Survival: Part 17

"Wow! You grew! Four inches!"

Hungary's pencil made a mark right above Holy Rome's head, who smiled. Prussia watched, pleased. Finally his little brother wasn't a tiny shrimp. Well, Holy Rome had always been tall for his age, but for the past century, well, it actually started around the end of the Thirty Year's  War, he did not grow, had been very sickly. Prussia was worried that Holy Rome might die, or have his lands taken, like what France briefly did and what Austria was doing now. But now, the boy was getting stronger. If there was hope, he'd be a full nation again.

"Maybe if I keep it up, I'll be taller than you," Holy Rome tried to sound intimidating.

"Don't count on it," Prussia smirked. If Holy Rome got taller than him, it would totally suck.

The boy walked to the door, with that gosh darn stick in his hand.

"Where are you going?" Hungary asked.

"To train." Prussia playfully rolled his eyes. Training seemed like one of the few things that made his little brother's eyes light up. But still, it was a good sign, another sign of strength. After all, Prussia used to extensively train with his army back in the 17th and 18th century.

Grinning, Hungary and Prussia looked on as the door shut.

"Four inches in three months," Hungary sighed happily.

"Thank god! He's fully recovered!"

There was a quiet moment, then Hungary picked up her basket from the table.

"I have to get going, Italy's waiting for me."

Italy. It was the first time she had mentioned Italy to him in a long time. Perhaps even a year.

"How's she doing?"

"Italy's doing fine. Still very silly, like always."

Prussia noticed that Hungary's tone dropped, her cheerful smile turning into a frown.

"Is Italy alright?" He asked.

"Fine, fine, she hastily replied, quickly moving towards the door. He followed, then blocked the entrance. She let out a small protest.

"No, I can tell that something is wrong. What's the matter with Italy?"

She walked slowly towards the chair and uneasily sat down. He pulled a chair and settled himself next to her. She paused as if to shout again, then said in a low voice, her eyes watery:

"Italy's going through a really hard time."

Was Italy still mourning over Holy Rome's supposed death? Of course, only he, Hungary, and Austria knew that his brother was still alive.

"You know we can't-"

"It's not that. Italy's...growing up."

Ah it all made sense now. Or did it?

"I try my best to help," Hungary whispered. "But Italy still is...not depressed, that's not the word..lost."

"Yes, growing up is touch," Prussia breathed.  He placed his hand in her's. For once, he felt sympathetic to her. Poor Hungary, if taking care of Italy was hard enough, puberty must be ten times worse.

A single tear fell down her slightly rounded cheeks. There was a silence, then:

"Italy is still very childlike," Hungary said softly. "I cannot bear the thought how she'll have to face this world. This cruel world, and–"

Her hand covered her mouth. Prussia slightly jumped up in his seat.

"Hungary? What-"

"I better not talk. No one is supposed to know-"

"Know what? Is Italy in danger?!"

"No!" She snapped back. "Italy was, but now it doesn't matter! It's ok, it's nothing, it's..."

She was quiet again. Prussia took her hand again and looked at her straight in the eye.

"Whatever it is, I'll keep it a secret," he assured her. "I'll give you the Prussian word of honor."

She breathed deeply and looked around once or twice. Her mouth opened:

"Italy's a boy Prussia."

Prussia felt his jaw drop, his eyes bulge. His hand let go of hers.

"You're...you're kidding right?!"

"No, Italy's a boy," she stated again. "Only me, Rome, Romano, and Spain know. Rome forced us to keep quiet on it."

"But..but why?" Prussia was confused.

"You..you know how much Italy loves to sing right?" Hungary asked.

"Yes, she–I mean he, sings quite well." This was going to get some getting used to.

"He used to be in the pope's choir," Hungary said. "He was so good that the choirmaster wanted him to be there permanently."

"I don't see what's wrong with that," Prussia shrugged.

"The choirmaster wanted to use ways that Rome objected to have him stay there. Rome got so worried that for a time, he had Italy hiding in Venice. By the time the choirmaster died, Austria took over, and having not seen Italy since he was a baby, naturally thought that Italy was a girl. You, your brother, and everyone else, thought likewise."

"But..but what did this choirmaster want to do?" Prussia asked.

Hungary paused then whispered:

"He...he was going to castrate Italy."

" WHAT???!!!!"

Hungary let out a "shhh." There was an awkward silence.

"I completely understand his point of view," Prussia said. "My Vatti would have killed that guy if he cut off Me and Holy Rome's balls.

"And at some point I have to tell Austria," Hungary said. "That day is going to come where Italy will be more masculine looking than feminine. And he's torn between getting rid of the female disguise and accepting becoming a man. I don't want to watch him suffer! I want him to be happy!"

She started to cry. Prussia quickly embraced her, trying to comfort her.  It surprised him that he was holding, soothing his frenemy. She held on tighter, burying her head in his shoulder. His hand stroked her hair. He wished he could stay like this forever. It was pure heaven...

Then Hungary pushed back, blushing.

"Ss-orry about that," she stuttered. "I–I better head on back. Don't tell anyone ok?"

"Ok," he watched as she exited. A second later, Holy Rome, tired, sweaty, walked back in.

"Hey, good training," he nodded. "I'm going to bathe."

"Ok," Prussia saw his brother go to the kitchen sink to fill the tub. He wished he could tell his brother the truth about his childhood love, but it would mean nothing to him. No such Italy existed to him, in his mind had ever cared for, truly loved. He would only view the story as an interesting anecdote. He wouldn't be affected. He wouldn't laugh at his own stupidity or gasp in shock. It would just be another story.

Prussia felt sadness as he saw his brother carrying the full tub into the bathroom. He remained standing for a long time, thinking. If only Holy Rome didn't loose his memory. What if, he could still remember?