Disclaimer: 'Hetalia' is copyright to creator Hidekaz Himaruya and 'Der Erste Stern' is copyright to creator Prinz/Yori. I do not own nor profit from this work of fiction or other.

An adaption of book II.

Chapter Two.

"Italy..." The young man stopped in his step. He turned around slowly, finding himself in an endless meadow. The wind was heavy but it didn't touch him the way it rattled the field. He looked ahead of him and his knees weakened. Across from him stood a young boy, his eyes were shut and he was smiling, nearly next to laughing.

"Holy Roman Empire..."

The dream was torn from Italy as his eyes snapped open fearfully. Tears had welled up and he quickly rubbed them away as he sat up in bed. He heard a small noise to his left and he looked over, nearly surprised to find Germany asleep in bed next to him. "Oh yeah, he bandaged my injuries...I had something to eat and then slept over at Germany's..." Italy reached a slender hand out. "Germany?" He gently touched Germany's cheek. "Are you asleep?" The soft rise of the blonde's breath answered that for him and Italy withdrew his hand. He watched Germany sleep for a minute before he quietly pulled himself out of bed. Pulling his pants from the floor, he buckled them and then walked over to the coat rack where he pulled down Germany's coat from the knotch it hung from. Slowly, he pulled it to his face and inhaled, taking in the smell he could recall from every embrace and night he'd been able to steal. Italy lowered the coat and then swung it around his shoulders. He took one last look over at Germany before opening the door and leaving.

"Huh," Italy said to himself as he walked through the long grass that stretched for what seemed like miles outside of Germany's house. "Why did I come outside? It's cold..." he wrapped an arm around himself. "And I'm in a lot of pain!" He let out a small humorless laugh and looked upwards. The night seemed so much blacker now. He reached a hand upwards slowly, extending each of his stiff fingers. It's okay, I can keep smiling...but why is it my heart's so lonely...

"Holy Roman Empire! Holy Roman Empire!" Italy stilled. He looked over to the source of the small voices and his eyes widened. He was staring at himself, at the small boy dressed up in a girl's dress. The child's hands were rubbing at his eyes as he cried out that name. Italy stepped closer to the child as once again he repeated that name.

"No..." Italy said. The child looked up at him through raw eyes and frowned. "He's Germany. He's not that boy, that boy's gone." Italy smiled and the child placed his hands in front of him, carefully taking in each word. "He doesn't remember a single thing, that's why he's not him. It can't be helped," the young man said matter of factly. "These memories can't be brought back so easily, the time we had together wasn't short...but I think about it, my memories won't disappear." Italy turned away from the child and brought his hands into his chest, he took a deep breath and watched as his breath formed like smoke in the cold night air. "What would I do if I was just using Germany as a replacement...and I didn't really love him?" He was talking to himself now and the words he spoke shook him in an untouched place. "I really like Germany, but is it really Germany I like? Back then, when I first met Germany, we were at war and I was scared, I was alone and things were hard...I ran away and hid in pitch black." He recalled that box, hard and empty where he thought he'd go uncovered. But when the lid gave way and what stood there looking down at him was an image so striking it had initially given him joy, "I was so surprised." Italy turned to look back at the child. "He had the same color hair and eyes as that boy! I was scared at first, but it was like talking with that boy again. I was so happy." The young Italy tilted his head and blinked.

"...I still love Holy Roman Empire?" He asked quietly.

Italy was momentarily taken aback before he smiled and laughed. "I do. I've always loved him."

"If you could see him again, would you want to?" The boy asked. His tone was so soft, so unknowing, it tore wider a hole that had long been sitting in Italy's chest. His hand flew to his mouth and he shut his eyes.

"I would..." Italy choked back a sob. "I miss him so much..."

"I know," young Italy replied quietly.

Italy felt such a deep pain resonating within him, he cradled himself and bent over, he couldn't seem to stop himself now that he'd fallen so deep into these memories. "I know we'll never meet again, but I want to see him, just one more time." He pictured that young boy in his mind. Standing there like he was in his dream, a smile on his face and his eyes closed and happy. A face he knew he'd never see again. "He was the first person to ever tell me he loved me!" Italy cried out, he fell to his knees and looked up at the sky. He couldn't hold his anguish in any longer...he couldn't keep smiling like this. In the tall grass, he held himself and simply cried.

Across the way, two people walked quietly. A low mumble of conversation was exchanged between them. Spain looked over at Romano and the latter studied the ground intently until a sound stole his attention upwards. Romano looked over to the other side of the fence and saw a figure standing there with his head held back, making a sound Romano knew far too well. "Veneciano!"

War was difficult.

Holy Roman Empire sat in his tent with a few other men, preparing for a night scouting. "What's that? One man asked as he sat behind the small blonde boy.

"A painting of a servant," another man answered.

"Leave it behind, it's too bulky."

"Sh-shut up!" Holy Roman Empire snapped back, he looked down at the painting in his hands of Italy, sleeping on the seat of a chair. He didn't want to leave it. It had only been a few months since he'd left Italy, but still, it seemed like centuries had passed him by.

"It's time to go," the man urged again. Despite the feeling in the pit of his stomach, Holy Roman Empire left the picture behind as he headed out into the night.

A storm was heading there way, as it was they had only been on grounds for six hours when the rain began to lightly fall. Day break was hovering above them, though it didn't touch the blanket of dreary gray clouds the drifted somberly above them. Holy Roman Empire was fighting the fatigue, as were all his men were, but he found a new energy as a man in the front line called out, 'fire!'

"The enemy set it on fire!" Holy Roman Empire looked up in terror as the men began running back towards the base. He ran forward with them and his stomach dropped. He could see smoke and the fire and the dancing embers caught in the air. Wide eyed, he lurched forward, though a pair of arms quickly grabbed him and wrapped around his waist. "Italy!" Holy Roman Empire struggled against the grip, it was next to useless.

"Stop! If you go in there now you'll die!"

"Italy's picture is in there!" Holy Roman Empire yelled back, his small hands pried at the arms around him.

"Is it more important than your life?!"

He didn't mean to show it, but he couldn't help it. Tears streamed down his face and he reached out, "of course it is!" He clenched at his coat and tried to force his way out again. "She gives meaning to my life! She's the reason I'm fighting!" The arms gave way and the young boy stumbled forward, quickly gaining his footing again he rushed forward. "Italy!"

He ignored the shouts of his men behind him. But it was useless anyways, he was too late. He came to a staggering halt in front of the fire. It blazed up in front of him, taking with it in its fury the contents of the tent. There was no way into it now. But he would still try. As he made to force his way in to the tent, a hand wrapped around his coat and pulled him back. The clap of thunder overshadowed his yelling as he was forced back by two men into retreat.

The rain fell with a determined force that day. The army had retreated back into the treeline where they sought temporary shelter from the storm. The enemy was no where to be seen and there would be no ground to cover in this rain. An hour passed until the young boy stood up. His face was a mask of despair, his eyes low and his mouth an unguarded frown. No one stopped him as he took a few weak steps forward, but they all watched him as he stepped out through the trees and into the rain. Holy Roman Empire stumbled over to the base, over to the smoldering mess of his tent. His hair was matted down to his face and the water in his eyes kept trying to blind him, but it didn't stop him. He bent over brushing away at the wet piles of ash, through burned wood stakes and fabric until his fingers touched at the remains of a canvas. He pulled it out, running his hand over the charred surface. His painting, it was ruined. In the haze of ash and char, he could make out the small image of Italy. His Italy. And even though the rain only seemed to fall harder, he held the picture to his chest and refused to let it go again.

"I'm sorry for bothering the two of you," Italy said quietly while staring into a cup of coffee.

"Don't worry about it," Spain said lightly, he smiled and looked over towards the bedroom door. "Although Romano got himself all worked up and angry and finally fell asleep. But more importantly, why were you crying?" He looked over at the youngest brother and his eyebrows pulled together. "And you're all beat up... come on, tell me what happened."

Italy met Spain's soft green gaze and shrugged. "I protected Germany's house."

"Really?!"

"Yeah," Italy smiled at Spain's reaction, he had surprised him too apparently. "Though I don't understand it myself. Somehow I fought them off. I don't remember it too well..." Italy blinked in thought and then looked away. "What if everything I ever did by myself came to nothing? I always worry about that." Spain regarded his words quietly until Italy turned once more to him with a soft expression. "Do you love my brother Spain?"

Spain didn't hesitate to answer. "Yeah," he said happily, a very sweet expression lingering. Italy was slightly taken aback.

"And me? Do you love me too?" Italy asked, noticing how Spain's expression changed ever so slightly.

"Of course," and he laughed lightly. Spain brought his hand up to rest on his cheek and a distant look in his eyes revealed itself. Italy watched him carefully and then smiled to himself. He's not thinking of me, his eyes are full of love for my brother. His love's the real deal...

"No," Italy finally said. Spain looked up at him and quirked his head but before he could question Italy stood up. "I'm going to bed, thanks for lending me bedding."

"Ah!" Spain stood up hastily and raised his hand. "Don't wake Romano up, he'll just get worked up again!"

"Okay," Italy responded. "Good night." Italy stepped down the hall, towards his brother's room and looked in. He made to keep walking but was quickly halted as he stared into the empty bedroom. "...Brother?"

Germany stirred in his sleep, he was cold. Slowly, he opened his eyes and rolled over, "Italy?" But the bed was empty. "Did he go home?" Germany asked himself as he surveyed the spot where Italy usually slept. A faint disappointment echoed in his words and he slunk back against his pillow.

"Hey! Potato bastard!" Germany tore his attention back to the doorway where a very familiar face stood glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You! Italy's brother..." The blonde knitted his brows together as Romano stomped closer, he lurched forward and wrapped a fist around Germany's shirt. He didn't fight the aggressive behavior.

"What did you do to my brother?" Romano yelled, shaking him slightly.

Germany looked down with a quizzical expression before muttering a small, "what?"

"I asked what you did to him! It's cold out but he was just standing there, a total wreck, crying! His body's covered in wounds and he won't answer my questions-"

"Brother!" Both Germany and Romano turned towards the source of the voice, facing a very worried looking Italy. He was shaking from the cold and out of breath.

"Italy..." Germany spoke, looking over the young boy with an unreadable expression. How had he not been there for that? The younger brother rushed forward and wrapped his arms under Romano's, pulling him away.

"Stop it brother! Germany didn't do anything wrong! He dressed my wounds and made me food." Italy pleaded. Romano struggled and then turned his head back angrily.

"It's his fault for leaving his house open!"

"Brother!" Italy's voice rose, something that didn't happen often and Romano momentarily stilled as Italy released his grip. "Don't say any more bad things about Germany...Or I'll call big brother Spain." Romano spin around, a wicked look on his face.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Romano yelled back, almost entirely forgetting his rage towards Germany. "I was worried about you!"

"Don't worry about me!" Italy yelled back. Germany came up behind Italy and took Italy's raised hand by the wrist.

"Hey, stop it you two-"

"Let go of me Germany!" Italy couldn't handle this anymore, he was past the point now in the night where he could hold anymore in. Romano stepped forward, preparing to spit out another comeback when a soft yet stern voice called from the door frame.

"Romano," Spain had a serious look on his face. He stood there with his arms by his side, his gaze staring into Romano's own fiery expression.

"It wasn't me," he responded defiantly.

"Stop it," Spain said again in that same tone. "Italy has times he wants to be serious too." Romano stilled at these words, his face resonating something that looked like denial and worry. "He has times when he needs to find out whether his feelings are the real things or not. To get proof he fought and got hurt, so when you speak badly of what he did of course he'll get angry!" Romano continued to glare, but he remained quiet. "Try to understand your little brother a bit more!" Spain took a step forward and held out his hand to the older brother. "We're going home now," his expression shifted over to Italy and he smiled his usual bright grin. "Italy, understand how you're feeling. Sorry for intruding!" Spain raised one hand in a wave and placed the other atop Romano's head, ignoring the string of swears that came from the boy's mouth, "sorry for intruding!" Spain didn't wait for a response as he grabbed Romano by the hand again and pulled him out through the door. As it slid shut, Italy stared at it quietly.

"What the hell was that..." Germany mused, glaring at the door. He quickly looked down at the worried looking boy and frowned. "Italy, you need to find something out?"

Quickly, Italy became flustered. "N-nothing!"

"It wasn't nothing," Germany said sternly.

"I said it's nothing!" Italy took the jacket from around his shoulders and held it up. "Oh! I came to give this back!" He pushed it into Germany's hand and then headed for door himself. "Sorry about taking it, see you!"

Germany looked at his coat and then looked up, "Hey!" He reached a hand out to stop the boy but Italy stepped through the door and shut it firmly behind him. "Italy!" Germany growled and stepped towards the door, grabbing the second jacket that hung there and with a flourish, followed Italy out. "Wait! Italy!"

"Germany..." Italy stalled and then turned around. Germany had his own coat around his shoulders but in his hands was Italy's own coat.

"You'll catch a cold dressed like that." He walked up to the smaller boy and then gently placed the coat around Italy's shoulders. "You forgot this." The boy cast his honey colored gaze up at the blonde man, a hint of sadness wavering behind his look. "You've been acting strange since yesterday. If you don't tell me what's going on I won't know how to act." Germany, for the first time since Italy could recall, looked genuinely concerned. Often times when Germany was worried, he always appeared to be angry, but not this time. His words were soft, as if he were making a good effort to comfort Italy by words alone. But somehow, it didn't seem to be working.

"You're nice Germany..." Italy turned slightly away. He didn't want to do this, but what choice did he have any longer? "I wonder if I can return that kindness. I'm scared it might just be a lie. I'm scared I might not have feelings for you." Germany stepped back, his eyes curiously searching the boy's face. A quick flash of concern touched him as he noticed he couldn't quite read Italy as easy as he had thought.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly.

"I have memories inside me that won't disappear. They're painful and sad memories, and I'm scared I'll hurt you because of them."

"Italy..."

The boy turned away, he looked into the sky, slightly comforted not by the vastness that only a little while earlier had seemingly terrified him. "We make history as we live," he spoke carefully. "Time and time again we face things dying, being born, changing, being destroyed, prospering. We have to see so many painful things." Germany took a moment to take in Italy's words and then just as carefully he posed his own question.

"We can't be friends because of your past?"

"That's right," Italy said, turning towards him.

"That's not what I mean," Germany said, stronger this time. He straightened himself up and looked Italy on with that same look of careful study. "If something happened between us in your past, I wouldn't abandon you or hate you. Sure, there are a lot of horrible things that have happened all through history, but, you've got wonderful memories too right?"

Italy held his breath.

"Because you remember those things," Germany continued. "They don't disappear from history, you can look back on them and smile, right?" His words and eyes softened as he suddenly seemed interested in looking at the ground. "And besides, if you died...I'd be really sad." A hot flash of tears seemed to blind Italy as he stood there unmoving. He watched from what seemed like ten miles away as Germany smiled to himself knowingly. "When I look at you, somehow or other, I don't feel like we ever met for a first time. I feel like I've always known you." He gave a small laugh to himself. "You're hopeless. But I know you're honest and kind." Germany looked up and took a step closer to Italy, he was within arms reach and Italy felt back in his body as he was forced to look back into Germany's gentle gaze, despite the blurry hazy of tears between them. "When I met you I was able to fully trust in someone for the first time." And Italy was glad he couldn't look away, for when Germany smiled down at him it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. "Like a warmth or something, I'm not good with words but it's that kind of feeling. Perhaps we knew each other somewhere in the past. So, please keep being friends with me."

Italy stumbled forward, his hand reach out to grab at Germany's. The tears were streaming freely now and he couldn't contain himself, he had never felt this kind of intense emotion before. "Okay," Germany said quietly. "Stop that now." He reach a hand up to wipe away the tears still running down Italy's cheek. "You really are a cry baby." Italy closed his eyes and leaned forward, everything was turning dark. He didn't have a chance to speak before his weight collapsed into Germany's hands and Germany brought him in close, "Italy?!" He had fallen unconscious so fast, Germany laid him down in the grass and kneeled beside him. "Italy? What happened?!"

"Italy!"

Italy opened his eyes slowly, he stared at the ceiling curiously before his mind caught up with him. "This is..."

"You're awake?!" Italy looked down and saw Romano, his eyes were wide. Italy slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

"Brother?"

"Thank god!" Romano rushed forward and threw his arms around Italy's neck, pulling him in tight. "You pushed yourself too far," Romano said from the crook of Italy's neck. "Because of your injuries you got a fever, you've been out of it for three days, I thought you were done for. I was...worried." Italy suddenly pulled away, holding his brother by the shoulders.

"Where's Germany?!" He asked frantically. "I fainted while I was talking to Germany..."

"He," Romano looked down at the sheets of the hospital bed, "while you were out of it there was an attack, he's being treated now."

"...No way," Italy shrank back and blinked, then, his mouth tightened. "I'm going to see him."

"Stop," Romano said firmly, taking his brother's wrist tightly. "You're hurt worse than you think. You're not thinking straight."

"Let me see him!" Italy cried out, kicking from beneath his sheets and pulling to get out of Romano's grip. "Let me see him right now!"

"You're still recovering! You have to rest!" Romano glared at Italy, how returned the look. He stopped kicking for a moment before bending forward and biting down on Romano's hand as hard as he could. "Hey! Ow! What the hell are you doing, idiot?!" Romano tore his hand away, wrapping his fingers delicately around the bite. He spun around on the bed just in time to see Italy storming out of the hospital door. "Hey wait!"

But Italy didn't stop. He ran down the halls, looking through rooms until he broke through the front door into the court yard. "Germany!" He called out frantically, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Germany, where are you?!" He ran through the next wing, calling out his name and looking into every room until he came to a staggering halt.

His eyes widened and his hand flew to his chest.

"Germany!"