AN: Rejoice, REJOICE! This chapter is finally done! Please don't kill me! I had this done for a week but it took forever to type! Merry Christmas~!

Disclaimer: Wish as I might, I do not own Hetalia. Romano's rainbow coated vocabulary. HetaOni.


Feliciano Vargas felt . . . empty. He always thought that he was missing something—or someone—very important. When he brought up this issue to his parents, they always asked the same two questions; did you loose something or did you break up with someone? While both of the options were very possible, considering Feliciano was very forgetful and a flirt, neither of them were the case. The feeling of emptiness was very strong. It felt like someone important was missing; someone like a relative, or more specifically, a brother. These feelings confused Feliciano for he didn't have a brother. He felt like he did, but he knew that he didn't . . . or was it the other way around?

It's funny. The more days that pass, the more Feliciano becomes less sure about himself. He frequently had these dreams—or memories?—about many people he hasn't met. In these dreams, he can only watch as he interacts with these people, he couldn't control himself, he could only wonder who these people are and how he knew them. The dreams usually focused on two people; a tall, stoic, muscular, German man and a young man that looks nearly exactly like himself.


A small Feliciano was standing in the middle of a road. He had on a white, poofy, lacey, light green maids dress with an equally as poofy and lacey white apron. His auburn hair was pulled back with a light yellow bandana, with only his bangs and odd hair curl sticking out. It never really occurred to him how odd it was for him to be wearing girl's clothes. Miss Hungary gave him the dresses and he had to accept them. It never occurred to him that everyone, including the boy he loved, thought that he was a girl. It never occurred to him that that boy would have to leave . . .

Feliciano looked up to see another boy his age. He was dressed in black robes, and a large black hat with a golden trim. His bright blue eye were wide in shock, he clutched tightly to the pack he was carrying. Feliciano didn't notice anything strange about him though, he ran up to him smiling happily.

"Good morning, Holy Rome!" He said in his high-pitched voice. The sound of his voice seemed to break Holy Rome out of his shock.

"S-stop!" He yelled, causing Feliciano to stop dead in his tracks.

"H-huh?" Feliciano asked, confused. Holy Rome frowned.

"Why do you run when I chase you, and yet chase me when I run?"

"Holy Rome . . ." Said empire suddenly looked very nervous and . . . sad?

"Listen, Italy. There's one thing I need to tell you." Feliciano—no, Italy—noticed the people in armor leaving the property. Italy was still confused. Holy Rome continued to speak. "I-I'm sorry about everything. I have to leave, so that you can feel at ease." He looked down, frowning deeply. This shocked the young Nation.

"Wh-what do you mean?" You're leaving?

"I mean exactly what I said." Two armored men walked up to the Nations.

"Holy Rome," One of them said. "We'd better get going."

"Okay," He turned back to Italy. "See you then. Take care." He started to walk away with the other men. Italy's eyes began to burn.

"Are . . . are you really leaving?" He whispered. 'No . . . I don't want you to go, Holy Rome.' Holy Rome continued to walk away and Italy proceeded to freak out. He started to wave his arms away while tears beaded up in his eyes. "Wait! Wait! Oh no! What should I do? HOLY ROME!" He shouted, the tears spilling out of his eyes. The empire turned around. Italy started to freak out again. 'Now what? I have to give him something, but what?!' He noticed the push broom in his hands. 'Was that always there? Oh well . . . It's better than nothing, either this or my underwear or something like that.'

"I-I'll give this to you." He held the broom out. "Think . . . think of it as me and take it with you, Holy Rome." Holy Rome was confused.

"A push broom . . . why are you giving me such a thing . . .?" He trailed off. His eyes gained a faraway look as he remembered all of the times he saw the small maid use it. "Italy." Holy Rome smiled softly as he walked up to the small boy and took the broom. "Thank you. I accept your feelings." Holy Rome stared at Italy. "Well then, I'll give you something too. What do people do for someone they like at your house?"

"K-kiss, I think." Italy innocently replied.

"I-I see." Holy Rome leaned closer. He hesitated, blushing brightly he continued. "I've loved you for a very long time, since the 10th century, at least." He continued to learn forward until their lips met. They both pulled away, now holding each other's hands, and blushing.

"R-really?" Italy asked.

"Yes, really." Holy Rome answered seriously. "I'm not lying." Italy smiled at that.

"I'm happy to hear that." Holy Rome smiled softly.

"W-well. See you, Italy. When the war is over I'll definitely come to see you!" He then started to walk away again, only this time Italy made no move to stop him.

"O-okay." Italy stuttered when he realized that Holy Rome was leaving again. "I'll be waiting. I'll be waiting for you." He then smiled even brighter if that was possible. "I'll make lots of sweets and wait for you." He paused for a second before he remembered something else. "Oh, and don't get injured or sick!" He started to get hysterical as Holy Rome neared the gate. "We'll see each other again for sure, okay? We will, okay? For sure, okay?" Holy Rome turned around to look back at the small Nation. Although his eyes were brimmed with tears, he smiled in a way that clearly said; No matter what, I will see you again.

Holy Rome then left; little did Italy know that he would never come back. The scene melted and reformed.


An older Italy was sitting in a small, cramped box. A small crack in the wooden box let a small amount of light inside, enabling him to see and causing him to feel even more claustrophobic.

"Why did I choose to hide in a tomato box again?" Italy asked himself. "Oh well . . ." He smiled lightly. "Ve, at least no one would be able to find me~" He then heard a twig snap nearby him and he paled instantly. 'Why did I choose to hide in a tomato box?! I'm going to get caught, I'm going to get caught!' The last line repeated on loop in his mind as the sound of footsteps grew closer. Then, suddenly, the sounds stopped. Italy allowed himself to sigh in relief.

"What's a box of tomatoes doing in the middle of the woods?" A deep voice outside questioned. Italy heard something tapped against the lid of the box and he involuntarily squeaked in fear.

"What the—?" Italy panicked, he had to think of something to make the man go away.

"C-ciao! I am the Box of Tomatoes Fairy! I have come here to become friends with you! Let's play together!" Italy squeaked out. Instantly he face-palmed himself. 'That's the best I can come up with?' He thought.

"There's someone inside." The voice outside said urgently. Italy freaked out even more.

"There's no one inside! Don't open it!" Italy was sweating now as he hugged his trusty white flag to his chest. The box creaked and groaned, and more light started to pour into the box as the lid was pried off. "S-stop it!" Italy's voice grew higher and more hysterical with every word. "What good would seeing my internal organs do?!" Too late.

"Show. Yourself." The voice outside grunted before the lid burst open, showering both men with bits of wood. Italy sat up and started to wave his white flag, tears streaming down his face.

"Ahh! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I am not a Box of Tomatoes Fairy! It was all lies! Lies! LIES!" Italy started to ramble in all of his hysteria while the man who opened the box stared at him in shock. "Seriously, please don't shoot me! I'll do anything so don't shoot! I'll do anything! I'll do anything, so please! I DON'T WANNA DIE!" He screamed as the man stood up. Italy noticed that he let go of his white flag, so he clasped his hands together as if he was praying. And really, he was.

"I'm a virgin, I won't be fun to shoot!" Italy was still rambling, but he wasn't as hysterical. He tried to give the man good reasons as to why he shouldn't be shot. "I'm really sorry! I'm a good Italian. You're German, right? I have relatives in Bayern, so please don't shoot!" Okay, these weren't good reasons, but if you were in a life or death situation you'd ramble too. "I'll do anything! I'll do anything!" Italy screamed as he was picked up from the back of his beige uniform and he began to sob. "I just want to have tasty pasta one last time! Pasta! Pasta!" Italy started to sob harder. The man holding him clearly didn't know what to do.

"Let me ask you a question." He said uncomfortably. Instantly Italy stopped crying. 'That voice . . . it was so familiar. It couldn't be . . .' Italy opened his eyes. Standing over him was a tall, muscular man. He was wearing a green military uniform with a rifle slung over his back. His light blonde hair was slicked back and his eyes were now an icy blue, but there was no doubt about it. Holy Rome . . . he came back. The man continued to speak, slightly confused as to why the Italian calmed down so quickly. "Are you my enemy, the descendant of Rome?" He said more confidently.

Italy swore that he heard his own heart break. This wasn't Holy Rome, he was different. He was German . . . he was Germany. But when Italy stared into the Germans eyes, he could see the long dead empire looking back at him. Italy smiled. Whether he knew it or not, Holy Rome has finally found him again. The scene melted away and reformed.


It was rainy, dark, and dreary. Italy was panting hard, as if he had been running. Clutched tightly in his hand was a book and his once bright blue military uniform was now beaten, torn, and covered with . . . tomato sauce? . . . No. His uniform was covered with blood. His heart was beating fast and tears started to bead up in his eyes. He couldn't think clearly, but one thought played on loop in his head, 'I'm alone, I'm all alone.'

"I got out." Italy whispered to himself as he trudged away from the mansion behind him. He suddenly stopped, all of the depression and shock started to settle in. He looked up into the stormy sky as his tears began to stream down his face. "I'm the only one who survived, the only one who got out . . . I shouldn't have been able to get out . . ." His voice grew louder and more hysterical with each sentence. "What the hell? This doesn't make any sense! Out of everyone, I'm the only one left?" Italy started shaking as he looked at the ground, the rain washing away every tear that he shed. "What the hell? What the hell?!"

Italy heard the door slam open behind him and he turned around to see what was going on. His eyes widened when he saw the . . . creature in front of him. It was huge, a giant, its body the most disgusting shade of grey that Italy has ever seen. Its head was nearly as large as its body, its mouth of soaked with blood, and its eyes were large, merciless, black pits of misery and despair. Through the eyes Italy saw hell and all of its horrors. The eyes would haunt Italy for the rest of his life.

Italy scrambled backwards, nearly losing his balance in the process. The creature just watched, its obsidian eyes gleaming with a sadistic glee. Italy turned heel and sprinted towards the gate that would separate him from this dreaded mansion. He made it to the foot of the gate when something inside him snapped, a wave of insanity washed over him. Italy stopped in front of the gate, the creature only a couple strides behind him. Italy grinded his teeth and clenched his hands into fists.

"STOP!" He screamed in the most serious and commanding voice that he has ever heard come out of him. Having no time to marvel, Italy slowly turned around. The creature was standing there, it almost looked confused. Italy took a deep, shuddering breath and glared at the creature in front of him.

"I won right? You couldn't catch me; you lost!" He held his hands out in front of him and laughed a high pitched hysterical laugh as he let the insanity take over him. "The moment I get out of here you lose! There's nothing that you can do from that distance!" Italy chuckled darkly. "When I get out this place won't be the same, you know! As a Nation, I will destroy this place!" Italy grinned like a madman when he imagined the mansion burning to the ground. Italy lowered his voice and put a darker edge to it.

"Doesn't that make you frustrated? Huh? I am your last trophy after all. You lost to the guy whose only redeeming feature is his fast feet!" Italy screamed out the last sentence, pouring all of the insanity into it. He was able to think clearer now, he frowned. The gravity of what happened in the mansion finally settled in, he finally truly realized just how alone he was. He finally realized that everyone died protecting him. They died protecting the useless little Italian whose best weapon was a white flag. He couldn't bear it.

" . . . . . . Back . . ." He whispered as his hand clenched the bloodstained black journal in his left hand. "Take us back!" He voice regained the hard edge, although there was no insanity left in it. This was real. "You can take us back in this warped space can't you? If you do that, why don't you eat me first? If you can catch me that is." Italy glared at the creature and swept his arm towards it. "GO back!"

A blinding white light enveloped the scene.

Italy opened his eyes, only to find himself back at the World Conference. He felt like he could cry out in joy, in fact, he almost did. But then he felt something lying on his lap. He looked down, only to see the bloodstained, black journal. Italy gingerly picked it up and opened it to the front page. Scribbled on the contract sign in blood red ink was the name, Italy Veneziano. Italy closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with determination. He knew now what he must do. He is not going to let anyone die again. The scene melted away and reformed.


Italy was standing in what looked like a dungeon; a long dark hallway made of stone. On his left was an opening for another hallway, but it was blocked by cell doors. Italy looked back to the room he just left and sighed.

"They got really mad at me." He said dejectedly. "Germany's face was so scary . . . straight out of a nightmare." Italy shuddered slightly before walking forward. Italy shrieked as a high-pitched ringing noise echoed throughout the hallway. "Germanyyy! Japaaaaan!" He abruptly stopped screaming and sighed again. "Oh, right, they're not here." The ringing continued for a minute before Italy realized that it was his cell phone. He took the object out of his pocket and stared at it like it just fell from outer space.

"My phone? Scary . . . who is it? And how can they call me, anyway?" He placed the phone to his ear. "What?!" He yelled before catching himself. "Um! Roma—" A harsh, unpleasant, but extremely familiar voice cut him off.

"You IDIOT! What took you so fucking long to answer, god damn it?!" A voice with a Southern Italian accent yelled. Italy cringed slightly at the colorful language, but he smiled nonetheless.

"What?! What? It's true?! It's really you?! How? You are Romano, aren't you?" Italy heard an exasperated sigh on the other end.

"Of course it's me! Ack, wait—Spain! You can't take my phone, you bastard! Give it back!"

"Spain too?!" Italy thought that he'd burst with happiness, but he was also greatly confused. "It can't be true . . . why?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Now, listen Veneziano— . . . ? Are you crying?" Romano's voice swiftly morphed from anger to worry. One emotion remained the same though; annoyance. Italy felt his cheek; he didn't even realize that he was crying. The steady stream of tears proved otherwise. He wasn't crying out of sadness though. He was happy, he hasn't been this happy in a very, very long time.

"I-It's just that I'm so happy!" Italy's smile slipped into a frown. It seems like that's all he's been doing recently; frowning. He knew what he must ask of Romano. He just didn't know how he could possibly say it. "Hey, Romano. Do . . ." Italy swallowed thickly. He had to force himself to ask the rest of the heart-breaking question. "Do you think that you can fill in for me at work tomorrow?"

"Huh?"

"Tomorrow," Italy continued. "And the day after tomorrow and forever and ever . . . can you?" There was a long, suspenseful pause.

" . . . No." Romano said with absolute certainty, surprising the crying Italian.

"Romano—" Italy tried to reason before he was cut off by an even more irritated Romano.

"It's your job. Just get your ass back here and fucking take care of it yourself." The static in the phone became louder and louder. "An . . . real . . . idiot . . . well . . . ly . . ."

"Romano?! I can't hear you! Hello!" There was a long, dead tone. Italy stared sadly at the phone in his hand. "It got cut off." He mumbled before smiling slightly. "Hehe, their voices. It's been so long . . . I wish I could go home . . ."

Italy continued to walk through the dungeon-like hallway, pretending that the phone call didn't happen. He walked down the hallway and into a decent sized room. Like the rest of the place the walls and floor were made of stone, there was a large, wooden table, bookshelves, and a cupboard. There was nothing else and it seemed like a dead end. But Italy continued to walk through the room until he reached the corner. He pushed gently on a slightly discolored portion of the wall, revealing a hidden door.

Italy walked into another dungeon-like hallway. He walked down the hallway and turned the corner in a daze as he thought to himself. He picked up the pace, warily walked around a large hole in the wall, and turned the last corner . . . only to gasp in shock. He quickly ran up to the wall facing him and weakly touched the surface.

"No." He whispered before sighing dejectedly. That was another thing he did now; sighing. "It isn't here after all. Where did I hide it again? Was it on the 3rd floor, maybe?" Italy shook his head. "Maybe not. Ugh, I'm really anxious now. But if I calm down, I'll remember." He reassured himself. "There was one that I hid with America. And then . . . um . . ." As Italy tried to remember, he heard a voice that he thought he'd never hear again.

"I found you, Veneziano!"

". . . What?" Italy slowly looked up the wall, past the burnt ladder, and he saw two people he thought he'd never see again.

One of them was bent over the hole he was staring down, hands resting on his knees. He had short, slightly curly, chocolate brown hair, a tan complexion, and bright emerald green eyes. He wore a tan WWII style military uniform lacking the jacket and with a brown bow instead of a tie. He smiled brightly and waved when he noticed that Italy was looking at him; cheeriness seemed to ooze off of this guy. The young man sitting next to him was a stark contrast with that scowl on his face. The first thing that Italy noticed about him was that he looked nearly exactly like him. He had more of an olive tone to his skin, his dark brown hair was parted to the side and his odd hair curl was sticking out in the opposite direction of Italy's, and his eyes were more of a dark green than a brown(1). But, besides those few changes, they were nearly identical! He was on his knees and peering down the hole. Italy was beyond shocked.

"Ro—Wh-why?!" Romano simply rolled his eyes.

"Good thing the front door wasn't opening." The twin, Romano, huffed in his Southern Italian accent. "So I was just loitering around here. I finally found you! What the hell have you been up too?" The cheery guy suddenly spoke up.

"Ita!" He yelled happily, revealing a Spanish accent. "Thank God! You can't stay there all alone. Where are the other guys?"

Italy really didn't know how to respond. "What-what are you doing here?! We didn't ask you to come here!" Romano simply ignored him.

"What did you do with the clocks? Did you break all of them?!"

Italy made a noise of surprise. "How-how did you know about that?"

"Answer me!" Romano snapped. "Did you break the last clock?!" Italy shook his head in denial.

"It can't be . . . You weren't supposed to know about that . . . What are you even doing here in the first place?" The cheery man smirked slightly.

"Roma, I know you're happy to see him, but don't get to excited."

"Shut up, Tomato Bastard!" Romano glared at the man, who is now known as 'Tomato Bastard'(2). Romano quickly looked down the hole and shouting to Italy.

"Veneziano! I'm coming there right now, so don't move!" He was about to make his way down before Italy screamed.

"NO! Don't come down here, no matter what! Go home! What are you even doing here?! How-how did you even know?!"

" . . . . Try saying my name." Romano responded with a surprisingly soft tone to his voice. Italy didn't know what was going on, but he did as he was told.

"R-Romano . . ."

"No!" Romano snapped. "Say my full name."

" . . . Italy. Italy Roma . . . no . . ." Italy said with a slow realization.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm Italy, too! I don't know everything you remember, but I do plan on carrying at least a little of that weight on my shoulders. You haven't been alone all this time!" He then smiled slightly. "You've broken quite a few clocks, haven't you?"

"Y-yes . . . but . . ."

"The flow of time got fixed." Tomato Bastard said. "That's why we were finally able to get here. Not just us, you know? The others are coming to help you guys."

"I fiiiiinally found you." Romano groaned. "I've been trying to find you for ages—couldn't find you—the phone wouldn't work, and for some time I felt these electrical shocks, like half of me disappeared, every single time—"

"You—IDIOT!" Italy cut him off before looking down. Tears started to form in his eyes. 'I wasn't able to bear it.' He thought. 'That's why several of my memories flowed to Romano and he came looking for us. Why did they have to come here . . .? Why? Even if something happens to me, if my brother is here . . . what would happen to Romano? No. I've already had too much of the first time and I'm getting confused. I have no idea what I should do.'

"Veneziano?" Romano asked, worried for his brother. Italy shook his head slowly as he stepped away from the two Nations.

"I-I'm sorry Romano, Spain. I have to go." 'I don't want you to get hurt . . . or worse.' Italy turned away from them. "I'm sorry, but . . . just go home!" Italy then ran away, tears spilling from his eyes. The last thing that he heard before the scene melted away was Romano's desperate cry.

"Ack! You BASTARD! Wait!"

The scene melted away, it didn't reform. As Italy drifted in that limbo between consciousness and sleep, a voice that sounded so much like his own spoke to him.

Your death was not an accident . . . and the next time, it will be unavoidable.


Feliciano's eyes snapped open. He was panting, sweating, and his covers were on the other side of the room. He sighed a quiet 'Ve~' as he forced himself out of his warm bed and trudged into the bathroom. Feliciano couldn't help but think about the dream he had as he washed his face with cold water. 'Ve . . . it was much more . . . intense than the others. Why were those other people calling themselves countries? How did they know me, how did I know them? Who's Romano? Who's Germany? What did that voice mean, my death was not an accident? I mean, I'm still alive . . . aren't I?'

Questions continued to run through Feliciano's head as he dried his face off. He looked up at the mirror, and froze at what he saw. His reflection didn't look like him.

The reflection had a tanner skin tone, darker auburn hair, and menacing light violet eyes. It wore a light brown WWII military uniform and a black hat with a purple tuft of fur hanging from it. Instead of copying the shocked expression Feliciano knew he had on, the reflection smirked at him with a vicious glint in its eyes. Being the good little Italian that he is, Feliciano naturally bolted out of the room.

The reflection glanced in the direction where the Italian ran.

"One down, the rest to go."


(1) I like Romano with green eyes. Deal with it.

(2) Remember, Feliciano doesn't know who any of these people are. Italy does. Tomato Bastard is as close as Feliciano got to a name for Spain. And it was funny to type xD

AN: Review! Reviews give you new chapters, and they give me inspiration to creat new chapters. Complete the Circle of Fanfiction. (and I still want to make a Flying Mint Plot Bunny ;3)

DUN. DUN. DUN. Yes, there will be 2P's. Be afraid. Be very afraid. This is the last Vivid Dream chapter. The next chapter would focus of America. Each person has a special role in this story and I have way too many ideas to put in here. It doesn't take long to write, it just takes forever to type these things. So please bear with me, wait patiently, and never give up hope on this story! I will finish it. No matter what.

Stay as awesome as Prussia!

-Prussianess