[Fanfic] Heart - chp 01
Hey there ^^
I realised I haven't shared this fic of mine with people outside of the kink meme, so I shall do it now. ^^ (OP, if you're around, I updated!)
Title: Heart
Warnings: historical setting, POSSIBLE itacest.
Rating: T-ish just in case
Characters/Pairings: North Italy, South Italy main. Other characters might appear in the future (possibility of Prussia, Poland, Hungary and Germany later on). Might turn a bit Italicest, depending whether the plot allows it to.
Summary: The two Italies gain more then they thought possible when they allow in their lives two young orphans. From the kink-meme request "Nations adopting a human child".
Heart - chp 01: That kid
1888 - February
He was standing on the side of the road, face set into a frown that didn’t look right on him, mistrustful eyes fixed on the road, watching people pass by without interest.
Italy had already seen him a few times, a little kid no older than five, standing still like a little man, face dirty, messy black hair, ripped pants and shirt, and without shoes; he was easy to ignore, so small and weak-looking, but Italy’s eyes had travelled straight to his figure, as if attracted by… something.
He’d stopped to stare at him, surprised that a kid so young would be left all alone on the street; brown eyes checked around the road, then the shops… maybe he was waiting for his mother, or his friends…?
The moment the kid had noticed someone was staring, he’d grunted in his direction, chubby face scrunched up, and then promptly looked away, ignoring him.
Italy had felt a small pang in his chest, but he had not allowed himself to think about it, hurrying down the street, knowing that his brother was probably waiting for him at home, and that he would surely be pissed off.
Things were not going well for them, even after finalizing their unification, and there was barely any time to take care of themselves; at least, the worst was in the past, and now Romano wasn’t as bitchy and angered with the world as he was before.
With his mind full of politics, depressed for the lack of time to spend painting and creating poems, the aftermath of the independence wars and the brigantaggio (which had been, despite his denial, a civil war) still heavy on his mind, he didn’t think about the kid anymore, more important matters coming up to his mind to be able to think about anything else.
A few days later, Italy left his house to buy groceries and passed on the main street once again, with a huge bag of fruits and other stuff in his arms; he kept glancing at the sky with a worried expression every few steps, afraid that it would start raining before he got back home, and when he looked back down, his eyes were attracted by the familiar figure, standing in the same spot as before, motionless.
Still shoeless, with the same dirty clothes as before, that expression that touched chords inside Italy that he didn’t even know he had.
What was he doing there?
This time, Italy disregarded the weather and walked towards him.
“Ehi, bambino!” Italy kneeled at his side. “Is everything ok?”
Deep green eyes turned towards him, narrowed in suspicion.
“Che vuoi?” the kid answered, gruff and childish, and yet attempting to sound older, imposing.
“Ve, is everything ok? It’s going to rain soon, shouldn’t you go back home?” Italy hadn’t meant to sound doting, but the kid looked so lost…
“Of course! I’m a big boy!” pointing a small thumb against his chest, the little kid rubbed a fist against his dirty cheek. “You go back ‘ome!”
Italy frowned in concern -it was so hard for him to smile, nowadays- but said nothing, and glancing at the boy for a moment more, he stood up and walked away.
Soon, rain started falling, and he rushed to get back home, running down the street and clutching the bag to his chest.
Still, his mind lingered on that kid, on his close, distrustful expression.
…-…-…-…
“Buongiorno, Mrs Ferri, how is your husband today?”
The busty, sturdy woman massaged her back and turned around, a fond smile appearing on her face as she recognised who was speaking to her; it was the Vargas boy, such a sweet, caring young man…
“Oh, Buongiorno Feliciano,” she greeted back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Renzo is fine, thank you… his back is slowly healing, God bless it” she sighed, gathering up the wet sheets she was cleaning and checking it. “And I told you to call me Amelia”.
“Ve, I’m sorry, Mrs Amelia,” he replied with a small, hesitant smile. “But I’m glad to know he’s doing better!”
“Come on, young man, help me get those home and I’ll give you some home-made cake,” she smiled, holding out the basin filled with bed sheets to him.
Italy grabbed the basin and nodded, following the woman through the fountain square.
She would have been perfectly able to do it herself, of course, but dear Feliciano always looked like he could do with a piece of cake to eat, and it made her sad he didn’t smile much, and a frown didn’t look good on his sweet, gentle face.
For someone who so easily made friends with people, even those who at first looked stand-offish, the young Italian man surely needed to be more cheerful. He’d transferred in the town only a couple of years before with his older brother, a sour-looking young man, and everybody had greeted them with open arms.
It was easy to like them, after all.
As they passed through the town, Italy and the woman spoke a bit about various things -her son, who would come back home soon, Italy’s brother, of course, and food- but once they turned the corner and got to the main street, Italy’s attention went automatically to the opposite corner.
The kid was there once again, ignoring the crowd as much as the crowd avoided him.
“Mrs Amelia…”
She stopped her happy chatter and turned around, but the moment she noticed where Italy was looking, her face turned into a sad, pitiful gaze.
“Oh, so you’ve seen poor Enrico, hmm? Dear, dear…” she shook her head, tone dropping an octave lower. “He’s the son of Luciano Foretti, <>che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima,” she shared a knowing look with Italy, but his confused face stopped her. “You don’t know? His father was reported missing in action. His mother, Anna, has…” with an eloquent twist of her wrist next to her head, Amelia peered at the kid, thin lips pulled into a grimace. “Our Parish Priest has tried twice already to offer some words of comfort to her, but she refuses to listen… she doesn’t even come to mass anymore, and the kid is left to fend off for himself”.
She looked terribly upset at her own words -there was no way a good soul could refuse to have others help them, after all… it surely meant that she didn’t need salvation, and despite Amelia’s belief that God could save everybody, He couldn’t reach into unwilling hearts.
Enrico’s mother refused help, and the kid was already a lost cause, not giving respect to adults and running away from home…
Italy’s eyes narrowed at her words, worried gaze returning to the kid once more. “Why is he standing there?”
“He’s probably waiting for his father to come back” she sighed, quickening her pace. “Let’s go, Feliciano”.
Italy’s eyes couldn’t look away, even as the woman tugged him towards her house, filling his mind with happy chatter; as he finally turned around, he felt on his skin, like a ripple, little Enrico’s eyes staring at him from the other end of the street.
…-…-…-…
“Enrico?”
With a startle, the kid glared upwards, blue eyes widening as soon as he stared at the offered piece of cake; Italy looked at him expectantly, knowing that no kid could refuse the allure of a sweet.
“You ‘gain?” despite his pout, Enrico’s eyes were fixed on the cake, little hands closing into fists. “Wha’ ya want? Wha’s your name anyway?”
Italy looked sheepish for a moment. “I’m Feliciano!” he smiled a bit, fidgeting. “I thought I could share, the cake Mrs Amelia gave me is too much for me alone, you know”.
Sitting down on the street at the kid’s side, Italy brought his own slice of cake to his mouth, biting down on it.
The kid’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Italy didn’t move, still munching slowly, relishing in the taste -that woman’s cake really was good, after all- and after some long, stretched out seconds, one of Enrico’s little hands moved forwards, wrapping around one corner of the cake and bringing it close to his chest, almost protectively.
“Aren’t you going to eat that, ve?” Italy peered at him, taking another bite. “Now that I think of it, I wouldn’t mind that other piece, too…”
Hurriedly pushing as much of the cake into his mouth as he could, making Italy inwardly wince at his dirty hands and where they surely had been, Enrico munched on it, curling protectively on his sweet, ready to defend it.
Italy hummed in satisfaction, looking at the street.
That particular spot was good, he could see most of the square, and the street going out of town until the first corner… obviously the perfect place to be waiting for someone.
“Ve~ Isn’t your mom worried that you stay all day here? Shouldn’t you go to school?”
“I’m a big boy!” the kid repeated, still pouting, mouth full of cake. “And mom doesn’t care,” he muttered then, rubbing at his cheek.
“I am sure she does, Enrico!”
“No, she doesn’t. She cries and cries for dad to come back,” he replied sullenly. “And nobody cares at all. Why should you?” he grumbled out, licking his sticky fingers.
Italy felt a pang of sadness at his words; in a time where the people of the town should have been trying to help Enrico’s mom out of her pain, they were retreating, simply because she was grieving away from the Church, closing up on her grief.
What about the poor boy, then? All Italy could see was a kid desperately missing his dad.
He leaned forward, pushing the fingers away from Enrico’s mouth and taking out one of his handkerchiefs to wipe them clean. “Here, let me do it…”
Enrico tried to pull away, but Italy held him still until he was finished. By then, his creamy handkerchief was filled with black and brown spots.
“You dirtied your ‘kerchief,” the kid pouted, but could say nothing more because then Italy moved down to clean his cheeks as well. “Hey! Let go! ‘m not that dirty!”
“Ve~ look, you’re much cuter now that there is nothing on your face!” Italy smiled a bit, patting Enrico on the head and pushing the dirty handkerchief into his pocket.
At the small blush he received from the kid, his smile turned a bit less sad.
“Come on, let me walk you home, little boy,” Italy stood up, offering the kid his hand to grab.
Enrico shook his head wildly, taking a step back. “No! Io aspetto il mio babbo!”
Wincing slightly at his words, Italy sighed. “Mrs Amelia said your dad is…”
“He’s not dead!” he spoke so vehemently, eyes wide and filled with certainty, that Italy couldn’t reply, looking away. “I’m waitin’ for him and he’ll be back to me! And mom will be happy again!”
“You can… you can wait for him at home. Why here?” Italy tried again, fidgeting.
“Dad will come here first, and I will be the one taking ‘im home to mom!” he sniffled, and much to Italy’s horror, there were tears welling up in his eyes. “And dad will see that I was a good boy! Because I waited for him so much!”
He started crying, sobs wracking his little frame, and Italy panicked, not knowing what to do; waves of pain and despair were washing over him, coming from the clear sadness of the boy, who had lost his dad so early in life.
Gently, Italy rubbed Enrico’s head, remembering what Hungary had done to him back then -holding him close and murmuring reassuring words into his ears until he fell into a restless sleep- and without hesitation he pulled the smaller frame into his arms.
“W-What if dad comes and he doesn’t see me here?” he wailed, snuggling more into Italy’s embrace.
“Ve… don’t worry, don’t worry. You’re a strong little boy, Enrico… your dad would be proud of you…” little fists clenched his shirt, and Italy held him tighter. “Your mom also needs you now, though…”
“M-mom doesn’t want me around… she cries a-all day and yells at me, a…”
“Your mom loves you for sure, but is very alone, too… you’re the man of the house now, Enrico” Italy continued holding him close, rubbing his hair soothingly “but your dad would be very proud of you if you helped your mom…”
Enrico straightened his back in surprise, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he looked up at the Nation in shock. “Ah?”
“Your dad isn’t there to take care of your mom, so you should be a big boy and do it yourself,” Italy continued, nodding his certainty and letting Enrico go. “She’s at your house, all alone, and she hurts so much, just like you are… isn’t it better to be there for her?”
Slowly, hesitantly, Enrico pulled away from the comforting hug, little face scrunching up in thought. Then, he nodded wordlessly, wiping away the tears and sniffling, innocent eyes staring up at Italy in surprise.
“M-mom needs me,” he murmured, eyes wide in wonder.
Italy nodded, taking out his handkerchief and offering it to the kid. “Come on, Enrico, I’ll walk you home then?”
Enrico grabbed the offered handkerchief and smiled -he had one tooth missing from his front row, now that Italy noticed- nodding almost shyly.
Taking that small hand into his own and smiling sincerely, Italy allowed the kid to direct him to his house.
…-…-…-…
“M-mom! I’m back!”
Enrico pushed the door open wide and ran inside, motioning for Italy to come in.
The Italian Nation hesitantly walked in as well, looking around. The house at first look was quite poor, the floors dirty and the walls looking old and frail, but it was not the worst Italy had seen.
For a moment, it looked like Enrico would make him stop there, flushed cheeks signalling his shame for his state of poverty, but Italy smiled at him, murmuring something about the house that soothed the kid’s worries.
“Mom will offer you coffee,” he stated, reassured and clearly in control of the situation. “You can sit here” he motioned for the old couch, and Italy nodded, doing as he was told, humming softly. “Mom? Mom, we have un ospite!”
Italy looked around as Enrico left the main room to get to the bedroom; the furniture was old and wooden-made, and there were next to none paintings on the walls, except a huge, hand-made painting of flowers, clearly ruined and old, standing on the wall across the room.
The house didn’t look like it was being taken care of, either. Italy’s heart clenched a bit.
From the other room, Enrico’s calls were suddenly replaced with a loud wail, and Italy sprung to his feet, hurrying to the bedroom without taking time to think.
Enrico was in a corner of the room (there was a double bed, a small cradle on one side, and a smaller bed next to it, making it hard to move around, especially with the giant cupboard so close to the door), holding up a baby not older than two in his arms, looking confused.
Italy blinked in surprise. Mrs Amelia didn’t mention the presence of another kid at all. “Who is this… Ve~ Enrico, where is your mom?”
“Mom wouldn’t let Maria all alone at home…” there were tears threatening to fall again, mirroring his little sister bawling her eyes out in his arms, but he managed not to cry. “Where is my mom?”
Italy manoeuvred around the bed to take the baby into his arms, and Maria’s eyes opened wide in shock, staring at him and stopping to cry instantly; gently, he hummed an old melody, keeping his voice low, and she relaxed, eyes drooping softly.
The bed’s springs gave up when Italy sat down on the bed, holding Maria in his arms, and he stared down at the baby in wonder. He knew she felt something coming from him -all his people had a connection to him, though not many were aware of that- and he was glad she had calmed down so readily, as he didn’t really know what to do with a baby so young.
Other than the bedroom and the main room serving both as a kitchen and as sitting room, there was just a small door connecting the bedroom with the bathroom, and it was clearly empty as well.
“Mom!” Enrico ran out of the bedroom, still close to tears. “Mom! Where are you!”
Italy gently pushed the cupboard’s doors open with a foot, Maria still snuggling into his chest, and frowned when he noticed there were no clothes inside.
Checking for shoes gave him the same result, not even a smaller pair belonging to Enrico, and even in the cradle there was nothing left except a baby bottle and a small blue rattle.
The room was bare, and Italy suddenly felt cold inside.
No clothes. No shoes. No sign that the woman had been there in the first place, other than for her two kids…
The mental image of Mrs Amelia, the way she had shaken her head when talking about Enrico’s mom… Italy gritted his teeth, breathing deeply to calm down, aware that Maria was wriggling in his lap, feeling his discontent.
Slowly, hesitantly, he spread his senses, trying to find the missing woman, but in vain. He couldn’t feel her.
“Enrico! Come here, please”.
The kid stopped his running around and moved closer to Italy, staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Italy gulped down his uneasiness. Brother was not going to be happy.
“Enrico, I don’t know where your mom is, but…” he wondered whether to tell the truth to the kid or not, and decided to let the matter rest for a bit. “Maybe she got called away for a bit…” he tried to keep his voice light, not to make Enrico feel that something was wrong.
“M-mom wouldn’t let Maria here! She’s too little!” he whined, holding one hand up to caress his sister’s bare leg.
“Why don’t you two come over to my house?” Italy offered tentatively. “I’m sure your mom wouldn’t want you to stay home alone, right?” he held on Maria’s body, the little girl snuggling closer with a soft gurgle. “She needs to be changed, and maybe she’s hungry, right? You’re her older brother, and if your mom is not here, at least take care of Maria”.
After a moment of hesitation, Enrico nodded, running to the cradle to take her rattle.
“Will mom know where to find us when she’s back?” he asked, getting back at Italy’s side.
“I’ll come back here later and I will write her a message,” he replied, standing up and holding out his hand for Enrico to take. “Now let’s go, I think you need to have a bath…”
“Wha? Nuu-uuh! Bath is icky!”
Italy didn’t glance back as they left the house.
He had already decided what to do, in the end.
---
This is the first chapter. I would like it very much if you could drop me a comment. South Italy will appear soon, I promise. ^^
Brigantaggio - It was basically a sort of civil war, a social and political insurrection developed during the Unification and in the first decade afterwards (1861-1869), repressed in painfully cruel ways, which was a pathetic attempt to hide the frail situation of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy to the rest of Europe. The problems caused by this continued for a few more decades, though, up to when Rome was annexed and became the new Capital (1870/1871).
Ehi bambino - hey, kid
Che vuoi - what do you want?
Buongiorno - good morning
Che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima - may God have mercy of his soul
Io aspetto il mio babbo - I’m waiting for my dad
Un ospite - a guest.
I realised I haven't shared this fic of mine with people outside of the kink meme, so I shall do it now. ^^ (OP, if you're around, I updated!)
Title: Heart
Warnings: historical setting, POSSIBLE itacest.
Rating: T-ish just in case
Characters/Pairings: North Italy, South Italy main. Other characters might appear in the future (possibility of Prussia, Poland, Hungary and Germany later on). Might turn a bit Italicest, depending whether the plot allows it to.
Summary: The two Italies gain more then they thought possible when they allow in their lives two young orphans. From the kink-meme request "Nations adopting a human child".
Heart - chp 01: That kid
1888 - February
He was standing on the side of the road, face set into a frown that didn’t look right on him, mistrustful eyes fixed on the road, watching people pass by without interest.
Italy had already seen him a few times, a little kid no older than five, standing still like a little man, face dirty, messy black hair, ripped pants and shirt, and without shoes; he was easy to ignore, so small and weak-looking, but Italy’s eyes had travelled straight to his figure, as if attracted by… something.
He’d stopped to stare at him, surprised that a kid so young would be left all alone on the street; brown eyes checked around the road, then the shops… maybe he was waiting for his mother, or his friends…?
The moment the kid had noticed someone was staring, he’d grunted in his direction, chubby face scrunched up, and then promptly looked away, ignoring him.
Italy had felt a small pang in his chest, but he had not allowed himself to think about it, hurrying down the street, knowing that his brother was probably waiting for him at home, and that he would surely be pissed off.
Things were not going well for them, even after finalizing their unification, and there was barely any time to take care of themselves; at least, the worst was in the past, and now Romano wasn’t as bitchy and angered with the world as he was before.
With his mind full of politics, depressed for the lack of time to spend painting and creating poems, the aftermath of the independence wars and the brigantaggio (which had been, despite his denial, a civil war) still heavy on his mind, he didn’t think about the kid anymore, more important matters coming up to his mind to be able to think about anything else.
A few days later, Italy left his house to buy groceries and passed on the main street once again, with a huge bag of fruits and other stuff in his arms; he kept glancing at the sky with a worried expression every few steps, afraid that it would start raining before he got back home, and when he looked back down, his eyes were attracted by the familiar figure, standing in the same spot as before, motionless.
Still shoeless, with the same dirty clothes as before, that expression that touched chords inside Italy that he didn’t even know he had.
What was he doing there?
This time, Italy disregarded the weather and walked towards him.
“Ehi, bambino!” Italy kneeled at his side. “Is everything ok?”
Deep green eyes turned towards him, narrowed in suspicion.
“Che vuoi?” the kid answered, gruff and childish, and yet attempting to sound older, imposing.
“Ve, is everything ok? It’s going to rain soon, shouldn’t you go back home?” Italy hadn’t meant to sound doting, but the kid looked so lost…
“Of course! I’m a big boy!” pointing a small thumb against his chest, the little kid rubbed a fist against his dirty cheek. “You go back ‘ome!”
Italy frowned in concern -it was so hard for him to smile, nowadays- but said nothing, and glancing at the boy for a moment more, he stood up and walked away.
Soon, rain started falling, and he rushed to get back home, running down the street and clutching the bag to his chest.
Still, his mind lingered on that kid, on his close, distrustful expression.
…-…-…-…
“Buongiorno, Mrs Ferri, how is your husband today?”
The busty, sturdy woman massaged her back and turned around, a fond smile appearing on her face as she recognised who was speaking to her; it was the Vargas boy, such a sweet, caring young man…
“Oh, Buongiorno Feliciano,” she greeted back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Renzo is fine, thank you… his back is slowly healing, God bless it” she sighed, gathering up the wet sheets she was cleaning and checking it. “And I told you to call me Amelia”.
“Ve, I’m sorry, Mrs Amelia,” he replied with a small, hesitant smile. “But I’m glad to know he’s doing better!”
“Come on, young man, help me get those home and I’ll give you some home-made cake,” she smiled, holding out the basin filled with bed sheets to him.
Italy grabbed the basin and nodded, following the woman through the fountain square.
She would have been perfectly able to do it herself, of course, but dear Feliciano always looked like he could do with a piece of cake to eat, and it made her sad he didn’t smile much, and a frown didn’t look good on his sweet, gentle face.
For someone who so easily made friends with people, even those who at first looked stand-offish, the young Italian man surely needed to be more cheerful. He’d transferred in the town only a couple of years before with his older brother, a sour-looking young man, and everybody had greeted them with open arms.
It was easy to like them, after all.
As they passed through the town, Italy and the woman spoke a bit about various things -her son, who would come back home soon, Italy’s brother, of course, and food- but once they turned the corner and got to the main street, Italy’s attention went automatically to the opposite corner.
The kid was there once again, ignoring the crowd as much as the crowd avoided him.
“Mrs Amelia…”
She stopped her happy chatter and turned around, but the moment she noticed where Italy was looking, her face turned into a sad, pitiful gaze.
“Oh, so you’ve seen poor Enrico, hmm? Dear, dear…” she shook her head, tone dropping an octave lower. “He’s the son of Luciano Foretti, <>che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima,” she shared a knowing look with Italy, but his confused face stopped her. “You don’t know? His father was reported missing in action. His mother, Anna, has…” with an eloquent twist of her wrist next to her head, Amelia peered at the kid, thin lips pulled into a grimace. “Our Parish Priest has tried twice already to offer some words of comfort to her, but she refuses to listen… she doesn’t even come to mass anymore, and the kid is left to fend off for himself”.
She looked terribly upset at her own words -there was no way a good soul could refuse to have others help them, after all… it surely meant that she didn’t need salvation, and despite Amelia’s belief that God could save everybody, He couldn’t reach into unwilling hearts.
Enrico’s mother refused help, and the kid was already a lost cause, not giving respect to adults and running away from home…
Italy’s eyes narrowed at her words, worried gaze returning to the kid once more. “Why is he standing there?”
“He’s probably waiting for his father to come back” she sighed, quickening her pace. “Let’s go, Feliciano”.
Italy’s eyes couldn’t look away, even as the woman tugged him towards her house, filling his mind with happy chatter; as he finally turned around, he felt on his skin, like a ripple, little Enrico’s eyes staring at him from the other end of the street.
…-…-…-…
“Enrico?”
With a startle, the kid glared upwards, blue eyes widening as soon as he stared at the offered piece of cake; Italy looked at him expectantly, knowing that no kid could refuse the allure of a sweet.
“You ‘gain?” despite his pout, Enrico’s eyes were fixed on the cake, little hands closing into fists. “Wha’ ya want? Wha’s your name anyway?”
Italy looked sheepish for a moment. “I’m Feliciano!” he smiled a bit, fidgeting. “I thought I could share, the cake Mrs Amelia gave me is too much for me alone, you know”.
Sitting down on the street at the kid’s side, Italy brought his own slice of cake to his mouth, biting down on it.
The kid’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Italy didn’t move, still munching slowly, relishing in the taste -that woman’s cake really was good, after all- and after some long, stretched out seconds, one of Enrico’s little hands moved forwards, wrapping around one corner of the cake and bringing it close to his chest, almost protectively.
“Aren’t you going to eat that, ve?” Italy peered at him, taking another bite. “Now that I think of it, I wouldn’t mind that other piece, too…”
Hurriedly pushing as much of the cake into his mouth as he could, making Italy inwardly wince at his dirty hands and where they surely had been, Enrico munched on it, curling protectively on his sweet, ready to defend it.
Italy hummed in satisfaction, looking at the street.
That particular spot was good, he could see most of the square, and the street going out of town until the first corner… obviously the perfect place to be waiting for someone.
“Ve~ Isn’t your mom worried that you stay all day here? Shouldn’t you go to school?”
“I’m a big boy!” the kid repeated, still pouting, mouth full of cake. “And mom doesn’t care,” he muttered then, rubbing at his cheek.
“I am sure she does, Enrico!”
“No, she doesn’t. She cries and cries for dad to come back,” he replied sullenly. “And nobody cares at all. Why should you?” he grumbled out, licking his sticky fingers.
Italy felt a pang of sadness at his words; in a time where the people of the town should have been trying to help Enrico’s mom out of her pain, they were retreating, simply because she was grieving away from the Church, closing up on her grief.
What about the poor boy, then? All Italy could see was a kid desperately missing his dad.
He leaned forward, pushing the fingers away from Enrico’s mouth and taking out one of his handkerchiefs to wipe them clean. “Here, let me do it…”
Enrico tried to pull away, but Italy held him still until he was finished. By then, his creamy handkerchief was filled with black and brown spots.
“You dirtied your ‘kerchief,” the kid pouted, but could say nothing more because then Italy moved down to clean his cheeks as well. “Hey! Let go! ‘m not that dirty!”
“Ve~ look, you’re much cuter now that there is nothing on your face!” Italy smiled a bit, patting Enrico on the head and pushing the dirty handkerchief into his pocket.
At the small blush he received from the kid, his smile turned a bit less sad.
“Come on, let me walk you home, little boy,” Italy stood up, offering the kid his hand to grab.
Enrico shook his head wildly, taking a step back. “No! Io aspetto il mio babbo!”
Wincing slightly at his words, Italy sighed. “Mrs Amelia said your dad is…”
“He’s not dead!” he spoke so vehemently, eyes wide and filled with certainty, that Italy couldn’t reply, looking away. “I’m waitin’ for him and he’ll be back to me! And mom will be happy again!”
“You can… you can wait for him at home. Why here?” Italy tried again, fidgeting.
“Dad will come here first, and I will be the one taking ‘im home to mom!” he sniffled, and much to Italy’s horror, there were tears welling up in his eyes. “And dad will see that I was a good boy! Because I waited for him so much!”
He started crying, sobs wracking his little frame, and Italy panicked, not knowing what to do; waves of pain and despair were washing over him, coming from the clear sadness of the boy, who had lost his dad so early in life.
Gently, Italy rubbed Enrico’s head, remembering what Hungary had done to him back then -holding him close and murmuring reassuring words into his ears until he fell into a restless sleep- and without hesitation he pulled the smaller frame into his arms.
“W-What if dad comes and he doesn’t see me here?” he wailed, snuggling more into Italy’s embrace.
“Ve… don’t worry, don’t worry. You’re a strong little boy, Enrico… your dad would be proud of you…” little fists clenched his shirt, and Italy held him tighter. “Your mom also needs you now, though…”
“M-mom doesn’t want me around… she cries a-all day and yells at me, a…”
“Your mom loves you for sure, but is very alone, too… you’re the man of the house now, Enrico” Italy continued holding him close, rubbing his hair soothingly “but your dad would be very proud of you if you helped your mom…”
Enrico straightened his back in surprise, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he looked up at the Nation in shock. “Ah?”
“Your dad isn’t there to take care of your mom, so you should be a big boy and do it yourself,” Italy continued, nodding his certainty and letting Enrico go. “She’s at your house, all alone, and she hurts so much, just like you are… isn’t it better to be there for her?”
Slowly, hesitantly, Enrico pulled away from the comforting hug, little face scrunching up in thought. Then, he nodded wordlessly, wiping away the tears and sniffling, innocent eyes staring up at Italy in surprise.
“M-mom needs me,” he murmured, eyes wide in wonder.
Italy nodded, taking out his handkerchief and offering it to the kid. “Come on, Enrico, I’ll walk you home then?”
Enrico grabbed the offered handkerchief and smiled -he had one tooth missing from his front row, now that Italy noticed- nodding almost shyly.
Taking that small hand into his own and smiling sincerely, Italy allowed the kid to direct him to his house.
…-…-…-…
“M-mom! I’m back!”
Enrico pushed the door open wide and ran inside, motioning for Italy to come in.
The Italian Nation hesitantly walked in as well, looking around. The house at first look was quite poor, the floors dirty and the walls looking old and frail, but it was not the worst Italy had seen.
For a moment, it looked like Enrico would make him stop there, flushed cheeks signalling his shame for his state of poverty, but Italy smiled at him, murmuring something about the house that soothed the kid’s worries.
“Mom will offer you coffee,” he stated, reassured and clearly in control of the situation. “You can sit here” he motioned for the old couch, and Italy nodded, doing as he was told, humming softly. “Mom? Mom, we have un ospite!”
Italy looked around as Enrico left the main room to get to the bedroom; the furniture was old and wooden-made, and there were next to none paintings on the walls, except a huge, hand-made painting of flowers, clearly ruined and old, standing on the wall across the room.
The house didn’t look like it was being taken care of, either. Italy’s heart clenched a bit.
From the other room, Enrico’s calls were suddenly replaced with a loud wail, and Italy sprung to his feet, hurrying to the bedroom without taking time to think.
Enrico was in a corner of the room (there was a double bed, a small cradle on one side, and a smaller bed next to it, making it hard to move around, especially with the giant cupboard so close to the door), holding up a baby not older than two in his arms, looking confused.
Italy blinked in surprise. Mrs Amelia didn’t mention the presence of another kid at all. “Who is this… Ve~ Enrico, where is your mom?”
“Mom wouldn’t let Maria all alone at home…” there were tears threatening to fall again, mirroring his little sister bawling her eyes out in his arms, but he managed not to cry. “Where is my mom?”
Italy manoeuvred around the bed to take the baby into his arms, and Maria’s eyes opened wide in shock, staring at him and stopping to cry instantly; gently, he hummed an old melody, keeping his voice low, and she relaxed, eyes drooping softly.
The bed’s springs gave up when Italy sat down on the bed, holding Maria in his arms, and he stared down at the baby in wonder. He knew she felt something coming from him -all his people had a connection to him, though not many were aware of that- and he was glad she had calmed down so readily, as he didn’t really know what to do with a baby so young.
Other than the bedroom and the main room serving both as a kitchen and as sitting room, there was just a small door connecting the bedroom with the bathroom, and it was clearly empty as well.
“Mom!” Enrico ran out of the bedroom, still close to tears. “Mom! Where are you!”
Italy gently pushed the cupboard’s doors open with a foot, Maria still snuggling into his chest, and frowned when he noticed there were no clothes inside.
Checking for shoes gave him the same result, not even a smaller pair belonging to Enrico, and even in the cradle there was nothing left except a baby bottle and a small blue rattle.
The room was bare, and Italy suddenly felt cold inside.
No clothes. No shoes. No sign that the woman had been there in the first place, other than for her two kids…
The mental image of Mrs Amelia, the way she had shaken her head when talking about Enrico’s mom… Italy gritted his teeth, breathing deeply to calm down, aware that Maria was wriggling in his lap, feeling his discontent.
Slowly, hesitantly, he spread his senses, trying to find the missing woman, but in vain. He couldn’t feel her.
“Enrico! Come here, please”.
The kid stopped his running around and moved closer to Italy, staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Italy gulped down his uneasiness. Brother was not going to be happy.
“Enrico, I don’t know where your mom is, but…” he wondered whether to tell the truth to the kid or not, and decided to let the matter rest for a bit. “Maybe she got called away for a bit…” he tried to keep his voice light, not to make Enrico feel that something was wrong.
“M-mom wouldn’t let Maria here! She’s too little!” he whined, holding one hand up to caress his sister’s bare leg.
“Why don’t you two come over to my house?” Italy offered tentatively. “I’m sure your mom wouldn’t want you to stay home alone, right?” he held on Maria’s body, the little girl snuggling closer with a soft gurgle. “She needs to be changed, and maybe she’s hungry, right? You’re her older brother, and if your mom is not here, at least take care of Maria”.
After a moment of hesitation, Enrico nodded, running to the cradle to take her rattle.
“Will mom know where to find us when she’s back?” he asked, getting back at Italy’s side.
“I’ll come back here later and I will write her a message,” he replied, standing up and holding out his hand for Enrico to take. “Now let’s go, I think you need to have a bath…”
“Wha? Nuu-uuh! Bath is icky!”
Italy didn’t glance back as they left the house.
He had already decided what to do, in the end.
---
This is the first chapter. I would like it very much if you could drop me a comment. South Italy will appear soon, I promise. ^^
Brigantaggio - It was basically a sort of civil war, a social and political insurrection developed during the Unification and in the first decade afterwards (1861-1869), repressed in painfully cruel ways, which was a pathetic attempt to hide the frail situation of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy to the rest of Europe. The problems caused by this continued for a few more decades, though, up to when Rome was annexed and became the new Capital (1870/1871).
Ehi bambino - hey, kid
Che vuoi - what do you want?
Buongiorno - good morning
Che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima - may God have mercy of his soul
Io aspetto il mio babbo - I’m waiting for my dad
Un ospite - a guest.