Holy Rome slogged through the battlefield, dragging his sword behind him. Once too large and too heavy, he'd had a sword made especially for a child-nation like himself.

He coughed, the air hazy and nearly un-breathable from cannon smoke. The field was trampled, burned, and bloodied; Holy Rome's corner of it was quiet, but the battle still raged farther off. Every cry floating through the smoky air, every body Holy Rome had to step over to get to the thick of battle made the blond-haired boy's wounds sting more keenly.

Stumbling, Holy Rome wondered if he should just give up. Austria had explained to him before he left that nations could die- and Holy Rome believed it. The fiery pain in his body reminded him of the damage done to his land and his people. And beneath the screams and shots crowding his head, the boy could feel the dull ache indicating in arguing government back in Austria.

But the exact reason he couldn't give up was back at Austria's house as Holy Rome neared the fighting, he drew courage from the mental image of a little girl- as he saw it- with light auburn hair, a white and green maid dress, and a bright, happy expression.

Scowling, Holy Rome concluded that the broom she'd given him was probably destroyed with the rest of camp.

All calm, peaceful thoughts were driven out of Holy Rome's head as he stepped back into the battle. Blood loss made him dizzy, and his knees were shaking, but the blond-haired boy tried to draw out his inner strength as a nation.

There was a sickening cry as Napoleon Bonaparte, France's commander of his army, shot down Holy Rome's Austrian general.

Pain flamed through Holy Rome. His hat tumbled off and he couldn't even bring his hand to grasp it. Black was rimming his vision...

Suddenly a hand clenched a fistful of Holy Rome's hair, lifting him into the air.

France...

The boy raised his eyes to the French nation's blue ones, expecting to find them cold and merciless. But he was surprised to find that they held sadness, and...regret?

"Some naions are too young to die," the Frenchman sighed. "But war is inevitable. Je suis desolee, mon cher. I cannot save you."

Holy Rome hung limply in his grip, his sword sliding out of his hand. "I...It...Italia..." he choked out.

"Italy?" France repeated. "Italy..." Darkness began to cloud Holy Rome's vision, but he was aware of being dropped to the ground, and France crouching next to him. "I see you have someone you love, mon cher." Was he getting choked up? "I'm sorry... but I will make sure to tell Italy..." Holy Rome had to be imagining the tears falling onto his face. "Au revoir..."

I'm sorry Italy... But at least you'll know what happened...Austria and Hungary will take care of you...Be happy, Italy, like always...

"Maru...marukaite...chik...yuu...Marukaite c-chikyuu, boku..." Italy's singing voice floated through Austria's manor.

Austria closed his eyes and set down his stack of papers. All morning he'd been forced to listen to this, but no longer was he going to make Italy work with that sad, dejected aura.

"Italy!" Austria called. The singing stopped and there was a pattering sound as the little 'girl', as Austria saw it, came into his office.

"Yes, Mr. Austria?" came Italy's small voice.

"You looked depressed today. Sit down."

"No, I'm very cheerful today! Ve~!" Austria watched as 'she' painted on a smile, with much effort. 'She' still didn't sit.

The dark-haired man didn't buy it. "Nein. I refuse to let you work in this condition." He stood. "Come with me, bitte."

Italy trailed behind Austria as the older nation walked to his piano room. Seating himself on the bench in front of the large piano, Austria beckoned for Italy to do the same.

"Is it about Holy Rome?" Austria asked once 'she' was seated and facing him.

"Yes...I miss him... And what if he gets hurt? Or has to eat bad food?" Italy's sincere disgust at the thought would've made Austria smile if it weren't so pitiful.

"Well... Holy Rome is...I'm sure he's being taken care of..." Mein gott. I should've made Hungary do this. But I initiated it... "I can't say anything for sure Italy. But I was told the food on the battlefield is good. I mean...wurst is good."

In truth, Austria didn't know how Holy Rome was doing. He would occasionally receive reports of how the battles against France were going, but there was no news on Holy Rome personally.

He's too young. I wish I could've gone in his place. But I have to handle political affairs...who knows what France could do?

But looking at Italy, seemingly already perking up with hope, Austria couldn't bring himself to share that with 'her'.

"Just take the day off, ja?" Austria said. The little nation nodded. "Ve, okay!"

Austria began to play the piano for 'her', releasing his frustrations with a song.

Holy Rome, where are you?

A dark, gloomy field lay silent apart from the cawing of birds. Blood stained the ground, a color too bright and too taunting.

"Yo, Specs!" called Prussia. The albino held his musket, his hand near to his scabbard. He was the only one on the French army left in victory; the Austrian army had fled, trying to make do with what was left of them.

"Hey, Roddy." Prussia tried again. "Anyone know where I could find one Roderich Edelstein, pansy and personification of the country of Austria?"

With no response, Prussia began to assess the damage, wondering how badly Austria might have lost.

Badly. Prussia thought, noticing that many of the fallen soldiers were Austrian. It was so totally un-awesome that Prussia was prepared to hightail it out of there when he saw one body that was different from the rest.

Crouching down, Prussia realized that it was a child's body. Blond hair matted stickily to his forehead, black clothes, a sword and hat laying limply around him.

Why would a kid...unless...he's a...? Prussia stared at the kid. He must've been a nation. There was no other explanation.

"Roddy must be at home, marrying half of Europe." Prussia realized. He looked down at the blond boy. Being a child soldier himself, one might think Prussia would have no sympathy for others like him. But Prussia remembered how un-awesome it was to fight so young, and how scared he had been that the older countries would kill him. He had survived his time with the Knights of the Teutonic Order, but this nation apparently hadn't made it through his battle.

I should at least move him...Prussia picked up the boy's body. He was extremely light, Prussia noted. Not like a dead weight, really...

As Prussia walked off the battlefield, he felt the child stirring. Jumping with a gasp as awesome and manly as possible, Prussia looked down at the little boy.

Blue eyes fluttered before closing again. Prussia could now hear the short, quick gasps of breath. He could tell that he needed to get the boy home- to Prussia's own, awesome home- quick.

While sprinting off the battlefield, Prussia spoke to the boy, not caring- or knowing- if he could hear him or not. "I guess you'll be staying with the awesome me for awhile. You'll be my little bruder!"

A small noise escaped from the boy's lips. "Frau..." the trailed off again.

Prussia smiled. "If anyone asks, you'll be my awesome, German little brother." He thought for a moment. "So until you wake up and tell me who you are, if you still even know, I'll call you... Ludwig."

A/N: This idea is a little overdone, but….I'm so proud of this T.T Should I continue?

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