Ezio's movements were decidedly graceless as he struggled to make the usually simple climb up to the villa's roof. He lurched up to grab onto a window ledge, grunting and trying very, very hard not to swear at the added weight on his back as he reached for the next handhold. But when his boot slipped off the ledge, he couldn't help but let out a startled cry followed by a particularly nasty oath as he scrambled for purchase.

"Sorry, Petruccio," Ezio said sheepishly to the small, sickly boy clinging to his shoulders once they were ascending the building again. "I forget how young you are."

"I've heard much worse from Federico," Petruccio said mildly, fingers digging into Ezio's shoulders, breath grazing the back of Ezio's neck. "And he knows my age exactly."

"I told you before, I'm sorry for not remembering," Ezio said a trifle irritably as his fingertips searched and found rooftiles at last. "It's not my fault I have so many siblings to keep track of."

"You only have three," Petruccio said, but Ezio could hear the smile on his lips.

"Federico surely counts for at least three siblings on his own," Ezio replied. "With the way he carries on." He managed to hoist both of them up to the roof, though he swayed backward a bit dangerously at first, and dropped to one knee to allow Petruccio down.

"You're only jealous of him," Petruccio teased. "For being older." He took a few cautious steps, like a foal testing the stability of new legs, then began to pace carefully toward the roof's edge.

"Jealous?" Ezio scoffed, sitting down and watching his brother's feet warily for signs of slipping. "Yes, I'm jealous that Federico is warm in bed while I'm dragging you up buildings. Why did you ask me?"

Petruccio stood facing away, his head tilted up toward the stars he'd wanted so badly to see from this rooftop. "Because you wouldn't say no," he said easily. "You would feel too sorry."

Ezio snorted and stretched out across the rooftiles, wincing a little at his sore back. "Petruccio the Mastermind," he said, half to himself, then was quiet a moment before suddenly lifting his shoulders. "It wasn't easy, you know, getting you up here," he told his brother sternly, though without any true accusation. "You're getting heavier. And you should be in bed anyway. Do you know how much trouble we'll be in if Mother –"

"Please, be quiet, Ezio," Petruccio instructed, eyes still skyward. "You'll ruin my gift."

Ezio laughed – quietly – and looked fondly at his little brother, shadowed against a sky full of stars. "Happy birthday, Petruccio," he said. "Cento di questi giorni."

Petruccio turned toward him, smile visible even in the darkness. "Grazie, brother."

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Later – so many, many days later – Ezio would reflect, as he carried his youngest brother's body to the river, that the weight was nothing at all.

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Notes:

Cento di questi giorni translates to "[May you live] another hundred years" and is a common Italian birthday wish, at least according to the great and powerful google search.