Disclaimor: I do not now nor have ever owned Hetalia, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, etc. nor do I claim to. This is a fanbased work, so please, no lawyers! I am deathly allergic to lawyers!

"I'll spend forever by his side"

Fanficiton author: Fierce Kitten

Pairing: GerIta/HREIta (?)

Italy bolted upright in his bed. He panted, sweat dripping down his temple, hands gripping tight to the bed sheet, knuckles white. He groped at the space beside him on the bed. Empty.

Ah. Right. Romano was at Spain's house tonight. Italy smiled a bit, weakly. Good for him, Romano deserved to spend time with friends….

But that meant Italy was alone. After that dream.

Italy whimpered a bit in the dark as he crawled out of bed, chest aching. He stumbled toward the door, images flashing through his mind.

"It's your fault, Italy."

Italy shook his head, almost falling down the stairs but he caught himself on the railing. No. The real Austria wouldn't say that to him. It was just a dream, just a dream….

"He died because you wouldn't be part of him. Because you prevented him from being powerful enough."

No. That's not true. He was protecting him…

"How could you Italy?" Hungary asked, tears in her eyes, "After all the love he gave you. He loved you."

No, no, no! Hungary wouldn't say that….. Hungary didn't say that… You are not a child anymore, Italy. These nightmares…. They don't mean anything. You have to get over them.

The little broken body lay in the casket – the body of a small child, dressed in black, blood soaking the cloth, his hands, his matted blond hair….

Stop it. Stop imagining it. There was no body, there was no –

"You promised," came his voice as he stared up at Italy with his dead, dead eyes.

"STOP!" Italy screamed, falling into his front door, hands on the doorknob. Tears poured down his face. He wrenched open the door, cold air hitting his near naked body. Lurching into the night, his bare feet hit the dirt below, running forward with all his might. His hair was swept back by the wind, Goosebumps along his flesh complaining, begging him to go back into the warmth.

Tears dripped down his face, to the ground below as it turned from Italian to Swiss. Lights in Vash's house clicked on as he bounded through his yard. The tiered-looking Swiss swung open his blinds and scowled at Italy, far too used to this sight by now to even grab his shotgun. "Put some more clothes on, you imbecile! You're scarring Liechtenstein!"

"P-put some clothes on!" Holy Roman Empire had once shouted at a young, presumed-female Italy before Italy was allowed to sleep in the same bed with him.

Lightning flashed above and it began to rain, turning the dirt to mud as the young – yet far too old – Italian's feet touched German soil.

Italy slowed to a walk as the German house came into sight. The thunder rolled up ahead, and Italy put on a brave face, approaching the home one foot at a time.

He crawled into Germany's window, into the dark house. His muddy feet made prints on the floor as he patted up the stairs, and to Ludwig's bedroom. He spotted the German, fast asleep in his bed, breathing in and out slowly, his blond hair falling into his face. Italy smiled softly and patted closer, sliding in bed next to his friend. He snuggled close to Germany, burring his face in his muscular chest, breathing in his scent. His earthy scent, with a touch of beer and… was that tulips? Or maybe roses…., entered his nostrils and filled him with tranquility.

Germany would wake up in the morning, and yell at him for sneaking into his house and sleeping in his bed without permission, but Italy didn't care. A little yelling would be worth it for the peace of mind Germany brought him. A good night's sleep is always worth it. And then, while Germany cleaned up the mess Italy made with his muddy feet, he'd make Germany some morning cronettos and coffee, and they'd sit down and have a lovely breakfast and everything would be fine. They could be happy… at least until the next night.

Italy smiled… and had good dreams for the rest of the night.

End.

A/N: I wanted Germany to smell like his national flower… only to discover Germany doesn't HAVE a national flower. (I guess he's too manly for that.) So, I made him smell like roses and tulips instead, because Germany has a lot of roses and tulips. Deal with it.

Also, "cronettos" are the Italian name for croissants. Part of a balanced, Italian breakfast! They are often dipped in coffee in Italy, opposed to butting jam or cream of whatever, though I'm sure they're not opposed to the idea.

So, this was just a sad drabble…. I've been working on a few of them. I'm not sure you can CALL it "romance"… but there you have it.