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 IV

This is the last one, I hope everyone likes it. Thank you everyone for reading AND if anyone is interested, I just put up a PrussiaxGermany AU that needs a little attention. Okay. Going now.

Chapter Four.

Somewhere, in the depths of Germany's injured mind, he saw Italy. The boy was handsome, smiling and healthy. His skin glowed with the touches of summer and he was joyous, as usual. I wonder how much suffering and despair is hidden behind that brilliant smile of his... It was a strange thought to have and soon he roused from his stupor. He blinked around, placed a hand to his head and realized he still had no idea where he lay.

It was daylight outside and around him were a thousand different shades green in the forms of grass, trees, flora and the dress of a little girl. "What?" Germany murmured to himself, noticing for the first time what he stood next to. A box that somewhat felt more like an open casket, lay in the center of the opening. Inside, nestled on a bed of flowers was a small girl that couldn't have been older than ten. Carefully, Germany reached out and placed a hand on her face. She wasn't cold. "She's breathing," he said in a sigh of relief. Leaning closer he placed a hand on her shoulder and shook slightly. "Hey, are you okay?" She didn't respond to his touch. Germany fell back on his knee and looked around. "Where am I? I'm sure I was searching for Italy..." He placed a hand to his head. He was bandaged, but he didn't bother asking why just then. "Italy..."

"Mhm," the small girl murmured. She blinked slowly and then sat up, wearing a worn expression on her young face.

"Hey! You're awake! What are you doing here?" Germany asked quietly as to not startle her. The girl stared blankly for a second before her features suddenly lit up.

"Who are you?" She asked in a pleasantly high voice.

"I'm Germany," he smiled. "I'm searching for Italy." He wasn't sure why he disclosed this information, a young girl would hardly know where he was, but for that matter, Germany himself didn't even know where he was. The girl beamed, looking delighted.

"Really? I see!" She cupped her hands together, looking proud of herself. "You came looking for me. I've been trying my hardest to become a country for you."

"What do you mean?" Germany asked, he looked concerned. Nothing was making much sense.

"I cry for you, I get angry for you, I smile for you," the girl opened one eye and smirked. "Italy loves you very much." A sudden thought seem to occur to her and she jolted up to her knees, placing both her hands on Germany's cheek in a kind manner. She searched his eyes desperately. "What kind of country do you see Italy as? What is Italy to you?"

Germany looked back into her familiar eyes. They seemed warm, much like home. But he couldn't quite find the words for it. "To me..." he looked upwards at the clear, sunny day. "When I think about him like I am now, I realize I don't know anything about him," he said honestly. "He's the only one who has tried to understand me...but he doesn't really talk about himself. I don't know about his past or his memories...the meaning behind his never faltering smile or the reason he was crying." It dawned on him then, "I don't know a single thing about him."

A strange sensation came to life in his chest, something mixed with pain, regret, and a distant happiness. He leaned into the girls hand and smiled in a sad sort of way. "I think I might be scared. I have the feeling that as soon as I find out anything, Italy will only get even further away from me. And that lovely smile would be destroyed. My whole life was a series of never ending wars, all the countries around me hated me...but among all that, I have a single precious friend who smiles for me." He reconnected his gaze to the child's and he wasn't sure why, but the words seemed to flow from like he'd been longing to speak these thoughts for eternity. "I don't want to lose him yet, not like that."

The girl faltered, she looked over his face and her eyebrows pulled up. Her hands softly slipped from Germany's cheeks down to his shoulders where she gently brushed at his collar. "Please don't look so sad," she leaned forward until her chin was resting on his shoulder, and she leaned in closer as if she were afraid. "If you look sad I'm sure Italy will be sad as well."

The ground began shifting and the weight of the child slowly began to dissipate until Germany found himself blinking up at a blank ceiling. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up. "Where am I?" He looked down at his bandaged hand and felt up his face where the rest of the bandages sat. Looking around the room he found himself in an empty hospital room but to his left, on a small stool, sat an extravagant bouquet of roses and a small envelope.

Outside it had started raining, a pleasant kind of rain that had enticed Spain to open the windows to the house as he was cleaning. "I went too far before," Romano said quietly from the kitchen table. His head was down and he wasn't looking at anything in particular. "It's not like you were really being annoying or anything." Spain looked over curiously before smiling and returning to his dishes.

"Ah, don't worry about it." Spain replied calmly. Rain had that effect on him, and to be honest, he had hoped it would on Romano as well. "Some of what you said is true. Our destinies, being born as countries, it means we have to deal with a life of constant suffering." He put his dish down and looked over at the tempered boy with a deep, genuine care in his gaze. "But I'm so glad I met you Romano. Regardless of all this country stuff. I'm just so glad I met you."

His body trembled and his head was pounding through what felt like eight layers of bandages. But he couldn't stop, no, there was something so much bigger to be worried about. Germany ran as fast as he could down the street, despite the heavy down pour of rain and the tremendous clap of thunder rising overhead of him.

I'm starving. It feels like some of my ribs are broken. The inside of my mouth tastes like blood, and mein gott, my head hurts.

But none of that mattered because somewhere out there, Italy was hurt and he needed to be saved.

"I can't believe you came here with such a trifling army," his voice was cold and calculated. "There was no other way this could have ended, honestly." Italy watched from where he lay on the floor as a pair of shiny boots stepped towards him gracefully. But this time, he didn't cower in fear. He lay on the floor, face bleeding and bruised with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I came because I wanted to talk to you," he replied quietly. "I knew from the start I was no match for you..." England stared down at him with an empty expression, his face too was bruised in small areas, a slight show that Italy had indeed tried his very best.

"What made you think I'd listen?" The man asked, he rustled his hand through his hair, looking rather bored.

"You're listening to me now aren't you?"

"Hey, this is cruel. Can't you-"

"No," Italy said firmly. He wiggled, fighting against the restraints that held his hand behind his back. With the wall behind him as leverage, he pushed his legs against the floor and sat up, wincing. "Why did you do that to Germany?" Italy asked, his breathing heavy and ragged.

"Because he was in your house." The English nation smirked, "is that what you want to hear?"

"No," Italy repeated. He closed his eyes and pulled his knees up. "Hey. What are you fighting for England?" Italy leaned over, he could feel the warm flow of blood dripping down his face. It wasn't a lot, but he was making a small mess still. England remained quiet, so Italy continued. "I'm so tired," he breathed out. "Take my right arm, take my left leg. I don't think it would upset me all that much.

I'll never get used to this, England thought to himself. His expression grew dark and gloomy, and for a moment, he took pity on the young boy in front of him.

"All I've ever done is run away. Even now I'm trying to run away from the past. I'm scared of fighting. I'm scared of losing everything." Italy tilted his head back against the wall and blinked up, he didn't want to look at England so he settled for the ceiling. "Even if I win, someone will be unhappy. I don't care what happens to me, I just don't want anyone else to be unhappy. You know, I kind of hated being born as a country. Over the long years we lose things and we gain things, we have to watch the world change little by little."

England's gaze darkened and he stepped back. Hearing, in the distant pangs of years once lost, the small laugh of a child. A child whom he had loved more than anything in the entire world. And he realized with a visible tremor that the very child who haunted his past was the one who had at one time held a gun to him and demanded independence. A child who now stood on his own two feet without needing a goodnight story or a figure to look up to anymore. His chest tightened and he tried his hardest to shut out the sound of the small boy's voice calling back to him from the past.

"I wish it would all just stop at a time when we were happy..." Italy murmured.

"Shut up," England clutched at his uniform, he could hardly bear these phantoms any longer.

"Sometimes I wished I was human or an animal, then there'd be an end to it all." A faint smile touched at Italy's face. He was adjusting to the pain finally. "But Germany taught me I was wrong about that. We carry the past and memories with us, including those the transient beings-"

England stepped forward, placing a hard boot against Italy's already aching shoulder. He heard the familiar click of a pistol against the top of his head and he looked up into the hard eyes of the nation before him. "If you don't shut up now I'm going to put a bullet in your head." Italy remained quiet momentarily before he was forced to shut his eyes. The frustration of the situation had unnerved him.

"What about you?!" He suddenly cried out. "You've regretted losing things too haven't you!" Italy felt the pistol push farther into his scalp before England let out a small humorless laugh and stepped back. He put the gun back into its holster and grabbed a small bowl of cherries before sitting down cross legged in front of a startled Italy.

"I won't listen to you wax lyrical about him," England said hotly. He grabbed a cherry and dangled it from between his fingers. "I just want to know about you. Why are we fighting as enemies, why do we both have painful memories."

Italy gave him a small glare, "I'm still mad about what you did to Germany."

England smirked and shook his head. "You've got balls saying that considering you're the one tied up." He shook the cherry and raised it. "Here." Italy eyed it warily before the other rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Don't be so suspicious. I didn't cook it, it's safe to eat." With the untrusting expression still on his face, he leaned forward slowly and took the cherry with his mouth. England closed his eyes and for the first time seemed to relax. "Countries are inherently selfish. But when I look at you I feel stupid for fighting."

A loud clatter suddenly had both countries startled. Italy looked up with horror painted upon his features and England look over his shoulder, hand drawn over his gun and his eyes dark and angry. "Italy!" Germany exclaimed from the doorway, he was soaking wet, visibly shaking and looked ghostly.

England stood up, pulling the gun out and wearing a haughty grin. "You're late. I was getting sick of waiting. Don't move." England laughed slightly, looking down on the worn down state his enemy was in. "Are you crazy coming here without a weapon?"

"Germany!" Italy cried out, he struggled against his restraints, ignoring the impulses of pain that were cutting into him.

"If you beg for you life, I'll make it quick." England said lowly, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"No! Stop!" Italy was next to screaming. He struggled hard until his eyes were unwilling streaming tears. He looked up, watching England raise his pistol to point it straight at Germany. Italy cried out again but he couldn't hear his voice. He was being swallowed up by the effects of a life flashing before his eyes. He saw flags marching in many aisles, a young, familiar blonde boy who looked older, smarter, but sadder still.

The feeling of loving someone for the first time. Emotions that will never change. I knew the end would come eventually but still, I wonder...why did I let go of his hand back then. Nothing last forever, you'd have to be deluded to think it does. Things change little by little and before you know it, they've become something entirely different. If you scramble for happiness you get dragged down in despair and suffering. The original meaning is lost...

In his mind, he sees the boy, cradled by a soldier who is looking down on him with a look Italy had seen many times before in the tragedy of war. This boy was dead. His eyes bruised and pale, his hair strewn across his forehead and matted with dirt and blood. It was unfair.

...we know that but we keep fighting against fate. We lose sight of our original goal.

And then Italy sees something he didn't expect. He sees that same boy, lying in a hospital bed looking pitifully lost. He's bandaged and sore but he stares out at something that isn't quite there. "But I want to promise that these feelings are the one thing that won't change." The same soldier that only moments ago was holding him dear looks down on him from a stool. The soldier is pale, strikingly so, but wears such a carefully guarded expression it's difficult to tell what he's truly thinking.

"You shouldn't talk anymore, it's bad for your health," he only says quietly.

"I don't have much left," the young boy continues, "but the least I can do is tell her how I feel." The soldier remains quiet this time, and the boy smiles at the warmth of something he's recalling. "My beloved...I loved her." He closes his eyes and very quietly begins to sing. "The first star in the night sky, gently shines down on you. It's still watching over you today. I wish with all my might that you will be happy, my beloved, the first star in the night sky gently shines down on you...Even if you never know it, even if you never know it...Italy."

Then the scene changes, and Italy is looking at himself. A young boy in a young girl's dress. Italy is standing in an open clearing, where the stars shine shamelessly down. "Holy Roman Empire...please smile Holy Roman Empire! There are so many things I want to tell you, so many that I could never get through them all! The roses in the garden are in bloom and I watch the stars from there in winter." Italy recalled painfully this conversation. Often times when he found himself lost, he'd go out to the clearing, under the clarity of a million stars, and he'd talk to the only boy who'd ever loved him. This wasn't a life flashing before his eyes, no, it was a memory.

"Today I listened to Mr. Austria play on the piano, and I did all the cleaning. Everyday I make sweets with Ms. Hungary, and I'm getting better at it!" The young Italy looked down, but continued on. "There are so many things I want you to try. They built a bridge over the river we swam in, a lot of people live near it. It's always busy there, everyday it's like there's a festival going on. But since you left, Holy Roman Empire, the days and the years have been so long. Why is that, why..." and before he can finish, Italy burst into tears. It may go for a little bit, but the fear and loneliness always come again. How can I miss you this much?

Once again Italy see's the hospital room. The soldier is quiet, he looks onwards with an air of respect around him as the blonde boy carries on. "Italy...there's not a single day I don't think about you."

Italy remembers a moment, when the sun was high and the air was warm. It was only him and Holy Roman Empire sitting out in the meadow. "I don't think drawings are good or bad," little Italy remarks. He holds a pencil to his canvas and smiles. "If you draw what's in your heart you can make a wonderful picture. Hey," he says, turning to face the small boy in the black coat. "Why do you want to be good at drawing anyways?"

"I-I have something I want to draw," he replies back nervously.

"Something you to draw? What is it?"

"It's a secret!" Holy Roman Empire cries out, clutching the canvas to his chest. Little Italy brings the pencil up to his mouth, thinking.

"If you ever draw it, will you let me see it?" Holy Roman Empire looks slightly dazzled, but he slowly nods.

"Okay."

The memory begins to ebb away and somewhere in his consciousness, Italy reaches a hand out to try to bring it back. He wants it to stay, he wants to live inside that moment for as long as he can. But it's slipping and he feels a deeper pain within him.

When I shook your hand and we parted ways, I knew I probably wouldn't see you again. But I never really accepted that. My memories stop there. Right up until the very end I wanted to see you...I always wanted to see you.

I love you, I'll always love you.

It's then a heaviness weighs down on Italy. He stirs, feeling something rough and firm beneath him, he opens his eyes. "Germany?!" Looking around, he's being carried on Germany's back and a strange sense of time overwhelms him.

"Italy? Are you okay? Can you stand?" Italy nodded and Germany gently lowered him to stable ground. Facing him, Germany looked so worried. He placed a hand against Italy's cheek. "Are you in pain anywhere?"

Italy stalled, taken aback by the moment before he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Germany's shoulders. "I'm okay." Nuzzling in deeper, he inhaled. "Thank you for saving me." And slowly, Italy withdrew himself, he looked up at Germany and smiled. "Good morning Germany."

"Good morning." Germany looked away, when he finally spoke again there was a strange edge to his voice. "England's a good guy." Italy shut his eyes. He remebered a gun pointed upwards, a finger held tight over a trigger and then suddenly, the loud shot of a bad aim. The bullet hit the wall opposite Germany.

"When I look at you, I lose all will to fight," England said quietly. "I was sleeping. You came to save him and you escaped without a trace. I didn't see anything, got it?" Germany nodded.

"Right."

The blonde man tilted his head back down, looking over the much smaller man in front of him with a depth in his eyes that alluded to something like love. "You collapsed so suddenly, it gave me a fright-"

"I'm sorry," Italy said with a sigh of relief. "Look, we're both pretty beaten up." He smiled and took Germany's hands before him, looking over his bandages he continued on quietly, "we match..." And though Italy wasn't looking at Germany, the latter's eyes couldn't turn away from the gentle boy before him.

"...Italy." And then without much warning, Germany threw his arms around the boy. He buried his face into the crook of Italy's shoulder. "How many times are you going to do something reckless and make me angry before you learn your lesson!" Germany tried to sound stern but his voice shook. Italy only laughed.

When Germany pulled away, Italy averted his soft gaze upwards. "Hey, Germany." But Italy couldn't hold his view much longer and he gave in to the temptation of looking back at the ground. A rush of an ancient sadness suddenly beheld him. "My biggest mistake was trying to take revenge for you. I hate it when you do those kind of things. But if I did that, I knew that you would be sad and all alone...just like I used to be." He turned towards the field he stood in, close to Germany's house. He had always liked this view. So vast and wide, just like the fields Holy Roman Empire and him used to play in. "No one can be happy," he said softly. "The important thing was staying by his side. Not being separated from that person I loved." Germany understood that he wasn't the subject of Italy's despair any longer. "When one of us got hurt we both would be hurt, and in times of sadness we would both be sad. I wish we could have been together and smiled, all beat up, when we lost." Italy had become so wound in his words, he barely noticed that the sky had darkened and a light rain had begun to fall. "Rather than win and lose one of us, I want to lose and smile together. It feels like we've been separated for the longest time. I've always wondered why I didn't go with him back then, but now I think it was so I could meet you." A small smile touched at his lips. "I can't repeat those painful things anymore. It felt like God was angry at me-"

Germany placed a hand to his head, shaking it slightly. "What are you talking about? I can only understand about half of it...I'm no match for you." He smiled, "I'm always in a hurry but if I turn back, there you are smiling happily...your smile saved me you know."

Italy turned around, faced his partner and blinked. And then he stepped closer. "You know, i understood it when you said it. Germany is Germany and I'm me. There was never anyone here from the start, you can't be someone else and you can't take someone elses place." He looked at his hands, bloody and worn. Just like Germany's hands were. "But you're right here in front of me, you're moving and living. That's the most important thing to me now. It's my greatest happiness. I'm sure it's not just me, all of us who were born as countries don't leave out pasts behind us. We don't bury our painful memories. Instead..." Italy clutched his dirty hand shut and pulled it in close to his chest. He was feeling something new now, a kind of peace that hadn't been there before. He wanted to swallow it all and let it grow into something permanent. "The past and the present are united in me, that's why I think my happiness now is so precious. There's the boy I loved, and my favorite place. And because I'm not alone we can chat like this..." He let his hand fall and he looked over to Germany, whom was now standing much closer. Italy reached his hand out and gently, Germany took it in his own. "...and hold hands and smile together!" Italy beamed and while Germany stared, awed and slightly dazed, he smiled too.

"Ah!" Italy said suddenly. With his other hand he pointed up at the sky. "There's the first star! Night's already here...and the rain's stopped!"

"Italy?" The boy looked over, into the bright blazing blue of Germany's eyes. The blonde man was close, his face calm and gentle, much different from the serious mask he often wore. It was a sudden breath of fresh air in Italy's lungs as Germany leaned in, "a kiss for friendship." And with that, he cast one last gentle look at Italy and he closed his eyes. Italy smiled and leaned back, his lips pressed against Germany's and he reeled inwardly.

He was so warm.

When their kiss broke, Germany smiled and Italy laughed. He was next to crying but he knew then that the peace within him had finally come to stay. And that kiss, for the first star in the night sky, had made it all possible.