"What are you doing? You can't go out there! That's suicide! Just stay here, god damn!"
"I HAVE TO FIGHT!"
"You're an-! "
"I CAN'T LEAVE HER!"
"...What?"
"I... I can't... I can't die here... I can't! She's-She's waiting for me! I NEED TO SEE HER AGAIN!"
And into the haze of smoke, the chaos of the battlefield, the Holy Roman Empire disappeared. His dark cloak a whisper of a shadow behind him.
Prussia cursed.
"Idiot."
Germany looked left. He looked right. His clear blue eyes scanning his surroundings.
All clear.
Slinking his way down hallowed hallways and empty corridors, Germany arrived his destination. A quick survey of his surroundings before carefully opening the closet door.
Yes. That's right. His annual house-cleaning.
And by house-cleaning, he meant: HOUSE CLEANING.
Everything. Everything must be washed, dusted, and polished to perfection. Execution day for all the germs and dust bunnies. The Final Battle!
As such Germany armed himself appropriately. A mop in one hand, a bucket of cleaning supplies in another, Germany tied a kerchief around the lower half of his face. His expression armoured with a glare that could peel paint.
It was time.
The house was empty. For today, on this particularly glorious Sunday, Gilbert, dear older brother, had gone out binge drinking with Spain and France. Leaving the house all to himself.
And while Germany positively adored his brother, Gilbert could make himself such a nuisance when he cleaned. Always getting in the way, tripping over things that "I swear was on the other side of the room!"
A headache in a nutshell. Though binge drinking with his friends always resulted in a headache as well, Germany wanted to accomplish something productive today. So he'll deal with the angry bar maid later and focus at the task at hand.
It also helped that Italy was gone today. Every year, on this day particularly. The nation would disappear. It was a strange little quirk but Italy was a strange little country. So Germany learned not to question it.
Flying about the house like an angry humming bird, Germany disinfected every available surface. Even going so far as to raise the mop high into the air to wipe up the ceiling. Every single corner was polished until he could see his own reflection, and the smell of cleanser hung so nauseatingly thick in the air.
Yes, all was going quite well. Perfect, actually.
Until...
At first it didn't bother Germany. He thought it was a trick of the light. Nothing more.
But it kept following him.
A shadow. A dark blur in the corner of his eye. Disappearing the moment he turned to get a good look at it.
The disconcerting feeling of being watched.
He slapped the moist towel hard against the kitchen counter. A hard glare fixed at absolutely nothing.
"Alright! Come out! I know you're there! If that's you brother, quit playing your games!"
Germany waited a moment. But there was nothing. Only absolute silence. He immediately felt like an idiot. Talking to thin air like that! He must look like a loon! What if somebody walked in?
Creak!
Germany froze.
What... What was that?
It came from the hallway... Didn't it?
But this house was old. He had lived here for most of his life! And he was a nation! So that was, what? Four, five centuries? Ancient houses did tend to...
Creak!
Germany swallowed.
Oh, but his house never made sounds before. Never... Never creaked before.
If Germany really wanted to think about it, and he didn't, it sounded like someone was walking... Walking around the-the-the-
CREAK!
Okay! That is it!
Tucking the towel into his bucket, Germany grabbed the mop. Holding it in such a way as one would hold a spear. Just... Just in case.
"But physical objects don't work on ghosts..." His mind traitorously whispered.
Fighting down shiver, Germany trekked down the empty hallway. Yes, beause there's supposed to be no one here. Just him. Just him.
Five minutes into it, and Germany realized he had been tiptoeing. He felt like an idiot. A minute later. He felt like a bigger fool as he countered nothing. Not even the curious shadow.
He paused. A dangerous vein ticking in his forehead.
When he noticed Prussia's door was ajar.
Prussia left his door open? That was... That was rare.
But it did remind Germany of something.
He was going to clean Prussia's room!
His brother always protested to allowing Germany clean his bedroom. Saying something about how he could handle it, and "Christ, West! I taught you how to talk! I think I can handle cleaning my own room!"
Needless to say, Germany worried for the state of the bed chamber. Because calling it a room was truly a bit inaccurate. The house was old. Therefore, it had old styles.
Their "bedrooms" were actually a series of interconnected rooms. One holding the bath, one for the actual sleeping, and one for whatever use you deemed necessary.
Germany worried for the state of all those rooms. His brother wasn't exactly the most responsible person(... er, nation?) in the world.
Gently pushing open the door, the blond braced himself. Whatever horrors awaited him, he could handle it!
He was expecting fungi. He was expecting sludge and grime and a mysterious green ooze. He was expecting things that have never seen the light of day, and shouldn't. New species of bacteria that could unleash a deadly plague upon the world.
What he saw was a sparse bedroom. Cobwebs hanging here and there. Dust abound. The sheets unmade, with clothes tossed all over the floor. Papers scattered about, and strangely enough, what looked to be Austria's boxers hanging from the headboard. Germany really didn't want to know.
There was a painting of "Old Fritz" on the bedside table, beside camera labeled "Property of Hungary-If found please return to "Yaoi Club" at-" Germany stopped reading. He had read enough.
Well, it wasn't a huge mess. But he still had his work cut out for him. And so, paying no mind to the more questionnable items in the room, Germany rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
The routine starting once more.
The clothes were put away. The dust bunnies eliminated. Bits of bird poop scraped from the walls. Orginazation and the scent of pine sol permeating the stale air.
Germany rubbed his shoulders. Smiling at a job well done.
A thin ray of light falling across his triumphant expression.
He blinked. Turning to the source of light only to find an open door. A steady stream of sunshine pouring from the tiny crack.
Funny. Wasn't that closed awhile ago.
Germany pursed his lips. No. He would not go there. He still had the bathroom to clean up. And he knew the layout of the house well enough to know that wasn't the bathroom. That was the miscallenous room. The room serving only for the purpose of their choosing. An office perhaps, a den maybe. But Germany knew it was private space. He had no right to intrude.
...creak...
The door was opened. Germany slightly alarmed to find his hand gently turning the knob. He barely noticed crossing the length of the room.
But his curiosity was piqued. The thunderous beat of his frantic heart pounding at his ears. His breath shortened.
Something... Something-And he didn't know what-But something! Something was calling him. To this room. To this place. It tugged at his very core. At his very being. An iron grasp that he could not escape.
He...
He cautiously entered. Afraid Prussia was lurking in some nondescript corner, just waiting for the oppurtunity to catch him in the act. He had no right to be here after all.
...wanted...
After the initial glare of the sunlight faded, Germany's eyes adjusted accordingly. His gaze settling upon the rows upon rows, tall columns that brushed the high ceiling, of books. Countless, age-worn books stacked high. Endlessly. Infinitely.
And Germany knew where he was.
He was in Prussia's Journal Library.
The room where he kept his journals. The many, many he had kept throughout his life. Stories of his youth, accounts of his wars. This room, in essence, held Prussia's memories. Both good and bad.
And Germany knew. He really shouldn't be here.
...his...
Nonetheless, his feet carried him. Down the long, eerie aisles painted with shadows. The ominous bookshelves seeming to peer condenscendinly at him. Gazing from high up above.
Germany was truly unnerved. He really was.
But the call... The firm hold that kept his heart captive... it would not loosen. It would not cease. So, Germany walked. On and on. Until he felt he was going to walk forever. Trapped in this godforsaken room.
Then he stopped.
At the furthest corner of the library. In a dark, forgotten recess veiled by the years long past. Germany found himself standing. Staring.
There was nothing special here. The journals were older than the ones near the door, true. But that was to be expected. The journals at the door were more recent.
Everything was coated with a fine layer of grime. And Germany itched for his towel. Only to realize... He had left everything behind. Even his psuedo-weapon, the mop.
He had left everything behind...
A flash of green. A blinding brilliance in a sea of dark browns and blacks.
It caught Germany's eye with an intensity that surprised even him.
Truly, the colors had faded with time. Just as everything else. But it was different. It was a different color. A different shade. A different hue. It was a completely different item all together!
And it caught all of Germany's attention.
It was a painting.
Rather dull in it composition. Featuring only... A maid.
A beautiful maid with red-auburn hair and the kindest smile he had ever seen
But Germany couldn't have known that... For the maid in the picture was sleeping. Her body curled in a neat little ball-
Sleeping ever so soundly that nothing could wake her, not even him...
Germany winced. A sharp, prodding pain piercing through his skull.
You couldn't tell just by looking at the painting, if the person was a heavy sleeper. The maid could wake at the slightest noise-
But she wouldn't. He knew. Because she was...
Youd couldn't even tell if she was a brunette because the color had faded! ...It had faded, right?
Frsutration tainting his mood, Germany gently picked up the canvas. It was centuries old. And apart from knowing Prussia would skin him if he knew Germany had damaged his possessions, Germany had a large respect for art. It came from haning around Italy. He wouldn't dare damage a painting.
Especially one of-
He peered in close. Squinting his eyes to get a real good look at the hair.
But his gaze was drawn to the face. That chubby, cherubic face. It looked so...familiar...
"No matter how many hundreds of years go by-!"
A distinct pain. Harsh, sharp as it seized his head. Burying beneath his skin. A fiery pain unlike he had ever felt before.
CREAK!
He moved to clutch his temples. Grimacing as he let go of the painting.
The canvas landing on the floor with a muffled thump.
Something dark, worn with age and use, falling out.
And everything ceased.
The pain gone as quickly as it appeared.
Something from behind the painting. Something fell.
Germany blinked.
Bending over, Germany took the mysterious item from the dust-carpeted floor. Brushing some dirt from the leather covers.
...journal...
It really shouldn't be out of place. Especially in the library he was in. Another journal shouldn't make a difference.
Except this one...
He wanted his journal back
A/N: Part two coming right up!