SOY: this new chapter is an interlude of sorts, to offer some sort of background on certain things. I hope you will enjoy this chapter, and thank you for the kind reviews and support you offered for this fic so far!

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Rating: R–ish.

Warnings: Shounen–ai. Maybe yaoi. A bit dark. Angst.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Growing to…

Interlude – The dream of North Italy

Once, when he was really, really young, when he was still living with his grandfather, Feliciano had a dream.

It involved pretty landscapes and crayons, and so many sheets of paper, all white and enormous, where he could draw on.

Around him, everything was beautiful, almost shining, and the world looked bright. The grass was lush and smooth under his fingers, flowers blossoming everywhere…

The sky above… the sky had looked impossibly blue, breathtaking, and so real–

Italy had grabbed one of his crayons, his favourite blue, placing it down on a big white sheet, and he'd started colouring.

The sky had stretched far through his paper, and still looking up, the blue had begged him to continue, for it was not enough –and Italy moved to the next sheet, then to the next…

So much sky everywhere, so much blue.

Waking up, little Feliciano (although he had not been called that way, back then) had felt a strange sort of calm humming inside him, a pleasure that curled around his heart, and it had lasted for the entire day; cheerfully running to his grandpa, he'd recounted his dream with as many colourful words as he knew –and Roma had smiled kindly at him.

Italy didn't remember much of that smile, but he did remember what Roma had said then.

Something about… 'freedom'.

"Fwee… dom?" stumbling upon an unknown word, little Italy had frowned.

"Yes –freedom. It means… it means to be able to have all the crayons in the world, all the biggest white canvas –to pain everything you want to, for as long as you wish… and you're never tired of drawing, and you're always happy… and when others see your drawings, they will be happy, too. No need to fight, or be sad…"

Grandpa Roma had smiled warmly at him, and Italy had entirely missed the pained glint deep in those brown eyes, and instead he'd focused on what he'd said.

He'd liked that word… freedom.

Back then, Italy hadn't needed that word. He was fine under his grandfather's care. He missed his brother, but Roma had promised they would surely meet, when they were both ready, and when they had grown with different experiences.

Besides, grandpa had brought him around, showing him many things to draw, making him happy, coddling him… what use was for 'freedom' if he was already happy?

"Feliciano, nurture this love for art, this love for literature… grow up without hating anyone, grow up without desire to hurt… I only wish what's best for you, and there's nothing better than being free… fight for your freedom, gain it with your own hands, and there will be nothing worthier in your entire life".

"Ve~!"

Few weeks after that, Roman Empire had been taken into a long, painful war, and Italy had assisted, pained, frightened, without understanding the reasons why his grandfather was forced to fight.

Quickly, painfully, Roma had been pulled apart, destroyed, ripped through, and his territories has been split.

Scars had appeared on his chest, back, arms –skin marred, bloody, Roma had weakened day after day, until in the end, with Italy clinging at his hand…

It had been the first time Italy had realised the meaning of 'war'.

And it hurt. War had taken away the person he'd loved the most in the world –the only person he knew enough, the only person who had taken care of him, helping him discover art and literature and poetry–

The person who would have had so much more to teach, and that now would never…

As little as he was, Italy had been unable to cope, and had retreated deeply inside, promising to himself that he would never –ever– fight a way.

Wars would bring nothing but pain –they were not worth it. Italy couldn't hate, his heart was too full with colours and love to be able to –but if given the possibility, he would have hated war.

Around him, the world changed.

People fought –he hid away. Nations were born, grew and fell, and Italy closed himself into his drawings, creating a new piece of art for each life that was lost. If there could be enough beauty in the world, maybe, just maybe, there wouldn't be need of hatred.

Wars raged, Italy's territories caught the interest of others, and he cried and hid away, scared above any reason, thought scrambling away, until only fright and pain were left.

Whilst not afraid of being hurt –was there any pain stronger than that of losing a loved person? If there was, Italy didn't know it– he didn't want those around him to be in pain. His precious people, the ones he met, played with, laughed with… no, he couldn't lose someone else.

Holy Roman Empire following him around, scary and determinate… Austria, fighting for his territories against brother France…

Italy hid away, trying to forget, trying to not cry anymore. Maybe if he looked small enough, if he looked stupid enough, and useless and weak–

Maybe they would ignore him.

With his attempts at ignoring war, inability to learn of it, he was weak. Forget notions of war, forget notions… it was easier to be cheerful, deny any problem, deny the truth…

'Ignore your problems, they'll go away…'

It was wrong, but he didn't want to learn anything else.

Hiding away, hiding so deep inside –that Italy lost himself; the smile became true, his eyes sparkled uselessly. It didn't stop others from wanting him, but it shielded his heart away, so everything was good again.

Living with Switzerland, protected but forced to give up on drawing–

Living with Austria, forced to be a maid, giving up his food, losing his culture, forced to work and not draw when he wanted to–

Being a servant taught Italy a lot of things; people were nice, dressing him in beautiful, fluffy clothes, feeding him, acting as if he were a girl… Roderich wasn't evil, just strict. He allowed him to play, sometimes, and draw… things could work out.

Then, there was Holy Roman Empire again, who was also scary and yet intrigued Italy a bit… he was funny, making strange faces but then acting nicely with him, offering him food and company, and…

He could get used to that. He knew it, but…

Holding a deck brush, cleaning the house, rubbing dirt and dust away –helping sister Hungary…

This was not freedom, even if it wasn't so bad.

"It means to be able to have all the crayons in the world, all the biggest white canvas –to pain everything you want to, for as long as you wish…"

This wasn't freedom.

Unable to leave Austria's borders. Unable to eat pasta and foods that were not of Roderich's style… unable to draw.

Italy ached for freedom, but was also afraid. Being free would mean fight to keep that dream. Fight to be able to never kneel in front of someone…

Was it worth it?

He didn't want to fight.

"Freedom?" Hungary had looked at him with a small, warm smile, holding him on her lap and petting him with love. "Freedom is to be able to care for yourself without someone doing it for you… not to serve under someone anymore… to dance and sing and laugh without having to ask for permission, and walk around everywhere in the world…"

Hungary had fought her wars, Italy learned. She had fought hard, standing tall and proud, and knew of freedom. She found it hard to stay as a servant, but she also knew it was temporary and would fight once more, when the time demanded it.

Italy knew he couldn't be like her, but…

Brother France, although an unpleasant guest on Austria's part, sometimes popped around. He, too, had words of wisdom to share. "You have to be willing to compromise, sometimes, for your dreams to come true".

Italy's compromise had been to not dream anymore.

This way, he would be happy with what he had, and he would renounce to freedom. In exchange, he would not be hurt anymore.

Then Holy Roman Empire left and went away, far away, to fight.

"It is to be strong. To become like Roman Empire!" his eyes had brightened up in respect when mentioning Italy's grandpa. "We'll be strong together, right Italia?"

No. No, they wouldn't.

They would fall hard and it would hurt. And Italy couldn't stand that. He couldn't follow him.

If Italy was important enough, maybe Holy Roman wouldn't go… maybe if he refused, if he could stop him, then…

But Holy Roman left, taking part of Italy's heart with him, showing him what a first love was, and how painful separating from someone was.

He'd promised to be strong for Holy Roman, and wait for him. He was determined in at least keeping this promise.

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"I want independence".

Feliciano had a hard time processing the meaning of his brother's words. It was as if his ears were covered by a veil.

Lovino, his older sibling, his southern part, was very different from him. He'd lived with Antonio in Spain for a long while, whilst he'd been living in Roderich's house, and they had only seen each other a few times before. Unable to stand still, fingers twitching, he barely met Feliciano's eyes when talking.

Eyes that he remembered as being like his own were now green, lit with a different light that made Lovino look like a stranger. Not his brother, yet family all the same.

"W–what?" he had asked, blinking in surprise. "B–but brother Lovino~"

Italy Romano had grunted. He had difficulties in accepting Italy as his sibling, as the other part of himself, as an equal. "I won't stay under Antonio's control any longer" he had added hissing in displeasure.

Italy Veneziano was still trying to come to terms with his small yet sudden growth spurt, that had transformed his body in that of a teen (not a baby anymore, yet rubicund enough that people still considered him a girl), and Romano's words confused him greatly.

Why would his other part seek freedom? Didn't he know of the pain it would bring?

Maybe Romano didn't consider him like family, but Italy did. He wanted them to be closer. To love each other, to be taken care of and take care in exchange. A bond deeper than that with Brother Spain or even Brother France. Blood family.

They had not been close before, but he really wanted that closeness now. Yet… if Romano really tried seceding from Spain's control, then…

He would lose him, too, like he'd lost Holy Roman, who was still battling somewhere… like he'd lost his… their grandpa.

"Why!" he'd grabbed on Romano's hand, staring up at him with big, teary eyes. "It'll only bring pain! Freedom is not–"

"You don't want to be weak all your life, right? You'd shame our family!" Lovino had continued, grimacing in disgust. "You might have been grandpa's favourite but you're weaker than I am, if you think it's good to stay the way you are. We are… we are descendants of Roman Empire. Even if weak… even if weak…" Lovino had gritted his teeth, tears pooling into his eyes for reasons Feliciano couldn't grasp "we have to respect our past".

Freezing, Italy had stared at his brother. Could they be any different? He truly couldn't–

Grandpa Roma's words suddenly washed back through him. Roma had fought hard for them. Yes, he had been too big and had fallen hard under the weight of too much pain and responsibilities, but he had never ceased to love every second of it. Even in his last moments he'd been smiling. Pained smiles, with an edge of sadness, but there had been no regret in his eyes.

He'd been free, not caged. He'd moved everywhere, met so many people, he'd fought and had fun, and had explained his grandchildren how to be free in their own way.

A suspicion flashed through Italy's mind then, overriding his denial –maybe he'd been wrong. If he could grow strong… just a bit… gain freedom… become his own nation… not too big, but… strong enough to stand on his own…

Then maybe… maybe he wouldn't need others to fight to protect him. If he could be strong enough to be on his own, stopping others from fighting over him, from deciding things in his place, and be the one to choose instead…

Yet, he wasn't sure about it. Would Romano understand his pain? He'd always been mutinous, rebelling and ignoring Spain even when the older Nation had tried to be nice, so of course he wouldn't understand Italy's hesitation.

His southern part, Italy realised this with a wince, was stronger than he was; older, with more self–esteem, with a stronger will. He'd not seen what his northern part had, which made Italy inwardly glad (his grandfather's hand growing lax into little Italy's grip, eyes closing forever…), but Italy hadn't seen what Romano had, and couldn't imagine anything of how his life could have been, either.

A life in the south, with Spain, and enormous fields of tomatoes, and the ability to run everywhere… that was what Italy thought –but it could be different, for all he knew.

And still…

It wasn't bad to want to unfold a dream.

"Feli, you have to grow a backbone, damnit" Romano had wanted to grab his sibling by the shoulders and shake him hard, but he had refrained. They were brothers, but barely knew each other.

And yet, Lovino still held some sort of deep care for that young person in front of him. His brother. Despite all of his huffing and wailing, Feliciano was still family, wasn't it?

Italy was a pacifist. His people, because he had people, of course… wanted to fight. Wanted to grow into a nation, wanted freedom from Austria, and France, and… but he was so scared. He was holding his people down with his actions. His inability to fight, his hatred for war.

Lovino could see this, and wanted to help, but at the same time, didn't want to.

After all, Feliciano was the one who was loved the most. The one who had everything. Art, trades, poets… Lovino had nothing. And yet…

Italy also was the one who had been closer to Grandpa Rome. The one who had seen the pain. Romano hadn't been there, he'd been away, safe.

Maybe their grandpa had preferred his younger brother to him, but living with Spain had taught Romano that maybe being away had been better –that maybe there were reasons for grandpa's predilection towards his younger sibling.

And deep down, Lovino cared for his brother enough to want him to grow stronger.

"Feli… I wanted to stay in Antonio's house forever". It was hard to admit this aloud, but he owed his brother something. "It is easy to live there. He protects me. Even from Sadiq. He feeds me. And I don't stay because of this!" he'd hastily added, flushing. "B–but, even if he cares for me… I feel that I will never be truly happy until I can show him I can be strong by myself. That he doesn't need to be afraid for my health all the time".

Feliciano had turned to look at him. Lovino's face was flushed, but his eyes were serious, for once.

"It's because of my pride. I want to be strong enough so… s–so idiot Antonio will think of me as an equal, and not as a bother! T–that's it!"

Feliciano had felt tears prickle his eyes. Holy Roman was so far from him, fighting, not back yet… but he was surely growing, or at least he was doing all he could to grow. Italy didn't want to grow as strong as the Roman Empire had been, he wanted to draw, to paint, to laugh and smile and eat pasta… but he wanted to be free, too.

Free to eat pasta whenever he wanted. Free to speak of his ideas without having others restrain him. Free to smile and have his own house, full of paintings, and meet new friends. Free so that his people would not feel oppressed.

"Is war the only way out?" he had murmured. He really didn't want war. Despised it for what it did to nations. And yet… and yet…

Lovino had stared at him as if he'd grown twice as tall. "Of course, you dunce! You fight for what you wish for! T–that's what stupid Antonio always tells me" had been his barked reply. "It's not nice but if you don't grow up a backbone, you'll never be free either!"

Feliciano had been so close to tears then.

And yet, he had strengthened his resolve, for once. Maybe, if he were to fight now, maybe then… maybe then… he could convince his people they could be happy without fighting. They could be happy by being in peace…

Slowly, he'd straightened up, eyes gaining a glint that had not been there in so long.

"Let's form a unified Italia" he had stated, looking at his brother and startling him out of his muttering obscenities against an idiotic Spain. "Let's get strong together, fratello!"

Lovino hadn't liked the idea. "I don't wanna do that, you idiot!" he had growled, looking around and backing away from his younger brother.

He'd only wanted to help Italy grow a bit on his own. Not put ideas in his head that they could ever be buddy brothers. But by then, Italy was finally convinced of his idea. With his brother together with him, it would be family. It would be home.

It would give a meaning to this whole thing –if there was going to be a nation, it was going to be the both of them. Together.

They could do it as one… and he needed his brother, in order to get strong. He needed his brother, because having your own house was lonely. And Holy Roman was still fighting and maybe he would lose, and then it would be Italy offering him a house instead.

And Feliciano wanted a family the most. The family he'd lost when his grandpa had died. Grow closer to that brother who was stronger and better than him and had already taught him something.

'So that… so that when Holy Roman comes back, I won't be weak anymore… I won't need protection!'

Determination surging from somewhere inside him, Feliciano had no troubles in calling forth a strength he hadn't known he had; with every mean necessary, aiding his generals, his counts, and the important Italians that wanted independence, he'd moved forwards.

First came France –charming his way into the Frenchman's heart, since he'd always had a soft spot for Italy, had been easy– and when he couldn't help, he'd moved further away…

The territories of what would become Italy had been clear in his mind, knowing exactly what he wanted…

For once, Italy was going to try his best.

And that was why he was standing in front of Austria's house, reminiscing, after many years of battling his way out, of forming his confines, of pain and sacrifices, of watching his children die over and over for their growing nation.

So many decades that passed so quickly… he'd even managed to get his brother to join him, in the end, and that had been the major victory this far.

They were brothers, they were together, and that was it.

And now, Italy was going to get what he'd wanted the most ever since he declared his independence.

Venezia.

His beautiful Venezia, with its bridges, its beautiful scenery, the houses, Piazza San Marco, and the majestic statue of a Lion with the opened book of Pax…

The streets in which he had walked when young, drawing and admiring and having fun, where Holy Roman Empire had chased him around –so scary back then!– where his heart still resided…

Venezia was important to him. It belonged to him.

If there was something Feliciano wanted back, it was Venezia.

Asking Francis for help had amounted to nothing, as in the end Roderich had still retained the city. Feliciano had nothing against Roderich, but he wanted Venezia.

'Holy Roman Empire…'

"… Ita?"

Feliciano gasped, startled out of his thoughts by a tall, straightforward German who had stopped right in front of him.

Bright crimson eyes stared down at him in partial amusement and partial shock, and he felt a smile blossom on his face even though he tried to remain serious.

He'd missed him a lot in the last few years, and there he was, standing tall and proud, still the same, still strong… still Prussia.

"Gilbert!" he yelled, happy to see the other nation. He was the one he'd been waiting for so long, at the borders of Austria, but he knew it was worth the waiting.

The older nation stared hard at him, and Feliciano waved his arms around, feeling suddenly self–conscious.

He had grown to hit puberty, and with that, his voice and built had also changed, finally suiting his real gender.

Part of him actually missed the beautiful dresses and skirts, and wasn't ashamed of thinking such; but Austria had realised he was not a she, and had finally stopped making him wear girly clothes, even though Hungary had been disappointed.

Prussia had only ever seen him in his female, puffy clothes at Austria's house, and afterwards, he'd been so focused on gaining independence that Austria and Hungary were still the only ones that knew so far (you couldn't count Spain and France, they had known since the start).

The Prussian's surprise quickly vanished and the older Nation suddenly hugged Italy close with one arm, ruffling his hair and then moving back to offer an appreciative stare.

"Well, isn't that a surprise!" he stated, blinking and patting Italy on the shoulder. "I thought you were… well, everybody thought you were…" he let out an amused laugh. "Anyway, it doesn't quite matter, does it? You look amazing. Not as much as me, of course, but that's ok!"

"Ve~" Italy smiled. Prussia was still the same. They had been friends in the past, and wars had brought them further away from each other, but it was still ok, in the end. Certain things didn't change. "Sorry I had you come here with not enough warning~"

"Don't worry, cute Ita, I'm above those problems! I had to leave my ward at home, but that's ok… he's still young, he wouldn't be able to travel far…" Prussia's smirk turned feral "I'm working hard for him, he'll be a strong, proud Nation!"

Italy tilted his head to the side. He'd heard that Prussia had found a young not–yet–Nation whilst in the middle of one of his wars, and that he planned to make him great, but he hadn't had any information on him.

Still, it didn't matter yet –Italy had no time to take interest in others trying to become Nations at the moment…

Maybe in the future, once Italy was a Nation as well, he would be more curious. But not yet.

"Ve~ Gilbert…"

"Ah, yes, of course! Ask me anything you want, Ita, I'll do what I can!"

Italy took a deep breath. This was going to work, he was sure of it. He would gain back his Venice and it would be one of the last steps towards a unified Italy.

They would do it.

"Gilbert~" he stated, seriously, one hand grabbing the other's arm. "I need to get Venice from Austria and make it mine again".

Prussia's expression turned feral, and a smirk, a predatory, smug smirk, lifted his lips upwards.

He'd not been expecting for cute Italy to finally get out of his shell and demand his territories back, and surely it was a surprise to be asked for help, but…

Oh, yes. It was time to create new nations, it was time to show the world that it needed a change. Prussia was already offering this chance to someone else, and it wouldn't be a problem to add Italy to the equation.

And he still owed Austria one, in the end.

"That sounds like fun" he crooned. "Let's get started, Ita!"

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SOY: if you liked, please comment!

Fratello (Italian) – brother