Chapter Two — Childish Innocence

...

I will start to use human names. A guide:

England — Arthur

America — Alfred

N. Italy/Veneziano — Feliciano

Romano — Lovino

Germany — Ludwig

Prussia — Gilbert

IMPORTANT: "Hetalia" — German being translated to the Universal language

...

Italy looked down at the book once again. He was trying to ignore how the bound journal was feeling progressively heavier and how the room was getting quieter — if that was even possible. Is there a sound quieter than silence?

Italy looked back to England because England always had the answers, was always right, always understood.

But England did not understand. Italy looked down to the book. Then back to England. Back to the book, then back to England, as if his pleading eyes could speak silent morse code.

England sighed, an aggravated sigh that really shouldn't have made him feel so cowardly.

But it did. And Italy had to remind himself that it was just a book. Just a book that held words. And feelings. And secrets...and fears, and confessions, and joy, and tears, and blood, and —

Italy opened the journal.

The world just watched on curiously, their array of mixed skin tones blending into one big blob as his eyes swept over each and every one of them.

England nodded approvingly, assuring Italy that what he was doing was, in fact, the right thing to do. Italy gulped again and had to fight off the urge to throw the smooth journal away from him — throw the journal somewhere far, far, away, to a place that could not hurt him, and continue to hope and sigh that Germany would come back to him. Because that was what he always did.

Italy watched England retreat back to his seat by America and felt a swell of loneliness and pride. It seemed England was confident enough in him to not start breaking down again and panic out of the room. It seemed England was faithful that he would continue this and not back out. It was nice, or was it cruel? He didn't know anymore, but after so many years of pessimism and only having dreary doubts inside his head, choosing to believe the most positive outcome was the only thing he could do. And if England believed he can do it, so did Italy.

Yeah! Yeah, Italy can do it. Italy will not cry, will not scream, will not push his chair and fling himself to the safety of the crowded New York City street. Oh no, no. Of course, not! Y-Yeah...of course not...

Romano moved closer to Italy. "You don't have to do this, you know. Someone else can do this, deal with this mess —"

A shaky breath out.

"No. No..I can do this. I-I can do this," a pause, "I have to."

Romano nodded unsurely but didn't move to stop Italy from looking down at the page for the first time.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you reading?" America asked seeing the Italian's eyes sweep across the page but not utter a word.

Italy's head snapped up, the same motion a frightened bunny would mimic in danger of its safety.

"I just realized that I'm not that good in reading German. I have to translate it to Italian, then translate it to you guys, which makes my brain all confused and jumbly," Italy said with his eyes downcast.

He felt as if he was giving another excuse. Another subconscious excuse to not continue and pass on the deed to someone else with his clammy hands. Just to give it to someone else — someone else who would understand German, would keep their cool, would know how to be emotionally stable, would know when to stop, when to stop —

"Austria! You should read this!" Italy said quickly getting from his seat and fast walking (running) to Austria to hand (shove) the book into his chest with a swift motion.

Austria sat dumbfounded for a moment, his hands clutching onto the book loosely with surprise.

"Now wait just a moment, I will not —" Austria stopped when he saw Italy's face. Italy seemed to be slightly trembling. His shiny, undoubtedly, expensive shoes made quick rustle movements as he shifted back in forth. His gaze didn't meet Italy's as his head was bowed down at such an angle, that it concealed his watering eyes.

What are you so afraid of? Why are you still the same as back then?

But Italy was no child anymore. He had too much blood underneath his uneven nails, too many sins in his bible filled with bills, and had seen too many horrors of what they called human nature to be considered a child.

"I cannot. This is something you must do for yourself," Austria said firmly, pushing the book back to Italy. Italy accepted it, but his head violently shook no.

"If Italy doesn't want to read it, then he shouldn't have to be forced to —" Hungary was cut off by a patient Austria.

"If he can't do it, then none of us can. Who else has the right to read that? Not certainly me, or you, or anyone else in this room. It's not a matter of what he's reading, it's the fact that it's him reading. Do you understand?"

Hungary bit her lip and sent Italy another gaze of pity. She didn't like seeing those close to her hurt...

"This is great and all, but will someone read already?" Switzerland cut in, effectively ruining the thick atmosphere. His voice was naturally gruff and his thick accent made Italy scurry back to his seat.

Italy chuckled despite everything. He wiped a tear and felt his face morph into a more serious one, his cheekbones relaxing much too quickly to be natural.

Everything felt unnatural, surreal, out of the ordinary, out of this world, but with this weight in Italy's hand, he felt as if he could finally enter Germany's world. His world of dull colors made out of millions of different hues — all very similar but never the same — frigid lines made out of squiggles, thick and imposing, yet soft around the edges.

Looking back, that moment had to be the easiest. If I had known what was inside, the words I was forced to speak out, the journey I had to go through because of your staccato sentences, I would have ripped the book at first sight. Ripped the book until no pages could be glued together, the pages twisting and ripping into ugly shapes and cuts. I would have destroyed that book, just as that book destroyed you.

Deep down, he wanted this more than anything. He wanted to know all of Germany. He didn't want the small text that's written in a textbook, or the vague hand motions of "when I younger," or "a long time ago," or, "don't worry about it." He wanted to be greedy, selfish, and possessive.

And with that thought, the yellow pages weren't as daunting as before. The rest didn't matter, the world didn't matter, because right then and there, on that warm July morning, Italy was trying to play with fire and could not be more curious to release the match.

...

"Germany's Journal. If found, return to Big Brother Prussia. Ludwig Beilchsmidt," Italy said, his voice not holding the same tone as before.

The words were scribbled in childish sloppiness, but even back then Germany had seemed to be as serious and succinct as possible. Big Brother Prussia was marked out furiously and the name Ludwig was added in at a much later date (if the neat and symmetrical lines were anything to go by). This was only the first page, so Italy flipped.

"07. August 1821." Italy wasn't so sure why all the other nations looked so surprised. Maybe they were shocked at how young Germany really was?

Wait...This date.

This is only fifteen years after The Holy Roman Empire dissolved.

Italy kept reading to distract himself.

"Big Brother has given me this useless thing with lines and words. I don't know what to do with this. I asked Big Brother and he said I was supposed to write in it. I told him I didn't know how, but that idiot just laughed at me. What a jerk! I don't think I'm doing this right."

Italy was having a hard time translating the poorly written German into the Universal language all nations shared quickly and swiftly enough for the sentence to not sound awkward and jerky. He was used to speaking rapidly, streams of thought flowing through his tongue faster than his head, and so having to slow down and think was just uncomfortable. He felt judged and unworthy, but he had to remind himself they chose him of all people to do this.

Some of the nations giggled already liking young Germany. He did sound oddly cute all things considered. He could imagine a little Germany glaring at the pages under a lit candle as if the book were to blame for his lack of literacy.

"I guess I'm going to tell you things? I don't know what to write or what the rules are for this, but I'll try my best. Big Brother says I should stop having a 'stick up my ass', but I sit down just fine in chairs. Gilbert is the one who's been having trouble sitting down in chairs lately. He's been limping and hissing at how sore his bottom is. I hope Big Brother is okay!"

Almost everyone laughed. The feeling of worry was forgotten for a moment as they heard little, innocent Germany describe much too adult things for him to understand.

Austria flushed heavily as Hungary elbowed him suggestively.

Italy cleared his throat to continue, a smile on his face as well, shushing the nations into anticipation.

"Big Brother has been so kind to me. Am I allowed to say that? Forgive me. I know how angry he gets when I get all 'feely'. I still can't believe he's my big brother. Mine! Nobody else's. How many can say that they have The Kingdom of Prussia as their big brother? None! That makes me happy. I don't want him to get hurt. Even if he if he is an idiot."

Germany must sure love Prussia. It was endearing. This Germany was just as blunt as the current Germany, but this Germany was blunt with his feelings not with his words, Italy quickly mused before getting back to reading.

"Big Brother is a bit of a jerk and has an ego the size of a really big tree, but he's my Big Brother. I love him despite that. Is that the appropriate term? Before, I was surrounded by dead bodies. It was awful and my eyes were constantly getting teary, even when I wasn't sad. Wherever I went, there were dead people. My clothes smelled. I had no one and everyone hated me. They spat at me, and I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. The foxes were nice when they weren't trying to bite me. They would listen. I felt better. I always did cry alone in the forest.

I didn't know back then that my clothes smelled of pee and the chunky, yellow goop on my torn clothes was vomit. My hair was a greasy mess, and my feet felt awful. My belly was always grumbling and my eyes would always try to shut on their own. But I survived. I went to church (I didn't really know what it was, I just saw lots of food and smiling people around a nice man in white), and I tried my best to not die in the winters.

It hasn't even been a year since Big Brother has adopted me. (That's what he says it is. I consider it kidnapping but he waves it off as semantics.)

I still remember last year. My hands had turned into this weird, blue color, and my legs had felt like I was walking on pine needles! It was so horrible, but I couldn't shake the feeling away. The river water didn't help, and the forest couldn't speak back to me.

I wonder if Brother knows how it feels like to be alone. I still don't believe it. He's been so nice and caring. He's never let my fingers turn that weird shade of purple or my skin get itchy. He throws me in the air as if I were some toy, but I suppose I don't hate it. My laugh always ruins the silent treatment!"

Italy had to stop to get some saliva back in his mouth. Romano handed him his glass of water and he accepted it gratefully. The water — so cool and quick it was — went down his throat in no time. He sat the glass back down on the table and saw that the countries were thinking about the words just read.

So far, nothing had been useful. The only thing Italy got away from this was that Germany was an adorable young nation who adored his brother very much. Though he did learn something Germany would have never told him. Germany wasn't found by Prussia immediately after birth. He had suffered and wandered alone on the earth, wondering, questioning, testing, smiling, and crying at the complex toy that was the world.

He had been born from death.

That thought sent a chilling shiver down his spine. He couldn't picture it. The Germany he knew — the oh so calm and collected Germany everyone knew — was nothing like the scared boy on the second, wrinkled page. The thought of Germany crying over a bird, realizing that the bird had died and would no longer flap its wings, made Italy sad.

How had Ludwig looked at the world back then? How tall were things? How much bigger did life seem? Did he cry when he got a cut or did he rub the tears away and let his lip quiver?

Meanwhile, Russia sympathized with Germany. He as well had been born into a tundra, and it took many years before he could see real life flesh on his fat finger instead of black stubs. Those times were dark, but the world had been much simpler.

Just how far up north had Germany gone to get frostbite? Italy kept on reading after a couple drinks of the water Romano had given him.

"I don't like to think of those times. The fourteen years I spent alone in the dark woods and ignoring the dark stares of the villagers. (Big Brother says they are my people. I think Big Brother is dumb. I don't have any serfs). Those people felt cold to me, and I'm glad I have a place to call home. This mansion is much better than my house built of rock and twigs that's for sure!"

Italy blinked stupidly after reading that. Was that where Germany got his infatuation with sticks?

"Living with Big Brother has been fun. I hope he doesn't read this. I would be so embarrassed!

But living with him has been fun. I baked an apple pie with him, and he didn't comment about how cooking was a woman's job. The servants helped, and I thanked them. (I have manners, unlike Big Brother. He just gets really awkward around them and mutters his gratitude with strangely flushed cheeks.) He told me the apple pie was very good. I was happy.

Is that what you call that happy? I felt my mouth being possessed with a large smile. It was much bigger and wider than any cute forest animal could have made me. I cried thinking it was the Devil. He laughed and told me that I was 'happy.' It's all so strange, but Big Brother knows a lot. He's very smart (and old)."

"Did Germany really not know what happiness was for that long?" France murmured in disbelief. It was one thing to not be happy, but it was another to not even know the feeling. It was as if the word just wasn't part of Germany's very limited vernacular.

Fourteen years is like a quick blink to a nation. You know it happened, you know you just did it, but everything turns black for a second, and you forget what you just saw because of the blurriness and unimportance. You blink again. And again. And again, and again, and again, until eventually centuries have passed and you slowly try to remember what you saw through that millisecond of darkness.

It was nothing really, many other nations had it much worse, had lived in sadness for many years...but something about Germany's complete ignorance of happiness hurt him. For there to be happiness, there must be sadness, and many stay in the sadness as they know too little happiness.

But they knew happiness. What it felt like, what it was. To not even know...to be confused, to be shocked and appalled at the notion of joy — it made France's fear of foreboding much stronger. Already as a child, Germany was writing a sob story.

And Germany hadn't even known it then. It was normal.

"It seems so. But Germany was very young. It's normal," China said for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. Has it really already been an hour?

"I suppose," he murmured unsurely.

"Hey, we can talk about this after. I want to listen to Italy, so shhh!" America said annoyed.

They nodded, but could not wipe off the looks of pensiveness or downcast.

"I really hate my shortness. I couldn't get any of the things on the tabletops, so Big Brother had to lift me up every time. He helped me get down and up, and I couldn't help but realize how fat my legs and arms looked compared to him. I didn't look tall. I don't have a lot of muscles, I just looked...

Big Brother didn't know why I was pouting when he put me on his shoulders. It felt nice being on his shoulders. But I didn't like feeling so useless. I'm barely to his knees! His hand likes to go and mess up my hair a lot, and I don't really know why I let him do it so much. Maybe I like seeing Brother smile. I don't know, but I don't care, because somehow I smile too. Damn him."

"For a potato fungus, he sure does like to write a lot. What is he? Fucking five? How can he write so damn much?" Romano just had to interject.

Italy looked down at the text. It was messy and the letters took up quite a lot of space, but even he was surprised at how much Germany had to say. How many words did Ludwig refrain from speaking on a daily basis?

"Lovi, stop interrupting," Spain said, trying to get rid of America's glare toward Romano.

"Fine," Romano relented not liking the look America was giving him either.

The page made a crinkling noise as Italy flipped gently.

"So I decided I'm going to grow up big and strong. I'm going to grow up to be tall so that Big Brother doesn't have to pat my head and get the bowl from above me. I'll be strong, just like how Brother always tells me and become the best!

But for now, I'm stuck being short and called cute. For a 'manly man', Big Brother sure likes to dote on me. When we go hunting (I did not cry when he killed a deer, okay?) and (if I'm lucky), he will let me wear his hat. I'm strong! I get that weird possession to smile again when he pinches my cheeks and laughs at how the hat tips and my vision becomes one-sided. It's not funny. I can't see correctly. He finds it 'adorable.' I never said Big Brother was normal.

Brother is a jerk. Brother is strong. Brother is stubborn. Brother is cruel. Brother is kind. Brother is...

Brother is the best thing to happen to me so far. I don't think I can ever repay him."

Italy stopped reading. Throughout the reading, his eyes would drift off to the messy ink blots and smudges of words around the edges. Italy smiled softly at the thought of Germany's chubby hands spilling ink and trying to clean up the mess immediately after like the clean freak he is.

That reminded him of the times when he would make pasta at Germany's house. Germany would immediately wipe the counter as he skipped through the kitchen, and Germany's eyebrows would furrow at the sight of a fallen basil leaf on the ground and unchecked steam coming from the stove.

How Germany...back then...when Germany was...at that time...just how they used to...like how Germany did...

The words were never written on the front and back side of a page as the ink bled too much.

Was Germany left-handed?

Everything in these first three pages screamed innocence! It was so child-like that he felt reminiscent of the days when he would rely on Grandpa Rome to get simple things like a glass from the many holes in the kitchen. That was back when the world was much bigger, much brighter.

"That's the end," Italy announced confused if he should continue with the next entry.

"Well, that was a load of shit."

"Romano, please," Spain said exasperatedly.

"What is the point in all of this? Why should all of us care about Germany's shitty childhood? Boo, hoo, he was lonely. So were all of us. This is a waste of goddamn time," Romano fumed.

In reality, he didn't care about the meeting. He had only come to not make his brother feel so alone, and since he was the oh so caring older brother, he had to come so Feliciano wouldn't cry and be embarrassing.

He came to discuss trivial ideas of foreign policies, trading, and security. He didn't particularly care for any of those things, but he did not come to be read some try-hard sob story. So what if Germany had been alone for fourteen years and didn't know what happiness was? Nobody in the damn room knew, so he didn't know why everyone was going soft and looking at the brown book in forlorn as if their feelings could transcend all laws of science to current Germany.

Idiots. All of them.

"I suppose you would rather us continue the meeting as intended? Discuss the needs of the poor in Sri Lanka as planned? Do you have something to say to Bosnia? I'm sure he would be all ears about relief and aid," England replied casually. He was staring directly into Romano's changing eyes, the bright lights in the room making his emerald eyes stand out even more.

Romano's heart began to beat fast. He had a healthy amount of fear for England. That was something he believed would never go away, no matter how many guns and bombs he attained because something about the Englishman just...was not right. And Romano just had to stick his foot in the mouth.

Romano trembled. He would have ducked to hide behind Feliciano, but Feliciano was too busy sitting and staring at the both of them with that dumb expression of his. He instead grabbed onto Spain's hand and tried to calm down. It would do him no good to start crying over something so trivial.

"No! Damn it, that's not what I meant and y-you know it." Curse his stuttering.

A sigh. "Of course, of course."

America sent England a strange look with an eyebrow raised.

England wasn't one to back down from an argument, especially a verbal argument that he knew he could win. America had to give England credit where he deserved. England may be a crybaby, a hopeless drunk, a fake gentleman, and have a big brother complex the size of Africa, but England was cunning. Even as a child, he had always been amazed at England's double meanings and persuasion. Where physical intimidation lacked, he made up with his language of running in circles.

America never seemed to have mastered it.

England didn't bother to turn his head towards America, but he sent a quick eye glance to tell him he was fine.

"Should I read the next entry?" Italy asked his thumb already on the next crisp page.

The nations murmured. Then they talked. Then they started shouting.

"This is obviously some kind of joke!"

"Why would Prussia joke about this? You heard him, he's trying to find Germany like the rest of us!"

"Like the rest of us, right. If this wasn't some kind of scheme then why did he just plop the book to a random nation, then?"

"So now you're calling Italy a random nation? Just because your economy is doing a tiny bit better doesn't mean you can start talking shit — !"

"That's not the point! Stop yelling and being immature!"

"Easy for you to say China. You're yelling just as loud as we are!"

"Why are they fighting, big brother?"

"Because they all have daddy issues."

"Oh."

"Okay, but, why are we wasting meeting time to read a diary? This can be talked about later. There are very important things that have to be —"

"Like WHAT. WHAT IMPORTANT THINGS?"

"This is so much fun! No one can tell that there's a bleeding America on the ground!"

"WHAT! AMERICA ARE YOU —"

"How can you be asleep at a time like this?!"

"FOCUS. What's important is that Germany called Prussia Big Brother. I knew he could be cute if he wanted to!"

"Maybe we should just leave —"

"Yes, maybe we should just leave while they are high—"

"This is stupi —"

"WOAH. YOU'RE NOT LEAVING!" America yelled, panicked at the sight of almost half the conference room getting up and leaving.

The third-world countries blinked in shock. What use were they in a European problem? They never cared about them before.

America sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He felt his cap gone, but didn't seem to care all that much. "Okay, this meeting is turning into a mess. Without Germany here to do his screamy, yelly thing, we can't seem to even agree on one thing." He snapped his fingers. "Alright! Swiss cheese do your thing!"

Switzerland bristled. "I said to stop calling me that!" He crossed his arms and scowled deeply, the frown lines marring his face. "I want nothing to do with this. I am declaring neutrality."

Liechtenstein smiled in admiration.

"Look at this shit. Can't even remember our names. Why should we listen to you?"

"Cuba is right, you are getting really annoying and —"

Liechtenstein grabbed a gun from underneath her long dress and shot at the ceiling three times in perfect composure. The smoke enveloped the small girl as she lowered the small gun to her lap once again.

The countries stopped strangling each other and used their mouths to gape instead of scream.

"Thanks," America said shocked. He winced when he looked up at the high ceiling and saw two busted light bulbs. His boss will so not be happy with this.

She smiled sweetly, folding her hands over her lap and tilting her head in the picture of innocence. "No problem, Mr. America." When did her accent sound so frightening?

The nations shuffled back to their seats in a newfound respect for the petite girl.

"Well, that was appreciated. Okay!" America said already standing up and walking towards to the front of the room so he could be the center of attention. He pointed to Italy again. Italy backed away a bit despite America being so far away now.

"Italy just read an entry of Germany's diary. We now know, A," he held out one finger in a gesture to counting, "that this is legit. This is not fake or a joke."

"How do we know that?" Russia asked curiously.

America took a second to answer. "Well, it's in German. That's one thing. It also mentions Prussia so —"

"No. It just said Big Brother. We are assuming that 'Big Brother' is Prussia," Belarus spoke, her voice factual.

"Italy, check if it says Prussia."

The book jumped a bit as Italy fumbled with it quickly.

"It does. Right here," he pointed excitedly at the first page, "it says 'return to Big Brother Prussia! But it's been crossed out."

America nodded with a fist bump. "Nice job Garlic Bread. This is proof that this is legit and needs to be taken seriously."

"That still doesn't explain why Prussia just handed this to us. This is personal and Prussia isn't the type to just hand this stuff away," Spain said with a hand on Romano's collar to stop him from lunging at America for the insult.

"Maybe he couldn't figure it out on his own?" Hungary questioned just as confused. "But that doesn't make sense either. I know he said he wanted us to help him but he's not even here."

France nodded in agreement. "It's obvious that Prussia has already read these entries and could not find the answer. Why he assumes we will know more than him is still a mystery."

Denmark leaned on his cheek, his palm sure to leave a red mark later. "This sounds fishy. I know Germany and he wouldn't just up and disappear. I think he would go bat-shit insane if he did — a damn work-a-holic. Gets it from his brother who also doesn't like to burden others," Denmark lazily glanced at Italy's frown, "no, no, doesn't like to burden others at all."

America tapped his chin thinking. Nothing was adding up. It was almost like an exhilarating mystery novel, where none of the clues matched until the brilliant detective figured it out and the story is over.

But no one in the room was a brilliant detective.

America let out a huff of frustration. He was the hero! This should be easy!

"Maybe he's already figured it out but wants us to put the clues together. More specifically Italy," a soft voice spoke out.

"Did comrade Canada speak?" Russia asked looking at the highly ignored Canadian.

"You know who I am?" The violet eyes sparkled with excitement and awe. His body shook excitedly in the cushioned, plastic seat.

Russia nodded. "Comrade should speak louder so dumb nations hear?"

England blinked in shock. "Canadia, when —"

"Canada."

"— did you get here?"

"That doesn't matter, what matters is that my bro has something to say and you guys keep interrupting him," America gestured annoyed.

England grumbled a bit under his breath because he knew for a fact that America had jumped slightly when he had heard Canada's mellow voice.

Canada cleared his throat a bit and clutched onto Kumajirou tighter, but not enough to hurt the bear. "I said that maybe Gilb — I mean Prussia, intended this to be read by the world. Actually, more to Italy."

Canada ignored the questioning gazes of who's that, where is he from, is he a micronation, is he part of the U.N.?

"Why wouldn't Prussia just hand it to me? Why would he go through the trouble of disturbing the meeting to give me this journal?" Italy asked confused.

"I don't know."

The question was never answered.

...

Even to this day, I don't know why you did it, Ludwig. Even after I had read all of those entries, I still don't think I can understand. And that is something I truly regret.

...

mm. dd yyyy — Official way to write a date in Germany.

Something To Say to Bosnia — In reference to Bosnia declaring independence from Yugoslavia the April of that year (1992). If you know anything about Yugoslavia during the 90s, you would know that the Serbs and Croats living in Bosnia were slaughtering the native Bosnians in an attempt to achieve a successful ethnic cleansing. It was a brutal genocide and Europe kind of just let it happen...It was a highly debated topic within the EU about who allowed it to happen and who was to blame for not stopping it sooner.

*Historical Note — Smol Ludwig at this point wouldn't be called Germany but instead the German Confederation. Since his official name changes so much during the 19th century, I just chose the standard name Germany as it easier to understand.

...

There wasn't as much diary reading as I imagined but I liked how this chapter turned out.

I don't have much else to say other than thanks for reading!

* Some of the characters might seem way too OOC, BUT, I'm trying to portray them more as humans than the funny gags in Hetalia. This won't exactly be a humorous fic, but I'm not going to throw away their personalities altogether. *