Germany stood silently in the room for another minute. It seemed he did a lot of that nowadays, standing around, not completely sure what to do. He loathed the feeling. He took a deep breath and began walking toward the door. He paused and glanced back, realizing he'd almost forgotten the unconscious Englishman. "Hey, England, get up," he muttered, trying to shake his arm.

England mumbled and swatted weakly. "…damn you, stop touching me you bloody frog…"'

Germany sighed. He tried to drag England to his feet. He held him in the air by the shoulders for a minute, trying to shake him awake. When that didn't work, he scowled and started dragging him toward the door.

As he reached for the doorknob, the door swung backward. "Yo, Iggy! Wassup! Italy said you were over here. What happened to going to the movies—?" America paused when he noticed that England wasn't saying anything back. "Whoa, dude, what's wrong with Iggy?" He asked, prodding England's face. "Duuuude…"

Germany rolled his eyes. "Well he's your friend. You hold him." He shoved England over to America. "See you." He strode past America and started heading home.

America blinked. "Uh, I dunno about 'friend'… Hey, wait, where're you going? What the hell am I supposed to do with…?" He trailed off. He glanced down at England. Then he grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed. "Dude! Tony! England is unconscious! Quick, get the hairspray!" He hung up and ran off, dragging England behind him.

Germany rolled his eyes as America and England disappeared. He started walking slowly back toward his house.

When he got back to his house, he noticed that the front door was ajar. He sighed. Why was it that Prussia never remembered to close the door when he was drunk? He pushed it open and started looking around for the unconscious albino he was sure to find sleeping somewhere in his house.

He started stepping over the four dogs slowly, so as not to wake them. He was about to slip into the living room when he remembered that he only owned three dogs. He turned around. "Ein, zwei, drei…vier…?" He frowned and bent down toward the closest, a large white one with Gilbird asleep on its head. "What the…?"

Kumajiro looked sleepily up at him. "…hello…"

Germany blinked. Then he stood up and shook his head. "Okay…there is a talking polar bear in my house…" he murmured. He quickly slid into the next room.

Prussia and Canada were both sound asleep on the couch. Prussia had a pair of glasses hanging off his face and an arm wrapped around the smaller Canadian lying half on top of him.

Germany stood in the doorway awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable. He tiptoed over to his brother and gently shook his shoulder. "Prussia…bruder, wake up," he whispered. "Prussia, you are a horrible influence on Canada…"

"I'm tryin' to sleep ya' arschloch," Prussia mumbled back. "Wake me up when I'm finished bein' hunged over."

Germany scowled. "Bruder, get up. I need to talk to you."

"Gai cocken ahfen yam."

Germany scowled. "Oh yeah? Well why don't you—" He paused, realizing that he had no idea what Prussia had just said. "Wait, what language was that?"

"No idea," Prussia responded. "Now leave me alone."

Germany sighed. "Prussia, please, I need to talk to you about something." He waited a second to see if Prussia would move. Finally he bent down and started pulling Prussia to his feet, being careful to not disturb Canada.

"Oww, what're ya' doin' leggo my arm I'm tryin' to sleep get offa me you obnoxious blond devil…" Prussia protested groggily.

Germany rolled his eyes and dragged his brother into the kitchen. He sat him down at the table. "Bruder…"

"Why're you so mean?" Prussia complained, resting his head in his hand. "I was havin' a nice dream 'bout my awesomeness and Russia got eatin' by a bear on a unicycle and there was beer and wurst and I think Canada might've been there but it was kinda hard to tell y'know and—"

"Why didn't you tell me that I was the Holy Roman Empire?"

Prussia froze. He looked up at Germany, eyes wide. Then he started laughing nervously. "Whoa, I am really hung over. I must've heard you wrong," he said quickly, looking away. "For a moment there I thought you said—"

"—that I was Holy Roman Empire, ja."

Prussia stiffened. He gave another weak laugh. "W-Wow, it happened again. Maybe I should go lay down and—"

"Bruder," Germany interrupted impatiently.

Prussia stared up at him. "…and…and…you remember…" He put his head back in his hands. "Scheiße…"

Germany sat down next to him. They sat there for a few minutes silently. Germany finally broke the silence. "So, uh, bruder, are you going to say anything any time—?"

"What exactly do you want me to say?" Prussia snapped. Germany paused. "I mean, what the hell was I supposed to tell you?" Prussia continued, rubbing his throbbing head. "That I messed up? That I practically got you killed? That I probably had ruined your life?" Prussia shrugged. "Hell, you'd forgotten, so I figured it'd be better if we all just forgot about it."

Germany scowled at him. "Is that all you and your friends do? Pretend it never happened and get on with your lives?"

"It's worked so far for us…" Prussia mumbled with a tired shrug.

Germany sighed, shaking his head. "You…" He rested his head in his hand. "I don't understand you sometimes…"

They sat there silently for another couple of minutes. Germany glanced up at his brother, who was staring into space. "Hey, uh bruder…" Germany started. Prussia glanced at him. "Err, well, I just wanted to say that…I'm not mad at you…or anything. I…I forgive you."

Prussia stared at him for a moment. Then he grinned. "Kesese, why would you be mad at the Awesome Me?" He asked, leaning back. "I'm way too awesome to be mad at!"

Germany chuckled slightly. "Right, of course," he replied. He could tell his brother felt better.

Prussia hopped to his feet. "Exactly." He walked over to the fridge and pulled out two beer cans. "Come on, West! Let's drink!" He tossed one to Germany and sat down. Germany sighed and opened the can, taking a slow, tired sip. Prussia took a swig. "So, how'd Italy take the news?"

Germany took a deep breath. "I, err…he doesn't know."

Prussia blinked. "What? Why not?" He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed. Germany stiffened when he heard a familiar "Ciao!" on the other line. "Hey there, Italy! You'll never guess what—!"

Germany swiped the phone out of Prussia's hands. "Wrong number," he hissed into the receiver and hung up.

Prussia blinked. "I called him by his name. You really gonna think he'll believe that?"

(In Italy)

"Hey fratello, who was that?"

"Wrong number!"

(Back in the plot…)

Prussia thought about it for a second. "Oh…right…Italy…" He took another sip. "So, why don't you want to tell Italy?" He asked. "Or do you want to be a virgin the rest of your life?"

Germany rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he muttered, getting annoyed. "First off, that's not the point. And second off…" He trailed off, staring at the floor, trying to think. "… and second off, I'm not the Holy Roman Empire."

Prussia looked up at him skeptically. "What the hell are you talking about? I thought you were just saying that you were—"

"Ja, that's right, I was the Holy Roman Empire," he cut in. "Was. But nowI'm Germany. Der Bundesrepublik Deutchland. Hell, I hadn't even heard of the Holy Roman Empire until Italy mentioned him. I don't know anything about him, I don't remember any of his memories… We're basically two different people." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Italy loves the person I was before, not me."

Prussia stared at him for a moment. He scowled, thinking hard. "Well…" he murmured, furrowing his brows. This his eyes lit up. "Well we'll just have to fix that!" He grabbed his cell phone from Germany and dialed.

Germany blinked. "What the hell are you talking about—?"

"Ciao!" Germany froze at the sound of Italy's voice.

"Hey there Ita—will you stop that!" Prussia snapped as Germany tried to grab the phone again. He paused. "No, not you, Italy. So how're you doing?" Another pause. Germany strained to hear the other line. Prussia scowled at him and swatted at his head. "Great! Glad to hear it! So anyway, I was just talking with West—" Germany started desperately trying to grab the phone. Prussia jammed his palm into Germany's forehead. "—and he was hoping you and him could go get some pasta tomorrow!"

Germany's eyes widened. "P-Prussia, w-w-what're you doing—?"

"You can? Great!" Prussia leaned back in the chair, setting his feet on the table. "Ja, he can't wait! See you!" He hung up. "Well, that solves that problem—"

Germany grabbed his throat. "HOW THE HELL DOES THAT SOLVE ANYTHING?" He shouted, shaking him back and forth.

Prussia yelped. "W-Whoa, West, calm down!" He pushed Germany back. "Calm down. Don't worry. The Awesome Me knows what he's doing."

"Then explain to me what exactly it is you're planning on doing," Germany growled, his arms shaking.

Prussia stood up. "You're all worked up about Italy not liking the 'real' you and whatnot, right?" He grinned at him. "So we just got to make Italy like you!"

Germany frowned. "What the hell do you mean?"

Prussia grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "Well, since the two of you are going out to get pasta tomorrow, you just have to do something all romantic and shit! That way he'll like you! Then you can tell him about you being Holy Rome and it wouldn't make a difference!"

"That…" Germany paused, thinking. "Huh, that could actually work, I guess…"

"See? You can solve anything with just a little bit of awesomeness!"

"But wait," Germany said, shaking his head, "come on, neither of us have the first clue to anything 'romantic'."

Prussia paused. Then he laughed. "Kesese, that's true. Hey, you remember that one Valentine's Day where you had a tomato thing and—"

"I've worked very hard to repress those memories, thank you very much."

"Right." Prussia thought hard. "Let's see, something romantic…something romantic…" Then he grinned. "Wait! I got the perfect thing!" He hopped up and ran into the other room. Germany followed after him.

"Canada! Hey Canada!" Prussia had grabbed Canada's shoulders and was violently shaking him back and forth. "Canada, wake up!"

Canada screamed and sat up. "AGH! WHO ARE YOU? WHAT'RE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE? WHERE'RE MY GLASSES? BACK OFF, I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY!" Canada whipped out a spray can and sprayed the liquid into his own eyes. "OHMYGODTHATHURTS!" He fell sideways off the couch.

Prussia caught him and hoisted him back onto the couch. "Relax, it's just the Awesome Me."

Canada blinked, his eyes watering. "O-Oh. O-Oh yeah. Sorry," he stammered, squinting at Prussia.

Prussia looked over at Germany. "Hey, have you seen Canada's glasses?"

"Ja. You're wearing them."

Prussia blinked. He reached up and pulled off the pair of glasses still jammed onto his face. "Oh hey! Here they are!" He pushed the glasses onto Canada's face (jabbing his eye in the process). "So Canada, I need to ask you something."

"…Does it involve more maiming…?" Canada asked weakly, rubbing his eyes.

"You remember that cartoon stuff we watched the other day?" Prussia asked excitedly. "You know, the one with the dogs eating the spaghetti and the fat Italian guy with the accordion?"

"…You mean Lady and the Tramp…?" Canada asked.

"Yeah, that. Woman and the Hobo-type-thing-or-whatever. Go get it!"

Canada sighed. "Sure, I'm going, eh…"

"Hey, Veneziano, why are you acting so weird?" Romano asked.

Italy looked up from the chocolates he was making. "Ve~ what do you mean, Romano?" He asked, smiling happily.

Romano rolled his eyes as he sat down. "That. Just that. You're acting way too happy, even for an idiota like you. What's wrong with you, damn it?"

Italy giggled as he stirred the chocolate. "That's just silly, Romano. I don't need a reason to be happy."

Romano scowled at him. "Still, you've been acting weird since you got back from whatever idiotic shit you did with that obnoxious French pervert." Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Did you drink anything? Did he drug you?"

"Nope. I'm just extra happy today! Do I need a reason?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure…" He paused, looking over at the chocolate on the stove. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you making chocolates? Are you sure he didn't drug you?"

"Si, I'm sure, Romano," Italy responded.

Romano crossed his arms. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Italy smiled to himself. "I'm just…waiting for someone…" he murmured.

"Is it that potato bastard?" Romano snorted. "You should seriously stop hanging out with that freak."

"No, I'm not making it for Germany. But I'm eating pasta with him tomorrow!" Italy shook his head. "No, I'm making for Holy Rome!"

Romano blinked. "Che cosa?" He stood up. "What're you talking about?" He asked, walking over to look closely at his brother. "Seriously, what kind of messed up drugs—?"

"I'm not on drugs, Romano," Italy insisted. "Holy Roman Empire is alive."

Romano gave him a skeptical look. "Right. And my name is Rosa."

Italy looked up, confused. "No it's not."

Romano smacked the back of Italy's head. "Idiota," he muttered. "That's not what I meant. Holy Roman Empire is dead. He's been dead for over two hundred years. You'd be completely delusional to think otherwise."

Italy shook his head. "No, he's alive," he responded, turning back toward his cooking.

"Really?" Romano asked dryly. "So why haven't you seen him in the past several hundred years?"

Italy froze. "…W-Well he probably…" He trailed off, trying to think of an excuse.

"Why hasn't he come back to see you?"

Italy looked over at his brother. "I-I'm sure that—"

"Why hasn't he bothered contacting you? How come no one has seen or heard from the freaking Nation since the early 1800s?"

"R-Romano, stop it…"

"Where the hell would a damn Nation be hiding? How could no one know where he is?"

"Romano, stop, please—!"

"Come on, if he loved you, why the hell would that bastard have just abandoned you—?"

"Shut up!"

Romano jumped slightly. He looked over at his brother, who looked close to tears. "Holy Rome loves me," he whispered. "He does. And he's coming back. He is. I know he is."

Romano sighed. "Listen, I'm just saying, you shouldn't get your hopes up when you're just going to end up…" He trailed off, finally noting the look on his brother's face. He sighed again. "…Ugh, never mind…damn it…"

Spain ran into the room. "Is everyone okay?" He yelped. "I heard shouting!"

Romano looked up at him. "Yeah yeah, Veneziano and I were just—" He froze. "Wait, how the hell did you get into our house you bastard?"

"Oh, err… ¿No sé…?"

"How the hell could you not know how you broke into someone's house?" Romano snapped back. "Eres estupido."

Spain stared at him, wide eyed. "You spoke Spanish!" He squealed happily, hugging the Italian tightly. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, mi tomate pequeño…"

"What? What the hell, get off!" Romano started trying to squirm away frantically. "Damn it, Spain, get off of me! Chigi!" He started trying to head butt Spain, but found he couldn't turn enough to reach.

Spain looked down at him, smiling affectionately. "Aww, you are so cute! And Ita—" He looked up and froze, the smile fading. "Italy…?" He let go of Romano. "Hey Italy, are you okay?" He asked, just realizing that Italy was crying.

Italy sniffled and wiped his tears. "Y-Yeah…I'm alright…" he mumbled, looking down. "I-I'm fine. I…I think I'm going to go to bed now." He turned and quickly walked away. "Um, Buonanotte."

"Oh, uh, buenas—"

Italy closed the door before Spain could finish.

He dragged himself up the stairs and slipped into his room. He flopped down on his bed, taking a deep breath and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears in his eyes away. Holy Rome does love me, Italy thought. He does. He has to.

He took another deep, shuddering breath. "Holy Rome loves me…" he repeated out loud. "He does…" He rolled over.

Sitting on the small table beside his bed was an old photo. He saw himself smiling happily back out of the picture. He was laughing and saluting, with the wrong hand as Germany never failed to point out. Germany, of course, was standing behind him, scowling and looking away, embarrassed, like always.

Italy remembered taking the picture. Germany had been annoyed with Italy for wanting a picture of the two of them. But he'd agreed in the end, the way that he usually did. The way he always did…

Italy felt a stab of pain in his chest. He rolled the other way quickly. …Why do I feel so sad? He wondered unhappily. I should be happy, shouldn't I? So why do I feel guilty when I think of Germany now?

Italy shut his eyes. He loved Holy Rome. But…but he liked Germany too…

But Germany didn't like him back, that seemed pretty obvious. Germany would get mad at him and yell at him and was always so cold and angry toward him. He probably hated being friends with him. And Italy would always make it worse by complaining and being annoying and weak and pathetic and stupid… Better to wait for Holy Rome than have your heart broken, right?

...

Right...?


You can just tell the next chapter is just a set up for disaster...

Prussia earlier told Germany to "Go shit in the ocean" in Yiddish. It's a dead language, like Latin is, but it's hillarious to listen to, and three-fourths are based off of German, so why not?

Jeez, now that I look through the chapters, England and Canada really get beat up a lot...