A/N: A shorter-episodic blurb thing I'm trying to get my writing spirit back up... not sure if it will work but here I go.

Credit for the world/time-line goes to the crew of the Kaiserreich mod for Hearts of Iron: Darkest Hour, on which this fic is based. Some characters will be OOC, to reflect changes created by the alternate history.

Prologue

Germany awoke to the greatest pain he'd ever felt in his life.

The aches were coming from everywhere: stomach turning and bubbling, muscles limp and covered in sharp, tingling sensations, a headache that made him feel like his brain was about to be split in half. He was sitting down, body slumped over something hard... that much he could tell, but between the constant pain and loud, nonsensical mish-mash of voices and noises around him he couldn't concentrate enough to remember anything else. God... what was I drinking last night? He finally asked himself once he could form a coherent thought, on the verge of assuming he was just recovering from a nasty binge when a very familiar voice shouted out above the din.

"Guten tag, Europa," the horribly gravely voice announced; the sheer volume only aggravating his headache. "The unbelievably awesome Mittleafrika hereby calls this session of the European Conference to order. Here to awe you with my ability to answer all the world's problems. After all, anything can be defeated by pointing a big enough gun at it."

Prussia? It had to be... he'd recognize that braggart's strong accent anywhere. His eyes slowly cracked open as he turned his head in the direction of the noise... the hazy image of his brother sure enough standing at Germany's side. "Mittleafrika?" He mumbled too quietly to be heard above Prussia's continuing blather... some impractical suggestion to blow up Paris with a mile-long cannon. He blinked a few times to try to bring things into focus: the half-black haze slowly giving way to the sight of some kind of small board room... himself at the head or foot of a short table with two dozen or so other figures arrange along the sides. "... and this how we shall destroy the Commune once and for all. Behold: the Vergeltungswaffe!" He flamboyantly pulled the cover off some easel, revealing his crude drawing of a 5 pieces of heavy artillery attached to one another... having barely finished speaking before a polite golf clap responded.

"Wonderful idea, Mittleafrika..." Austria's crisp voice was enough to relax him somewhat... though Germany soon found himself flinching at an echoing clang: Austria coming into focus as he reached back to rub the growing lump on the back of his head, an obviously annoyed Hungry sitting at his side with a slightly dented frying pan in her hand.

"Show some backbone!" She commanded, shaking her head. "God... why am I still with you if you're just going to go along with Germany all the time..."

"Come now, wife... think of the children." Austria responded meekly: sure enough a teenage Croatia, Bosnia, and Czech Republic all standing sullenly behind them, rolling their eyes at the parental bickering... and one he couldn't recognize slowly circling to the other side of the table, shielding himself behind another body.

This one happened to belong to Poland, lounging back in his chair and lightly patting the young kids shoulder. "If Germany and Austria agree... how can I play one off the other?" He asked as the silent child tugged expectantly on his uniform. Behind Poland, still to far away for Germany to make out with his recovering vision, stood a green-cloaked figure, watching on with a dark glint in his eye. "Say Hungry, need any help filling out those divorce papers? I'd be happy to help if..."

With a sharp stare from Austria, however, he fell silent, Germany finding the strength to stir. He slowly began pushing himself off the surface of the desk, several other figures coming into light: a silent Switzerland, Belgium fidgeting and looking around nervously, the Netherlands mumbling something to himself.

"You Poles love to hate on mighty German people, don't you?" Prussia fired off, bounding his palm against the table. "Vhy don't we go partitioning him? Just like the good old days, eh Von Hapsburg." He gave Austria powerful smack on the back... the refined main shaking his head.

"Only if the German Empire approves. What say you Germany..." the crowd's attention finally settled on the struggling nation; almost all shifting from anger to concern. "Are you feeling quite well, sir?" Austria asked as Germany was finally able to sit straight under his own power... fingers rubbing into his temples. Everything was becoming clear... and strange. Where was their a crowd of anxiety young adults around Austria and Hungary... why was Bulgaria was sitting so close to the front of the table, What was Belarus doing around here with Russia nowhere in sight? What year was it?

"I'm alright..." he answered faintly, still somewhat out of it. "But I must run it by my allies first first. The chair recognizes Italy and Japan to speak?" Nobody moved for a few moments after, until some foppishly overdressed man shifting on what looked like a pile of cushions... chuckling.

"You sure you're still handling that stock market high, my friend?" This voice was smooth foreign ... and slightly old, Germany needing a few moments to attach it to a face.

"Turkey? What is a neutral doing at our conference!" Germany asked, turning his head back and forth from Austria to Bulgaria... expecting a response, Turkey's laugh only growing louder as he set himself into a cross-legged position.

"Germany using an informal name at a conference? I'd never thought I'd see the day." He continued happily. "Or the day he'd confuse allies for enemies."

"Ottoman Empire is here because you invited him, Germany" Bulgaria was quick to remind him.

"Ottoman Empire?" his disbelief was apparent. "But I was there... they all dismantled you."

"Berlin didn't kill me, my friend. Only cut off a few... less desirable growths." Bulgaria looked at him with nothing but scorn, but he paid no mind. "And again... can you not tell me and the traitor apart. You German nations and your beer."

"We mean you no disrespect," Austria quickly interjected, leaning forward and resting the back of his hand on Germany's forehead. "But... can you truly not remember? The Battle of Roma?" A hint of panic seemed to creep into Austria's voice... almost so unusual as to be spooky.

Battle of Roma The phrase sounded in Germany's head... seeming to dredge up memories. The hands that were rubbing his temples soon gripped down hard as the ideas turned to visions... this warped version overriding something he'd remember so clearly. Forest and field gave way to a cityscape, crate of tomatoes swelling and darkening into a great, bounded door of oak and precious metals, Herr Stick thickening into a powerful, bayonet tipped riffle before as he lost himself in these unusual memories...