And I start yet another fanfic. I really have too many ideas for my own good...this fic is based on The-Charcoal-Alchemist's fanfic, "Children of the Nations", which asks a simple question.

"What if the Nations could have children?"

While this fic is somewhat based on Children of the Nations, and follows a somewhat similar plot, the OCs are different, and the main focus of the story will be on Lovino.

Note, unless stated, most of the Nations and their respective children will be speaking their mother tongue, although I might write it out in English. If they're conversing with other Nations, they speak English. Eg, Lovino will speak Italian when talking to his brother and other Italians, but he'll speak English to Spain and Germany.

Again, I don't own Hetalia. Sorry for the crappy quality of the languages used, I'm using Google translator.

Enjoy the fic.

Perdonare e dimenticare

Chapter 1: We all have bad days.

The file was in the middle of the table, a glaring bright yellow surrounded by metallic silver. A black gloved hand reached forward and flipped through reports almost soundlessly for a few minutes, before placing the folder back on the cold metal surface. The other figure, partly hidden by the shadows, laced his fingers together as he addressed his companion.

"Sai cosa devi fare." ("You know what you have to do.")

"Sì." ("Yes.")

"Ci riuscirete?" ("Will you succeed?")

"Sì." ("Yes.")

"Vi deluderà?" ("Will you dissapoint?")

"No." ("No.")

"Bene. Io le disposizioni necessarie. Non mancare a me." ("Good. I will make the necessary arrangements. Do not fail me.")

The black clothed figure stood up and saluted.

"Viva il Famiglia."("Long live the Family.")

Lovino Vargas kicked a can. Hard.

"Damn it!"

The tin can flew across the pavement while curious on-lookers glanced at the angry Italian, some a bit miffed at his loud and rude behaviour. It was a sunny Saturday morning, and most people were enjoying their morning expresso at the cafes. All except one unhappy young man.

With his hands in his jean pockets and his eyes boring into the ground, Lovino stomped down the avenue, a growl clearly etched on his face. His golden eyes flashed dangerously as he walked right through a busy road, ignoring the angry yells and indignant honks of the cars.

"Stupid Feli and that fucking macho potato bastard! What are they, married or something!"

It was not a good day for Lovino. In the morning, he got his wakeup call from the ten SMSes sent from the Mafiaso in Sicily, all involving some unsavoury trade or another. Then his coffee machine broke. He was still sniffling from the previous economic disaster. And just thirty minutes ago, his younger brother had just called to inform him that he couldn't make it for their lunch appointment.

"I'm sorry fratello, but I promised Ludwig that I'd meet up with him today, but only that I forgot, and if I don't go he'll get real mad at me, and he'll chase me around Berlin, and force me to do push-ups, and take away my gelato, and..."

Lovino refused to listen any further. He spent ten minutes screaming obscenities at Feliciano before he threw his mobile on the ground. And now, he had to go get a new phone, his younger brother would probably spend the night at Germany's (he always did that when they got into arguments) and Lovino would have to go to lunch AND dinner on his own. Again. The worse thing was that he couldn't even call Spain to join him, because the tomato bastard was still down with that damn flu that he caught from Portugal, Greece and Ireland.

Angrily, Lovino threw himself out on the bench in the park and glared at the canoodling couple nearby. They didn't need telling twice. Quickly, the two of them left the area. Apart from the birds in the sky, and the nearby alley cat, South Italy found himself alone.

Alone.

His anger slightly spent, he sighed and ran his fingers through his fringe, trying to ignore the growing stinging sensation in his eyes.

"Stupid fratello. Can't you pick me for once?" he muttered. He clenched his right hand tight.

"Damn it..."

Suddenly, a scream shot through the air, startling Lovino out of his melancholy. The birds shot away into the sky, and the cat quickly leapt over the wall and away.

"Someone help me!"

Reaching for a tissue paper, Antonio moaned as yet another ache threatened to split his head in half.

"Dios mio, what a flu..." he mumbled. He blew his nose and threw the used tissue into the growing pile where his waste paper basket was supposed to be, buried under all the trash. Slumping against the pillow, he looked weakly at the calendar on the desk by his bedside. A year since the Euro zone sovereign debt crisis had started, and a month since he too, had contracted the deadly economic disease. True, Greece, Ireland and Portugal had it worse. Last he heard, all three were battling not only the flu, but fever and indigestion as well. At least he didn't have to sneeze and burn on the "royal throne".

And, on the brighter side, at least the two Italys were doing ok as well.

Immediately, Antonio smiled as he thought of the two Italian brothers. Due to some timely intervention by Germany, the Italians had managed to escape the worst of the crisis. True, GDP growth levels were low, but they weren't negative, and what with the German government buying bonds from Italy, it looked like they were on the track to recovery. When Romano last came to visit him two days ago he had looked a bit pale, but he was still his loud, rude, energetic and absolutely cute self. Spain had made sure that he took home a crate of his home-grown tomatoes to share with his brother.

"After all, tomatoes are good for the body, right? We can't have my precious little Romano with a red nose can we?"

"Sh-SHUT UP! CHIGI!"

Antonio laughed at the memory, before a fresh outburst of coughs assailed him again. As he hacked and coughed, he wondered whether the current bad state he was in had already hit it's worse, as his boss had repeatedly told him, or rather things could take another plunge. The coughs finally subsided, and he took a deep breath.

"More punishment for my sins, Santa Maria?"

His eyes wandered over to the portrait of the lady in white, with her hands outstretched. The smile on her face was one that promised peace and joy to those who believed and repented. That their sins could be forgotten, if they only confessed.

"Quemar a la bruja!!"

Antonio closed his eyes with regret.

No, forgiveness was not for him.

A small boy sat near the window side, his sky-blue eyes fixed outwards. Under his right arm was an art block and clutched in his left hand was his pencil box. His simple white T-shirt and plain blue shorts were spotless and uncrumpled, while his blonde hair was combed back neatly. He was all ready to go out. Actually, he should have been out by now. But all around him the other children were just putting on their play clothes, talking and wasting time. Some of them hadn't even made their beds yet.

Max narrowed his eyes with annoyance and his hand clutched the blue pencil box even tighter. They were already three minutes late.

"Idioten," he growled.

Please read and comment on the chapter. "Perdonare e dimenticar" means "Forgive and Forget" in Italian. The Spanish words "Quemar a la bruja" translates to "Burn the witch". And I'm guessing everyone probably knows who Max is by now.

BTW, my other fics will probably get an update by the end of this month, in case anyone's wondering. No, I haven't given up on them, just that I've been really lazy, so feel free to throw some of Lovi's tomatoes at me. I deserve it.