Disclaimer: My little sister here (I'm one of her betas; this is her story and her account) doesn't own Hetalia. Please don't sue us!
Italy remembered all the sets of hands in his life.
He knew there was someone else before the first pair of hands; the memory pulled and tugged in the back of his head, almost to the point of annoyance. However, whenever he tried to remember those hands, he felt the memory fade, fade, fade… and it was gone again, slipping through his fingers like water. So, he left those hands alone, always wondering but never knowing.
The first pair of hands he actually remembered catching him were strong and weathered from grasping the leather wrapped hilt of their sword. The hands felt safe and warm, and he felt he could never be hurt in these hands.
After he had been caught by the hands, they would sweep him up and pull him close, the voice saying, "Don't fall, my little Ita-chan! You could get hurt, and Grandpa Rome would be soooo sad if that happened!" So, he learned to promise that he wouldn't fall again to those hands.
-Grandpa Rome…-
The second pair of hands were actually three pairs of hands. One pair of hands was strong, but tapered to a delicate point. Italy wasn't quite sure he liked those hands; they often wandered to places they shouldn't. After he fell, the hands would pull him close and whisper sweet nothings into his ears, until the other voices told the hands to leave Italy alone. However, he grew to like the person behind those hands very much.
-Big Brother France …-
Another pair of hands were chubby and quick, not unlike Italy's own, with spitfire ingrained in the palms. These hands were rough and forceful, and whenever Italy fell around these hands they shoved him back up. As much as he liked being kept from falling, he sometimes wondered if it was worth being pushed around.
The voice that accompanied these hands was loud and insulting. "God dammit, don't fall again, you idiot! You could seriously hurt yourself!" However, the voice and hands still worried about him, and Italy was happy about that.
-Big Brother Romano …-
The last pair of hands was kind and gentle, and Italy's favorite of the trio. They carefully grabbed Italy and helped him back up. Then, they would pull him close and give him a treat. These hands would pat his hair, and the voice that came with the hands was lulling and sweet. It crooned, "Oh Italy! You're so cute!" He learned to thank these hands.
-Big Brother Spain …-
The next pairs of hands were three in number as well; however the time he spent with these pairs of hands was questionable. He couldn't decide if these were the best hands of his life or the worst.
The first pair of hands were cold but not unkind. These hands were not meant for catching Italy and his clumsy self; they were meant for making beautiful music, gliding across the keys of a piano like spiders. However when they did catch him, Italy could feel the strength and delicacy of those fingers. They pulled him back up and did nothing else. The voice belonging to them would say gruffly, "Be more careful, Italy." Italy would just nod and continue on his way.
-Austria…-
The second pair of hands were the hands that almost always caught him of the set; they grasped him and swept him up close to her chest. These hands were powerful and the nails tapered to points, but they were always very gentle with Italy. The hands stroked his hair happily, and she crooned lullabies to him in her beautiful voice. (However, these hands could more often be found beating off perverts with frying pans…).
-Big Sister Hungary …-
The last pair of hands in the trio were strong and powerful; it seemed as if even they didn't know their own strength. Italy was a little afraid of these hands and the face that accompanied them. The face would stare at Italy intensely, and Italy would feel shivers run up and down his back. The face would blush, though, and Italy found himself liking the face when it blushed; it was a more human and kind reaction. After Italy got caught by these hands, he would be pulled into a close hug, and then the hands would run away. Italy was always confused; what had he done wrong…? (Eventually he learned that these hands were better holding his as they kissed…)
-Holy Roma…-
Most of these pairs of hands stayed with him for a long time. The last pair, however, were gone forever, and Italy cried a lot over them. Eventually, he outwardly got over it. No sense of worrying about the past, he supposed; however in his heart, Italy waited for those hands forever.
-Big Brother Romano, Austria, Big Brother Hungary… H-Holy R-Roma…-
-H-Holy R-Roma… my first mistake… was that I-I lost you…-
The next two pairs of hands that caught him when he fell were the second most recent; they were quite on accident, actually. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd planned, him ending up in a tomato box and getting discovered by a scary face…
The next pair of hands were powerful and strong, the hands closest in form to the first pair he remembered. They were weathered by days of training, crawling through mud, and grappling with enemies. They were always kind around Italy, though firm, and not always gentle.
The hands quickly let go of Italy after he was caught (Italy was always a little disappointed) and the voice said in a gruff, embarrassed tone, "I-Italy, you've got to be more careful! I won't always be around to catch you!" So, Italy learned to watch where he was going and fall around those hands. That way, they could catch him as much as possible before they left.
-Germany …-
The next pair of hands were strong and delicate, thin and pale. They never held contact for long, and were extremely polite—they only touched him enough to help him to his feet, never more. Everything the hands did was thoughtful and serious, never wasting a movement. They settled gently and never were excited or emotional.
The voice that accompanied these hands was gentle and understanding, never scolding. "Ah, Italy-san. You must be more careful." So, Italy was very careful around these hands, for he could feel the discomfort radiating off of them whenever that person caught him. These hands didn't like close contact.
-Japan-san…-
The last pairs of hands were actually many; they were many hands, so many that Italy could not even count them all.
There were hands that were bouncy and over dramatic; they caught him and quickly set him back on his feet, sometimes hurting him on accident in the process. They were strong, yet young and almost immature. New.
There were hands that were extremely cold. They were hungering for an affection that no one seemed to want to give. They swept Italy up and gently set Italy back down.
There were hands that were delicate and pale, more suited for reading books than picking up Italy. Yet, Italy could tell that there was something more to these hands…there were whispers of calluses from days gone by, and a certain strength to his arms that one might not expect.
There were hands that were well manicured, hands that were so hesitant and trembling it frightened Italy himself, hands that were tired and sleepy, hands with dark skin and strong muscles; so many hands to help Italy up! And yet… when these hands came together for one purpose…
-France, Romano, Spain, Austria, Hungary, Germany, Japan-san, America, Russia, England, China, Poland, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Greece, Cuba, Denmark, Iceland, Finland, Sweden, Canada, Sealand, Norway, Taiwan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Korea, Prussia, Ukraine, Belarus, everyone…-
-H-Holy Roma… they're all working together… for war…I'm scared… My first mistake was losing you!-
All these hands came together for one purpose: to fight a war and win. They banded together, forging an alliance to save themselves and each other. They fell; slowly, one by one, but they all fell. The two strongest countries fell last; the cold hands and the over-dramatic hands. The cold hands were stone; they lost whatever feeling they had had when their sister hands left. The over-dramatic hands lost their bubbliness, bounce, and innocence after the hands that were suited to reading books left. They became ruthless, and felt no pity. Both of these sets of hands fought with their lives to protect the one person left: Italy.
And now Italy was falling… falling… and no one was there to catch him.
I failed… again.
He could feel the hands slipping past him, reaching towards him but never touching. Italy sighed as he realized he would have to do this all over again… and hopefully save everyone in the process. Maybe he'd be nice to those cold hands, so they would be warmer and kinder. Maybe he'd get the over-dramatic hands to finally pull close the one they wanted to keep forever. Maybe… there were so many things he could change.
But I still failed… again.
As Italy felt himself being swept up by the first pair of hands he remembered, he sighed. Maybe this time… he'd finally save Holy Roma.
After all, he would continue this loop until everyone was okay, right?
Hey… yes, it's me, guilty as charged.
I know I haven't updated in a while, but I was working on Drunken Abandon. Now, though, I'm just waiting for Resoan to finish beta-ing the new chapter before I post it, so I'm posting on this story instead!
This is just a little bit based off of HetaOni—the whole time loop thing (WATCH HETAONI IT'S THE BEST YOUTUBE SHOW IN THE WHOLE WOOOORLD!). It just popped into my head one day; what if Italy were a time traveler? I know it's absurd, but I thought it was an interesting idea… and came up with this.
It might be a little confusing, but I hope you understand…
IceEckos12