"Italy… Holy Rome is…" France hesitated, looking into Italy's wide and innocent hazel eyes. He couldn't do this. He drew back, but Italy's small hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. "What about Holy Rome?" the tiny nation asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. France gulped. "Holy Rome is… he's not… he's not coming back, Italie" "I don't see what you mean, big brother. He's coming back! He promised me he would, and Holy Rome doesn't break promises!" Italy proclaimed, voice steadily getting higher pitched, fiddling with the hem of his apron.
France sighed. "You're in denial, Italy. He's not here anymore, and I think you've known that for a while. It will only be worse if you lie to yourself." Italy bolted out of his chair and ran over to pummel France. "I'm lying?" he shrieked angrily, eyes now blank, "don't tell me I'm lying when you obviously… want to take over my land or something! You're not fooling me, France!" Italy suddenly sank to his knees, hands tangled up in his brownish-red hair, sobbing. The little curl of hair that stuck out from the side of his head was now crumpled, as if it were a sliver of discarded paper, thrown into the trashcan.
Hungary stood in the doorway, fingers curled around the doorframe, her usually bright green eyes subdued as tears threatened to fall. She had never in her life seen Italy like this; he was always so bright and happy. Of course, after Holy Rome left, he was a little more sad and quiet, but he never screamed incoherent things in Italian or tore his hair out as he was doing now. She bit her lip. She absolutely had to do something, but as soon as she took a step to enter the room, a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
Spain silently shook his head, eyes troubled. Why is he here? She thought warily. As if reading her mind, he whispered, "Austria told me about what happened. I figured someone needed to help the poor kid, so I brought Roma. Lord knows they don't get along all the time, but still, they're brothers, so I thought he could try to cheer him up." Hungary nodded, just noticing the small child standing at her knee-level. He glared up at her, hissing "Can I go in now? It may not seem like it, but I really don't like my fratello looking like he's about to lose it." "Mmhm" she agreed absentmindedly.
Romano rushed to his brother, grabbing the youngers tear-stained face and yelling 'Fratellino, quello che ti avevo detto? Ti ho detto di non cadere per quel ragazzo. Ma non preoccuparti, trovero il bastardo di maledetto chi lo ha ucciso e prendersi cura di lui, va bene?" Italy nodded miserably and grasped the front of Romano's shirt, sobbing onto it. "Ma… Penso che avrei potuto amarlo…" Romano looked taken aback, and bit his lip. "Well… whose damn fault is that, fratellino?" he decided on saying, but his eyes were sympathetic.
France, in the meantime, managed to escape the room, looking shaken. He and Austria, who had come from the living room, joined Hungary and Spain by the door. The four adult nations watched in silence as Romano somehow managed to cheer up his twin a little. When he was finished, Romano marched over to Spain and grabbed the elder's leg possessively. "Roma, that was amazing!" he cried happily, "how come you're never like that to me?" The child scowled. "First of all, my name isn't Roma, so don't call me that! Also, you're a perverted Tomato Bastard and not my brother, so I won't be cheering you up anytime soon, an it's not like anyone would love you, so I doubt you'll ever have Veneziano's problem." He said, turning away from Spain and flushing, eyes softening slightly.
When Italy walked past her, Hungary picked up Italy, whose eyes were red and was sniffing, and hugged him very close, murmuring sweetly in Hungarian. "It will be okay," she whispered, smoothing back his mussed hair. He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut to prevent more tears from falling.
A couple of hundred years later, Italy was crammed into one of his brother's empty tomato crates, shaking. He wasn't paranoid; there really were footsteps all around him! (Of course, that's what he'd been thinking for the last 3 hours, but that's beside the point…) Someone tapped on the box, and he yelped loudly in fright, then wrapped his fingers around his mouth to stop anymore outbursts.
But it was too late. The intruder heard him. "I think there's someone in here!" he proclaimed, and Italy heard the lid groan. He panicked. "No, there's no one in here! I'm just… the box of tomatoes fairy!" The lid of the box continued to creak. He prayed fervorently in Italian. When the lid burst off, Italy burst out screaming, "NO! Please don't shoot me! I have family in-" He cracked his eyes open to see if he could guess where the intruder was from, and almost fainted in shock. "Holy Ro-" he caught himself. There was no way this person was Holy Rome, no matter how much they looked alike. He had long ago accepted his friend was dead. (And really, the HRE never really had a capital, so Italy was never really sure if he were immortal or not…)
"Bayern! Si, I have family in Bayern, so don't shoot me!" Italy cried out. The Holy-Rome look-alike (Italy guessed he was German) pulled away. "Say… are you by chance related to the great Rome?" Italy suddenly got excited. Maybe France nii-chan really had lied and Holy Rome was alive and remembered him! "Si! I'm Italy, his grandson!" He told the person, explaining more about himself, hoping maybe he would remember or something. The person frowned. "I'm Germany".
Italy gasped quietly, reaching a hand out to pull himself out of the godforsaken crate. Hadn't Holy Rome had Germany in his name at some point? Italy was fairly sure. He straightened himself out and smoothed down his tan uniform absentmindedly, fingering at his collar. He was now sure this Germany fellow was somehow his Holy Rome, from listening to him speak and how he looked. And Italy was determined to make him remember…
Story: Memories
Author: Max-chan
Word Count (w/o End Notes): 1,045
Summary: Italy had long ago accepted his love was gone. But when he meets the mysterious Germany, what he had long thought to be true is challenged. Is Holy Rome really alive and well? GerIta, ChibixHRE, if you think they're different XD.
Translations: Fratellino, quello che ti avevo detto? Ti ho detto di non cadere per quel ragazzo. Ma non preoccuparti, trovero il bastardo di maledetto chi lo ha ucciso e prendersi cura di lui, va bene? = Little brother, what did I tell you? I told you never to fall for that boy. But don't worry, I'll find the goddamned bastard who killed him and take care of them, okay? (Note: Literally, va bene means fine, but I'm using it as okay, 'K?)
Ma… Penso che avrei potuto amarlo… = But… I think I might have loved him…Italian is so pretty. If I got to choose a language to take next year, I would choose it. However, since we're like, 100 or so miles (more or less) from the border with Mexico, and a whole crap-ton of people here speak Spanish, I'm being forced to learn it. : They're very similar languages, people! I could most likely figure out Spanish if I knew Italian, arrgh! XD, Enough ranting. Et je pourrais vous deplacer en France… because we're going there in a couple of months! My Mom's fluent, though… in Spanish, Italian, and French! /le gasp/
Spell Check hates me right now… vaffanculo, Spell Check. F you. Good God, this is a long note. /Cough cough 278 words/
R&R! Reviews are appreciated! Should I continue this? :/
~Max-chan