Chapter 1
I wasn't the first time Germany was awakened by a nightmare about his vivid past. (On numerous occasions he found himself dreaming about drowning in a see of empty bodies of the people he killed, with the people he betrayed dragging him deeper into the sea of corpses. "Nazi Germany" was a name he could not escape from, even seventy years later. ) But it was the first time his conscious thought and subconscious visions bleed together in this away.
Germany sat up and rested his sweaty back agents the cool metal of his head board, only then realizing that both him and his sheets were drenched in sweat. His hand blindly reached out to try to find the lamp sitting on his bedside table. He grabbed the first thing his hand landed on; as a consequence he felt a swift stab of pain with the immediate sensation of his hand filling with liquid. As soon as the nation comprehended that he grabbed his knife by the blade, he released his grip and moved his hand away –knocking over the lamp causing it to loudly shatter into pieces. Germany sighed, but before he could do anything Italy burst into the room- holding ladle like a sword and a pot like a shield yelling at the top of his lungs, but mostly to Germany's disliking the young pasta lover turned on the light, momentarily blinding him.
"Germany! Germany, are you okay? Who was it? France? Russia? Tell me it wasn't Romano again! Germany! You're bleeding; on the new sheets I got you!" Italy yelled all in one big breath, turning around in circles
"It was no one Italy, I knocked over a lamp. Now go back to bed." Germany said, slightly impressed about how brave his friend had become over the past few months.
"Why would you attack a lamp? Germany you're bleeding! Did it get you back? Hold on I'll make you feel better, don't move!" With that he ran out of the room, leaving Germany to stare at the gash in his hand.
"It is nothing compare to what I've done" He whispered to himself, then looked over at the bedside table and grabbed his watch covering it with blood; it read 3:45am. He rested his torso once again agents his head board and closed his eyes. It was now 3:46am on August twenty sixth and although it was long ago, he still knew what he was doing seventy years ago to the minute.
The large wooded door that the young Germany was sitting against was all that separated him from the future destroyer of his reputation and life. Nevertheless, it was dark times and the optioned were slim; walk through that door and find a glimmer of hope. That or stay outside, watching his very own people become weaker from poverty and sadness, becoming easier prey for a strong country; suffering from the effects of the Treaty of Versailles. It was an easy decision, but his heart couldn't let him make it.
"What are you waiting for? You are a cowered. You watch our people suffer, knowing the cure. Ludwig you are just a boy, too full of emotion to see your own thought, not yet ready to live in a man's world. Not ready for power and greatness." The words Prussia said only hours before rage in the 70 year old nation's head. Little did he know, the decision he was about to make would change him forever.
He stood and ran a hand through his messy child like hair slicking it back, knowing he would already have enough trouble being taken seriously so he tried his hardiest to look adult and professional. In a swift moment Germany turned to face the door, grabbed the knocker that was well over his head and pounded it with all his force into the solid wooded door the stood before him.
In that moment Ludwig felt all the emotion drain out of his face, he could almost feel it being pulled out of his body and into the ground till he was left with only one feeling, anger. A large man opened the door and laughed. Music pored out of the room and the stench of alcohol and smoke filled the nation's nose and twisted his face into a scowl. The man then stopped laughing and smiled.
"Ludwig! How can I help you? Want a pint? Here to pick up some ladies?" The man chuckled with a smile but the heavy sarcasm rained through. "Are you even tall enough to reach-" He started to trail off as he looked at the massive dent made by Germany's knocking and ran his hand over the indentation of the wood, almost as to see if it was truly there. "the knocker."
Germany pushed pasted the shocked man and scanned the room. There were people dancing, people fighting, people smoking. All drinking, and all men except for a few women that were dancing on a stage that he could barley see due to the cigarette smoke.
It was a short walk to the bar stool, but he could feel his heart get colder and colder, till it felt like it was going to shadier at any second. He pulled himself up onto the bar stool and the asked the man standing behind the large emerald counter for a shot. Normally the man wouldn't have given a drink to such a young looking boy, but due to the seat Ludwig decided to take, the man decided he was brave beyond his' years or a complete idiot. Either way he knew he would need a drink. The bartender tenderly placed the shot in front of him; Germany picked up the small glass and quickly drank it. He felt it warm him as it slowly creped down his trough. He then slowly turned and faced the once rejected art student.