The Twenty-Fourth year, that was the shortest year for The Holy Roman Empire. The collection day.

Holy Rome sat in his white tent, held up by large wooden poles and string. He sat upon the same wooden chair, at a smaller wooden table. The same blasted book resting closed upon its top, blood red and scribbled all over.

The battle was raging outside in 'Austerlitz', the French having defeated the majority of Holy Rome's army already. He frequently sent letters home, he received any back. No longer could he speak to his love, Italy, or his brother, England.

All he felt was left, was to step outside and confront France or Napoleon himself.

With one last look to the broom he left by his bed, the nation buckled his black tunic tight, and picked up his blade. He had named the sword 'Faust', after a scholar in a legend. He too had sold his soul to Mephistopheles, in exchange for power and a love. Holy Rome liked this feeling, it meant he wasn't alone in his mistakes.

He turned to the broom one more time. He could have sworn he had heard Italy's laugh a he looked. Maybe this was the devil taunting him as he had done so many times.

Holy Roman looked at the entrance to the tent. He began to sob as he remembered Italy, "I love you so much."

Holy Rome went outside, into war, into Hell.

Italy sat alone in the library in Austria's house, he was always praying to god to ask for Holy Rome's safety. To make it worse to handle puberty had finally started hitting in after Holy Rome had left. He spoke in a higher voice every now and again, but when it finally deepened he knew for certain one thing. He was no longer Holy Rome's woman.

Oh time has been cruel to Italy.

He is taller, smarter, and absent minded. He spends him time thinking of food, pasta, food, and more pasta, then the occasional cat too.

On this particular day, Italy has been looking around in Germany's house. He likes this man, he too is tall, blonde haired, and has the eyes of the ocean as Holy Rome once did. Not that he would ever say that to Germany.

Germany's loft featured lots of weird things, stuffed dogs, boxes of his "Special" magazines, a broom.

That was odd to Italy, a small 'Push Broom'. It must have just been a coincidence, after all it was covered in dirt as if it had been left in the mud for a few years.

Moving on, Italy had found several books in a box labelled "Return to Austria". Italy laughed, "Ahhh, Silly Germany, he should remember when he has other people's stuff in his boxes" He let out a laugh as he opened the box, "Well, Mister Austria won't mind at all."

Some of the books had strange German names, he noticed one written in English, a much more common language. He'd picked some up in his youth from… Well… "Holy Rome. This was his book."

Italy looks upon the scrawled copy of "An Unlimited Knowledge". Upon opening the cover he saw a scribbled note in bad hand-writing "Holy Rome and Italy". He looked stunned as he read, "What… Why would Germany have this?"

Italy's pondering was cut short as the hatch opened. He scrambled to try and fit the books back in their tight cardboard case, but to no avail. The German slowly walked closer, his height about eight inches more than Italy's. He sighed heavily and with his German accent said, "Okay Italy, what have you got there?"

Italy froze up, holding the red book close as all manner of memories flowed about his delicate mind. "Germany, where did you get these books, and the broom?"

The German stood confused and shocked, "I've no idea" came the shocked reply. "I guess Prussia gave then to me as a child, or teenager, whatever I was at the time. I really don't know my childhood"

Italy picked up the red book and showed it to Germany, "Someone used to read this. He loved me and I loved him as a kid." Italy sat upon the wooden floor amongst the dust.

Germany allowed himself to sit by Italy, then he flicked the cover open. He saw a name that rung familiar to him, "The Holy Roman Empire Of The Germanic Provinces? I think I've heard of him from Austria."

Italy smiled at Germany, then said with a smile "He told me I'd see him again, maybe you just forgot who you were." He kissed Germany's cheek. "You have his broom, his books. That's all I need to know you're my Holy Rome."

Germany smiled softly at Italy, then picked up some scraps of paper. Letters, from England to Holy Rome. Germany skim read them, then quickly tore them up.

Italy questioned Germany, "Hey, why'd you do that? I wanted to read it." His face still bright though, as if some spark had returned.

Germany simply smiled as he threw the scraps of paper across the loft. He spoke in a happier tone, "Hey, Italy. Let's go cook some pasta, that makes you feel good doesn't it?"

The Italian let out his usual loud "Ve~" and rushed down the steps and into the kitchen like a speeding bullet, kicking up the dust like old memories.

Germany was left alone in the loft. He picked up the rose-red book, then put it back in its box, such things need never be used again. He pushed the box back into a corner, with a passing glance he saw a painted drawing for him by the younger Italy, and a blood stained black tunic. When he looked back, he saw the blood was still wet. No. It was his imagination.

Germany went to leave the loft, the sound of the cheery Italian audible from all the way up three floors. With one more glance all was fine, and the dust kicked off his memories.

The End