Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia, unfortunately. It belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. If we did, PruCan would be cannon and there would be a lot more GerIta.
Note: This story was inspired by a series of Vocaloid videos and our own twisted imaginations. You guessed it, this is another fic written with my awesome friend from Denmark. Tell us what you think!
Once upon a time…
In a faraway kingdom, a queen gave birth to a pair of healthy twin boys. The kingdom was beside itself with joy. Of all the people who should have been thrilled, the young princes' father held his own council and concern. The old king suddenly had two heirs. Out of concern for his kingdom, he thought it best for the youngest of the two to… disappear. The king's men took the child in the dead of night and paid the queen's priest to tell her that the child had died. It would be years until the older prince knew of this atrocity and longer still before he would see his brother once more.
Lovino Vargas was crowned king of Italy shortly after his father's death. He had been a bitter, selfish child after learning what had happened to his twin brother. Little had changed when he took the throne at age sixteen. Cruelty shone in his sharp hazel eyes and the once boyish face hardly held a smile. Who would have thought this man ever would be like that? His brother was just a memory, but even so, Lovino thought of him every single day.
Today was like every other. It started out with hearing the complaints, worries and troubles of his people. Hearing them soon turned irritating, which made the young king ornery.
"Take her away!" Lovino shouted towards a young peasant.
She was beautiful though. Her long light brown hair and her eyes, as green as grass in the middle of the summer, were stunning to say the least. Unfortunately, her beauty was no match for Lovino's temper.
"But you have to understand, my king!" she tried, "We have no food and-"
"Enough!" Lovino shouted back at her as he stood up, narrowing his eyes. His voice lowered as he hissed to a guard, "Take her away."
And so they did. Two guards grabbed her by her arms and dragged her away. She kept screaming things like 'Help' and 'You don't understand' as they forcefully removed her from the castle. He slowly sat down on his throne, resting his chin against his hand with a frown.
Soon after the young lady was dragged from the hall, a Spanish prince made his way to Lovino's throne. Behind him trailed what seemed to be a young girl with stunning amber eyes wearing a green dress. She kept her eyes on the floor, not daring to glance at either noble as the Spaniard introduced himself as Prince Antonio.
"I offer my country's friendship and this lovely little olive," he gestured to the feminine figure behind him, "As a symbol of our good will."
The "little olive" trembled fearfully. It had been bad enough being forced into slavery at the Spaniard's castle. Now this...?
Lovnio stared at the handsome, tanned prince. He was so… obnoxious. Perhaps he wasn't as incompetent as he appeared, though. The Spaniard had brought a gift for him…? It would only be something useless, Lovino was certain. He looked at the girl, raising a brow. This? Her? Nothing else? Lovino could get all the servants, slaves, butlers, guards and maids he wanted, so why would he need her?
"I see. Are you serious? She doesn't look like she can do a thing. Useless, isn't she?" Lovino snapped, appearing bored.
Feliciano flinched in response to the cruel words. The royal knew nothing about him, yet made those assumptions. He glanced up at the throne for a moment and suppressed a shocked gasp. Looking at Lovino was like looking into a mirror.
Prince Antonio shook his head, "Not at all, King Vargas."
He stared back at the girl in front of him. Wait a second? How..? It was like a mirror had been put up between them. How could they look like each other this much? It would be impossible. A second passed as he considered the possibility that it was his brother, but he was no girl.
"Who… are you?"
Prince Antonio eyed the two of the curiously. He'd heard outlandish rumors about Lovino's harsh temper, but to him, the king looked dumbstruck and the little olive looked just as confused. What on Earth was going on?
Feliciano's gaze shifted quickly back to the floor and the trembling worsened, "...my name is F-Feliciano."
"Feliciano? But that is a boy's name," his eye twitched.
What the heck?! What had that Spanish prince brought him, a boy or a girl?! He stared at it for a while before smiling slightly, though he forced the smile to go away.
"Antonio, please tell me.. Am I related to this one?" he asked. Antonio would know, that pedophile.
"Si, it is a boy's name," Antonio snickered, "But several of my countrymen found it funny to stick him in a dress."
Feliciano screwed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from forming. He was scared and the entire situation was humiliating. It had been Spain's idea to make him wear the dress, the liar.
The prince had to think for a moment, "I wouldn't know, mi amigo, but he does look a lot like you now that you mention it."
Lovino grabbed Feliciano's chin, staring into his eyes, and was lost in thought. They did look alike… Could it be? No way.
"What is your last name?" he asked the almost crying Italian.
Feliciano whimpered at the harsh contact, "I-I... um...Vargas."
He couldn't stop the tears from falling. Panic welled in his heart as he looked at Lovino.
Antonio watched them closely, wondering if King Vargas liked his little gift.
Lovino wrapped his arms around the other, hugging him tightly. His brother… it could only be his brother and when he thought about it, he remembered those eyes.
"Feliciano," he mumbled, "Do you remember me?"
Lovino really hoped he did..
Feliciano sniffled and wrapped his arms around his sibling's waist, "R-Romano..."
The younger Italian was still trembling when Antonio bade them farewell and left the hall briskly. The Spaniard had guessed that the two would want some alone time to catch up.
Lovino pulled away, cupped the others cheeks and kissed his forehead.
"My dear brother," he whispered softly before glaring over at one of his maids, "Get him some clothes. A man shouldn't be wearing a dress."
It was also clear on the maids face that she never had seen the king act like this towards anyone. The king knew that from this day, he had received a new treasure, his most precious treasure.
"W-what happened to you, fratello?" Feliciano asked quietly, hiccuping every so often.
He searched his sibling's eyes for some answer and tried to calm down enough to stop crying. The younger Italian didn't know what to do, so he just stood there and let Romano hold him.
"We will talk later. You look like you have been through a lot," he said, then hissed at the maid, "Didn't you hear me? Give him a shower and get him proper dressed!"
She nodded quickly and led Feli off. Romano sat down, smiling... finally.
Feliciano let himself be led away by the maid, who, after drawing a bath for him, insisted on washing his hair. He tried to decline, but the woman ended up messing with his curl accidentally. The young Italian was so flustered, he couldn't think long enough to try to say anything to the contrary as she helped him bathe and get dressed. If there was anything the Italian was thankful for, it was that the maid hadn't commented on the scars on his back. Unfortunately, his face was still red by the time the maid returned him to Romano.
Romano turned his head and looked at his beloved brother. Standing up and hugging him gently once again. He couldn't do it enough times. But then he finally pulled back.
"Looking good," he muttered.
"Vee~" Feliciano hugged his brother.
He was back to his cheerful self, albeit still embarrassed by his encounter with the maid. A goofy grin found its way to his face. He felt a lot better now that he was out of the dress. The outfit had been the source of far too much ridicule for him.
"It really suits you," he said with a smile, looking his brother over.
Great… what should he say now? He wasn't a man of many words when he wasn't irritated.
"So, uh… Well, how are you?" Romano asked awkwardly.
"Really? That's happy," Feliciano's amber eyes sparkled joyously, but dulled at Romano's question.
Memories of the last few years ran through his mind. Panic. Pain. Days spent in servitude and nights... he refused to think of the things he'd been through. The young Italian smiled once again, but his heart wasn't quite in it.
"I'm alright, now that I'm with you," he said. It wasn't a complete lie.
Romano smiled warmly, "I am glad. We will eat din-" he was interrupted.
"My king, a peasant wish to speak with you," announced a herald.
The Italian king sat there on his throne with a frown. This was beyond irritating.
"All right, let him pass," he said, then looked at Feliciano, smiling at him and him only, "Here, stand beside my throne."
Feliciano moved to stand at Romano's right hand with a small, quiet nod.
A man walked into the big room. He was very poor and appeared as though he was starving, "Our king! A storm wreaked havoc only a sunset ago, tearing my land and home asunder. I ask for a place to stay."
"Bull shit," Lovino answered with a growl, "I am a king, not a magician."
"But where should I stay?" The man paled considerably.
"On the street," he answered, frowning. The man was clearly hurt but he left without a thing to say. "Stupid peasants."
Feliciano watched his brother deal with the sickly man, carefully keeping his horror from showing. How could Romano be so warm and caring toward him, then be so cold to everyone else? It was like watching an entirely different person. Fear settled into his heart once more. He was trembling somewhat when the ragged peasant left.
Romano moved out of his throne. He began walking towards the door that would lead to the highest tower, but paused to look back at Feliciano.
"Follow me," he said, his warm smile showing again.
Feliciano scampered after his brother, afraid to be alone. Too many unbidden memories rushed through his mind for him to feel safe anywhere other than Romano's side.
The king walked up the many stairs until he reached the top. He opened a door to a room. It had originally been built for Feliciano; it was fitting that the younger Italian would finally get to use it. Their rooms were beside each other.
"This shall be your room," Romano announced.
The younger twin tried to be inconspicuous about taking ahold of his brother's hand. If Romano hadn't noticed his shaking before then, he probably did now.
"Questo è un bene," he said quietly. (That's good.)
Romano offered him a smile, but moved away. He was still uncomfortable with such open displays of affection, however small.
"You see, only the best for my brother, Feli. Settle yourself in. I will be in my room. Please look around in your room and come to me, will you?" he asked and walked into his own room, sitting down on his bed with a picture in his hands.
The younger Italian felt his heart sink as Romano left. He walked a few steps into the room and slid to the floor, leaning back against the bed. His head fell into his hands in an attempt to keep from hyperventilating. Too many things reminded him of his time in Antonio's castle. Fresh tears ran down his face.
Time passed, but why didn't Feli come? Romano put the picture away, walked to his brother's room and lowered his brows as he saw his crying brother. He walked to him, then knelt next to Feliciano.
Romano picking up his chin and kissed his forehead, "Don't cry.."
Feliciano nearly pushed Romano away until he looked up at who had touched him. He blinked a few times, then sobbed. The slight shaking had turned into full blown tremors.
"I-I don't w-want to be alone..." he whimpered as the tears refused to stop.
Romano blinked, stroked the others cheek.
"Then you shall sleep with me, fratello," he said, pulling his brother up with a smile, and started walking to his own room.
Feliciano stumbled to his feet and began to follow his brother. The younger Italian tried desperately to wipe away the persistent tears. He only made it a few steps before collapsing in a dead faint.
Romano's eyes widened. He caught his brother and held him close.
"F-Feliciano?!" he shoutedin his confusion.
Romano held him close for a moment before picking him up, carrying him to his bed. It was obvious that Feliciano had fainted and now he would wait for him to wake up.
Feliciano let out a hushed groan as he was picked up. It took some time before his heart rate and breathing calmed.
Romano had sat there beside him all the time, just waiting…
The younger Italian nuzzled close to his brother, slowly opening his amber eyes. He looked confused. He'd been in his room just a moment ago, hadn't he..? He didn't remember moving.
Romano looked back at his brother, then smiled warmly, stroke his cheek, "Please rest, alright?"
Romano was sitting with a picture in his hands. He kind of hid it.
Feliciano smiled back, but tried to stay awake. He didn't want the nightmares to catch up with him just yet.
"What's that, fratello?" he asked sleepily.
He blushed slightly and tried to hand the photo to Feliciano. It was Antonio. He lowered his brows. "I might like him. Though his together with Francis. Have you met him?"
The light in Feliciano's eyes dulled considerably as he moved away from the picture. He buried his face in the pillow in an attempt to quell the onslaught of panic that wreaked havoc on his mind. Know him!? The man's face was seared into his memory.
"I mean Francis, not Antonio," he said, looking at his terrified brother. His hand gently ran across his cheek, caressing it as he smiled, "I know you hate Antonio."
Feliciano looked up at his brother without actually seeing him. The young Italian was lost in a memory.
Brown, blue or red eyes… it didn't matter. All three had the same drunken, lust-driven look to them. He tried to move away, but they had bound his hands and feet while he'd been asleep. Frightened tears streamed down his face as they moved closer, knowing full well what they meant to do.
"Si prega di... non mi ha colpito di nuovo! Sarò una buona Italia! ...solo che non mi ha colpito," the words were choked off by a heart-wrenching sob, "Per favore…" (Please... don't hit me again! I'll be a good Italy! ...just don't hit me. Please…)
"Hm? I have never hit you. Don't be stupid," he laughed and wrapped his arms around his brother, but right after, he got up, "I need to write a letter to Antonio."
The younger Italian snapped out of it when he heard Romano laughing and hugged his fratello. Had he said something? He couldn't remember... so, he nodded quietly when Romano pulled away. Pulling his knees to his chest, Feliciano tried to recall what had just happened.
"I love you, dear brother," he spoke before walking to his desk and sitting down.
Feliciano smiled brightly, "Anch'io ti voglio bene, fratello." (I love you too, brother.)
They were still in the same room, though. Romano just stared down at the paper, narrowing his eyes and bit his lip. Jealousy was rushing into him and he cried soundlessly.
The younger Italian got up. He wondered why his back hurt at the sudden motion. Pushing the thought away, he meandered over to Romano. He had simply been intent on hugging his brother, but stopped short when he saw him crying. Feliciano rushed over, wiping away his brother's tears, and looked distressed.
"What's wrong, fratello?" he asked as he hugged Romano.
Romano pretended like it was nothing but shortly after, he cried again.
"I hate Francis... I hate him so much," he muttered, pushing everything on the desk away in anger, "I want Antonio."
Feliciano wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders and kissed his forehead, "Don't cry, Romano... after all, I heard Mister Antonio talking about you a few times."
It hadn't been a secret to the servants in the Spaniards house that Antonio favored "Lovinito" over the Frenchman. Once the little Italian had discovered that Antonio had meant Romano, he'd been jealous. He didn't want anyone that close to his brother. Still, he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness for Romano's.
"If you like him so much, why not tell him?" his voice wavered slightly.
"He's with Francis," Romano explained simply.
What else could he say? Antonio had a lover and there was nothing that could change that. He hid his face in his hands but only for a second.
"I want Antonio… for myself. I love him so much," he cried out.
Romano had always loved him. Though it wasn't often, they talked together, but Romano had fallen so madly in love with him.
"No, fratello... they're just friends," Feliciano shook his head and tried to keep the panic from his voice, "They hang out with Gilbert a lot too..."
The younger Italian spent most of his time trying to forget how often those three spent time together. He was thankful that the maid hadn't spoken to Romano of the scars that marred most for his frail frame. There was no telling what his brother would do if he knew.
"They aren't just friends...! I know it," he mumbled faintly.
Friends didn't act like that. Being so close… Laughing… Being together so much...
"I want.. Francis to die," he growled in a helplessly sad whimper.
Dread settled into Feliciano's core, making him tremble. Hearing the edge in Romano's voice reminded him of when the typically cheerful Spaniard lost control. Antonio was always saying that his Conquistador days were behind him. 'Right behind him,' Feliciano thought, closing his eyes tight against the fear. The smaller Italian was still recovering from the last time...
"Get back here, you little bastard!" He ran as fast as he could, trying to escape what he knew would be a violent beating. Breathing became difficult. The Spaniard had cracked at least two of his ribs already. His vision became hazy and he lost his sight for a brief second. The Italian's pulse drummed in his ears; it deafened him to everything except the footfalls of his pursuer. His foot caught on the carpet and sent him sprawling painfully to the floor. Within seconds, those footfalls had caught up. "Hijo de puta, te voy a matar!" the Spaniard yelled, roughly turning him over and punching his soft face.
"Ho vissuto con lui, ricordi?" he asked quietly. (I lived with him, remember?)
Romano just sat there silently. He didn't know what to do or say. He had been caught in the pain of love, jealousy and hate. He tugged his dark brown hair tightly while the hate took over his heart. His body started shaking as tears fell onto the desk.
"Kill him..." he whispered almost inaudibly, "Please, Feli.."
Shock stilled the shaking completely. Feliciano's eyes widened incredulously at his brother as he tried to comprehend what had just been asked out him. He held Romano a slight distance from him and looked into those mirrored eyes. All color drained from his face.
"Y-you want me to kill?" Feliciano flinched at the words as they fell from his mouth, "Why, fratello...?"
Romano burst out crying once again by the need to explain.
"Please.. I want him.. I want Antonio for myself," he whimpered, tugging his hair tightly as he breathed deeply, desperately. "It is an order!" he ended up shouting before getting up.
He wouldn't be this cruel to his brother. But... jealousy had become a canker in his heart.
Feliciano fell back against the wall and hugged his arms close to him. The tremors returned once again; uncertainty and fear shaking his small shoulders. Burying his face in his hands, the younger Italian tried to keep the terrified tears from falling. Still, it was what his brother wanted. Conviction steeled his heart as the almost silent words fell from his trembling lips.
"I-I don't know what happened to change you this way, Romano... but I will try."
His hands fell away as he walked with newly composed cool towards the door. Feliciano paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back.
"For your happiness," he said softly, "T-ti amo, fratello... would you mourn for me, if I fail?"
Afterward: If you didn't get this, the Italian brothers have some pretty epic issues. Would you guys like for me to post the full versions of Feliciano's flashbacks?