Disclaimer: The author of this fine piece of literature would like to state that she does not own Hetalia, HetaOni, or any associated characters.
"Is something wrong?" Italy asked.
Holy Rome finally turned to face him.
"Yes, Italy," he replied. "Something's wrong. Everything's wrong. And you don't even notice."
"I don't understand," Italy whispered.
Holy Rome's eyes softened.
"Of course you don't," he murmured, crossing the room to stand directly in front of Italy.
"Then tell me," Italy begged. "I'll be strong. I can handle it."
"It would be a waste of time to tell you," Holy Rome said.
Italy sighed and looked down at the floor.
"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "I'm useless, aren't I? Useless Italy."
Holy Rome reached out to put a hand on Italy's shoulder.
"That's not it," Holy Roman Empire promised. "But if I told you, you would only forget. You've already forgotten so much. And once you leave this room, you'll forget me, too. You'll run downstairs, happy to have found the key, and unlock the door."
"I could never forget you!" Italy insisted. "We've been best friends since we were little."
A look of sadness crossed Holy Rome's face.
"Japan," he said. "France, China, Russia, Canada, England, America, Prussia. Kiku Honda, Francis Bonnefoy, Wang Yao, Ivan Braginski, Matthew Williams, Arthur Kirkland, Alfred F. Jones, Gilbert Beildschmidt. Do any of these names mean anything to you?"
Italy thought about it, turning the unfamiliar names over in his head.
"No," he admitted.
"They all came here with us," Holy Rome told him. "They're all dead."
"That's impossible," Italy replied, with a laugh that even he knew was fake. "I'd know if I was forgetting someone. I'd be able to feel it. I'd-"
"Italy, that's not important right now," Holy Rome interrupted. "I know you're going to forget this, but I'm going to tell you anyways. There's one other person you're forgetting. You have to remember. If you don't, all of this was for nothing."
"What are you-"
Italy was cut off as Holy Rome pulled him into a tight hug.
"Italy, I told you, a long time ago, that I'd loved you since the tenth century. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, but-"
"Nothing has changed," Holy Rome continued. "You're still my favorite in the entire world."
"I don't understand," Italy whispered. "Why are you saying this?"
"Because I want you to know," Holy Rome told him. "Even if you can't remember."
"Holy Rome, you're scaring me," Italy said.
"I'm sorry," Holy Rome replied. "But you have to go now."
"You're coming with me, right?" Italy asked.
"I'll be right behind you," he promised.
But Italy knew when he was being lied to.
"You can't sacrifice yourself for me!" he screamed.
"Italy, you have to go," Holy Rome ordered.
"I won't!" Italy insisted.
"Italy, every second you waste, things become even more hopeless," Holy Rome said. "If you go now, you can save all of us. Even me. I need you to be brave and do this. If you die here, there won't be another chance. If you die here, you can't save anyone."
"I don't want to leave you," Italy whispered.
"I don't want you to go," Holy Rome replied. "But you have to."
He untangled himself from Italy's embrace and opened the door out to the hall.
"Go, Italy," he ordered. "Good luck."
Italy tried to stand up straight. He tried not to cry. He would be brave, for Holy Rome. He would risk everything, if that was what he had to do.
"I'll see you again soon," Italy promised.
He slowly walked out of the room, until the door shut behind him.
Italy smiled. At last he had the key! Now everything would be wonderful! He could escape from this horrible mansion and go back home! Tears of joy filled his eyes. Or perhaps tears of sadness, but he couldn't imagine what he had to be sad about.
He took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to the front door. At last, he could escape. He had just fitted the key into the lock when an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind him.
"Wake up," it whispered.
Italy spun around, but there was no one there. Of course, he had come to this place alone, but for some reason, he was still certain that someone should be there with him. Who had spoken?
He decided to worry about it later, when he was free. He turned back to the door and began to turn the key.
"Ich liebe dich, Italia."
There it was again. That voice. Hearing it again, the voice sounded so familiar. It sounded like…
"I've told you before-"
"England!" America cried out as England suddenly stopped talking, grasping his head in his hands.
England didn't reply. He merely ran towards where Italy lay, still unconscious.
"England? What are you doing?" America asked. "Did the monster possess you or something?"
"Shut up, America!" England snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate!"
America nearly asked what England was concentrating on, but shut his mouth before he had fully opened it. It was hard to stop his urge to talk, but he would do it, if England wanted him to. Besides, this clearly had something to do with Italy, and America didn't want to face Germany's wrath if he accidentally destroyed Italy's chances of survival.
"Come on, come on," England chanted under his breath, as he stood over the unconscious nation.
A triumphant smile suddenly graced his face.
"I'm getting through," he said. "Italy, listen. You said this to me, now I'll say it to you: Open your eyes."
He focused intently on Italy for several more seconds, before suddenly scowling and cursing bitterly under his breath.
"No good," he told the rest of them. "I can't help him."
America sighed. For a moment, he'd thought England was going to get Italy back. No such luck.
"What was that?" Germany asked.
"When America helped me get my magic back, I heard Italy's voice in my head, telling me to open my eyes," England began to explain.
"Why didn't you tell us this, bastard?" Romano accused.
"Would it have changed anything?" England asked.
"It might have!"
"Romano-kun, please calm down," Japan requested. "I'm sure England-san had his reasons."
"I thought it was a ghost," England admitted. "I didn't want to upset anyone."
America felt a slight shiver run up his spine as he heard the word 'ghost.' He was quite glad that England hadn't mentioned it before. Although the look Romano was giving him was almost as scary as a ghost.
"Just continue your story," Russia requested.
Unnoticed by all, he and China had emerged from the secret meeting they were holding in the corner. Now everyone but Canada was gathered around Italy's bed. No, that wasn't right. America saw his brother standing partially behind Russia, less visible than ever.
"As I was saying," England continued. "When I found out Italy was alive, I realized that it must be some sort of psychic connection."
"Like what you did with me?" Japan asked.
"A bit," England concurred. "But more of a natural psychic resonance caused by spiritual parallel than a forged telepathic connection."
"Do you mind translating that into English?" Prussia piped up. "No one here has any clue what you just said."
Clearly surprised, England looked around to check that this was indeed true. America avoided his eyes and wished he had taken England's magic more seriously before.
"Honestly, it's just basic thaumaturgy," England muttered. "We were in the same place at the same time, but on different levels of reality, and a link formed between our minds. Not very strong, but enough for me to hear him every once in a while."
"So why did you wait to try to contact him?" Spain asked.
There was no accusation in his voice. Only curiosity.
"By the time I found out he was alive, the connection had already cut off," England explained. "Or, based on what just happened, I'd say something was blocking me. I only got through for a few seconds, and then only because Italy was trying just as hard as I was."
"So, what does that mean for Italy?" Germany asked. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know," England admitted. "His soul is trapped in some sort of dream, I think. Whatever is holding him there is strong. He'll need all the strength he has to save himself."
He sighed.
"Even that might not be enough."
Germany looked crestfallen, although he tried to hide it.
America took a few steps towards England.
"You did all you could," he said, laying a hand on England's shoulder.
England looked away.
"It wasn't enough," he replied.
Through the corner of his eye, America saw Germany lean down to whisper something in Italy's ear.
Author's Note: It never ends! I planned for the end of Italy's dream to be one chapter. This is the second chapter and there's still more to come. England's magic-techno-babble was fun to write. Also, why is this so fluffy? I swear, I didn't plan it that way... I must just be in a fluffy mood. Next chapter may or may not be out this weekend. Depends on how much time I have between now and then. If it isn't out by Sunday: Merry Christmas to all of you! (If you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Solstice/whatever-holiday-you-might-be-celebrating!)