion for the longest time. The old days were gone, and they weren't coming back. That was just the way it was. If only his younger self could understand that…
He didn't want to understand it either.
The child was gone, but somehow, the pain was still there.
Author's Note
HOLY DAMN, I WAS GONE FOR TOO LONG…
I'm sorry about the long hiatus; school has been especially rough with me. And I feel like it's about to get a lot rougher…
My issue is that well, A, I've had Writer's Block. And B, my schedule is messed up. And C, SCHOOL. A LOT OF SCHOOL.
Well, the only reason that I've been able to post this was that reason A and reason B gave me a break for today. DAMN THAT WAS A LONG WRITE… Again, I'm terribly sorry about not being too active. I think the last time I've updated was last September…
As for why I wrote this fancfiction… This has been on my mind lately. I saw somewhere on the wiki that Italy had repressed most of his childhood, and I found Chibitalia to be literally one of the saddest characters of the series. It's that, or I've been listening to too much Hetaloid… It's 'Hurting for a Very Hurtful Pain' if you're wondering.
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The song doesn't belong to me either, though I have no idea who wrote it.