The broom was in his hands once more. For the first time since the dream came upon him, the texture of the wood no longer felt as critical to analyze. His attention shifted to the second phase of the dream. He felt the broom slip through his fingers like sand as the unknown voice slithered through his ears. Don't worry…you'll be okay…empire…

Germany gasped and bolted upright. His heart fluttered with the sudden jump to consciousness and he panted as he tried to catch his breath. Nausea twinged his stomach as his eyes darted around his bedroom. The morning sun poured through the sheer curtains, diffusing the rays into a soft glow. The warmth of the light brought him some comfort as the adrenaline began to drip away, the knotting of his stomach slowly dying down as his breathing returned to normal. Prussia's voice unlocked another piece of the puzzle: "Empire" permeated the dream.

He leaned over to the nightstand and picked up his phone. 7:28am. Only one missed text from Italy: I'm home safe! I hope I helped you feel a little better :)

Germany sent a quick response: Good morning, Italy. Yes. Thank you. He set the phone back down on the nightstand and stood up, shaking the lingering sleepiness out of his body as he stretched. Today would be a day of making peace, and the best person to start with would be Austria. He descended the staircase, the familiar creaks echoing throughout the unusually quiet house. Germany made his way to the front door and gazed out the window. Prussia's car was still gone. Sighing, Germany turned around and started making his way towards the kitchen. He passed the door to the drawing room and realized the door still remained shut. Austria typically left the door ajar when he was not occupying the space.

Germany rapped the door with one finger. "Austria?" he called out. No response. He pressed his ear to the door to hear a faint rustling sound. He knocked again, this time trying to twist the door knob. Locked.

Sighing, Germany walked into the kitchen. Nothing had moved since the previous day and it was safe to assume that Austria had not stepped out of the room since entering. As he pulled a bag of coffee grounds from the cabinet, he reflected on the way Italy described Austria the previous night. Austria seldom discussed the way things were before his and Prussia's arrival, and one of the only things he knew about that time period was that Hungary and Italy lived with him. He pictured the dichotomy of Italy and Austria, the former like a puppy that rolled in mud and tracked footprints across a white carpet, the latter like a dissectologist that glued completed jigsaw puzzles together and framed them to preserve the memory of meticulously placing each piece in the perfect spot. In Germany's scattered adolescent memories, Austria appeared young–Germany pictured him even younger, chasing Italy around the house with Hungary in tow, the phone ringing incessantly in an attempt to make hasty negotiations. He pictured Austria returning home at midnight, his clothes torn from war and his face patched with dirt, Hungary wiping it away in the foyer as Italy cowered around the corner. In the present day, Germany poured his coffee. The smell aroused the nausea that had fallen dormant.

Germany now picked through the refrigerator for breakfast ingredients. Scooping up a handful of eggs, he went to work cracking them into a bowl and whisking them up. The situation at hand felt like rolling a dice: no matter what side landed facing up, one side would always be facing down. It felt impossible to achieve everyone's desires with no sides facing down. Someone would inevitably be hurt, someone's feelings would be stepped on for the benefit of another, and presently, there seemed to be no way around it. The bitterness for Prussia remained, nestling itself deeper into his heart. He channeled his frustration through the whisk, breaking up the structure of the yolks and forcing them to blend with the whites. Satisfied with the final result, he poured them into a frying pan, the satisfying sizzle filling the empty room with a little life. He prepared a few slices of toast on the side, all the while contemplating how he would go about talking to Austria.

Germany fixed two plates of food, each with scrambled eggs and a slice of toast. He prepared a cup of coffee for Austria, stirring the cerulean and sugar until they were unified with the coffee. Unity. That's what Germany hoped to achieve today. Leaving his own coffee behind, he brought Austria's plate and mug to the door of the drawing room.

"Austria," Germany knocked again, "please open the door. I made you breakfast." Germany held his breath and listened for a sign of movement. The rustling sound returned, followed by the click of the door unlocking. The knob twisted and the door barely cracked open. Germany slowly pushed the door open with his foot. The furnishings in the room were simple: the left wall near the door featured a small desk with a lamp, its surface completely empty. Most of the remaining left wall was lined with a white sectional couch, the end closest to the window softly curving around the corner. A large window encompassed much of the back wall, its cerulean-colored curtains drawn. Much of the sunlight was diffused by the curtains, yet a sharp sliver peeked through. In the right corner sat the grand piano, the surface sleek and reflective of the sunlight cast upon it. Against the right wall and near the door resided a wooden bookshelf filled with many of Austria's art-related belongings: sheet music, textbooks, sketchbooks, art supplies, and other materials relating to his interests. Indeed, the drawing room served as Austria's sanctuary.

Austria sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His jabot lay discarded in a haphazard heap and his glasses rested on top of it, something uncharacteristic of the highly-organized country. Even as Germany stepped in the room, Austria remained motionless on the floor, hunched forward with his head pointed downward. He had wrapped himself in a large purple blanket, nearly every inch of his body and face concealed except for the cowlick that drooped downward.

"I'm assuming you haven't eaten," Germany said as he set the coffee on the desk. He carefully held the plate in one hand as he sat on the floor beside Austria. Germany held the plate out, but Austria didn't stir. Germany sighed and set the plate down in front of them.

"Austria, I–" he started to speak, but as he paused and contemplated what to say next, his throat closed. He had no idea where to start. Italy's words returned to mind and he pictured Austria sitting on the floor in this manner, Hungary at his side as Germany was now, hoping she could coax him out from under the blanket. Italy would bring him a family portrait he painted himself, fingers and face speckled in paint, and Austria would take it and force a smile to his face, and as soon as Italy bounded out of the room feeling like he had helped, Austria would fall apart all over again. He felt unified with you, and that made him really happy.

In his fragmented memories, he remembered sitting at Austria's side on the piano bench, his teenage frame smaller in comparison to his elder. Austria beamed as Germany successfully played a song without error. His eyes twinkled. I am so proud of you, he'd said. As if cycling through a film reel, the next memory placed Germany laying across the couch with a book in his hands, Austria's soft melodies serenading his ears, the pair bonding over the simple fact that they were together in the same room, peacefully coexisting, and that was all Germany needed in that moment.

As he snapped back to reality, Germany realized he had leaned into Austria's side. His vision blurred and he blinked to clear it, now feeling two small tears escape his eyes and trickle down his face. The simple companionship no longer felt like it was enough, but he missed the days in which it was. He sat upright once more and, picking up the plate that sat before them, nudged it towards Austria. This time, the blanket shifted, now revealing Austria's face and arms. He took the plate and slowly took forkfuls of food into his mouth, never once looking up. Germany turned to face him. The dark circles shrouded his eyes in the sleepless sorrow that comes with grief, his complexion as pale as his wrinkled dress shirt. The top third of the shirt sat unbuttoned, its loose fabric hanging from his chest like years of carrying burdens finally took their toll and started detaching soul from body. The man who had once ruled over a revolving door of countries, who sought order and power through strength, now sat in a crumpled heap on the floor, shattered and exhausted. The nausea nipped at Germany's stomach once again.

Austria finished the plate and set it aside. He finally lifted his head and met Germany's gaze. His eyes did not flicker, but the dark circles and matte irises revealed enough of his inner turmoil for Germany to read without trying. Germany snaked his arm around Austria and gently coaxed him to lean on him.

Germany sighed. "Ich habe dich lieb," he spoke slowly, "and I'm sorry. Italy encouraged me to look at things from your perspective and I realized that I never took that into consideration. Our unification is important to me. I wanted answers, but–"

"You are one of the greatest things in my life," Austria finally replied, his voice hoarse, "and I want to give you what will make you happy, but the politics that accompany it are so complicated. What you are asking of me is something I can't provide, and I'm sorry, but I want you to know that we will always be family, no matter what may come between us. You come first in every decision I make, whether it's apparent or not. I'm sorry."

"I know," Germany nodded, hugging him tighter. In this instance, Austria's side of the dice faced up and Germany's faced down. He felt torn in both directions. His origins, the mysteriousness of the dream and foggy memories, they were all things he deserved to gain a better understanding of, but if the knowledge of it put Austria and Prussia in a complicated position, was it worth it? The tension between all parties over the last 24 hours saw the destruction of their usual peace, and these circumstances occurred without learning any ounce of the truth, so the destruction that would come with the full truth was unimaginable. He felt as if he needed to choose between himself and his family, a choice he shouldn't have had to make. He seldom felt conflicted when making decisions and the sudden hesitance of how to proceed brought him an unease he was not accustomed to. He did, however, recognize that in this moment, repairing his relationships with his family reigned supreme–the search for answers would come in time.

Austria shifted his body and Germany relaxed his arm. Austria stood slowly, letting the blanket fall to his feet. He reached for his glasses and carefully returned them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. The dark circles still stood out in contrast to the rims of the lenses. Now making his way to the piano, he sat on the bench and lifted the keylid, revealing the pristine ivory keys. Germany stood and draped the blanket back over Austria's shoulders. He gave Austria's upper arms one more reassuring squeeze before ducking out of the room.

"Door open or shut?" he called out as he exited.

"Open," Austria replied. He met Germany's eyes one more time, the life slowly returning to them. "Thank you."

Germany nodded and returned to the kitchen where his lukewarm cup of coffee waited for him on the island counter. A great weight had been lifted from his chest and the nausea finally subsided for good. For the first time since the dream began, he felt nearly fully-functional again; the headache droned on in the background, but its pain was nowhere near as debilitating as usual. Though making amends with Austria eased his nerves, he resigned himself back to disappointment, feeling as if his questions would never be answered. The experience of being a country came with many difficulties, one being the fact that not everyone receives closure, and he needed to come to terms with that. He supposed that the dream would fade away in time, as many of his memories often did, and its subsidence would bring peace back to his crumbling familial relationships– in the end, the face of his die would never face up, and for the foreseeable future, there were no alternative solutions. One person's die now faced outwards– Germany had one more to go.

The rest of the day played out relatively normally. He organized a training session and, in contrast to their typical route, Germany took Italy and Japan to a nature trail. They jogged and chatted, Japan none the wiser to any of the events that had taken place in the past 24 hours. Germany basked in the sun's warmth against his skin, the pockets of light glistening through the leaves of the trees and sparkling on the pavement, the slight breeze gliding through his hair. He focused himself in the present, reassuring himself that answers may come some day, but for now, it was best to appreciate what was currently in front of him. He treated Italy and Japan to dinner afterwards, a bittersweet celebration of contentment and friendship.

Germany returned home as the cotton-candy clouds signaled the sunset nearing. As he rounded the corner and inched closer to his house, he recognized Prussia's car in the driveway. His stomach instinctually tensed. Making amends to Austria proved to be more sorrow-inducing than stress-inducing. Admittedly, he had no plan for how to approach Prussia. Germany empathized with Austria and felt it easier to emotionally connect with him, but Prussia stood as an impenetrable wall. Germany could not help feeling the visceral anger begin to stir inside him once more, the mere thought of confronting his brother raising his defenses, but he couldn't avoid confrontation forever. He reminded himself to remain calm and accept things as they came. He would formulate his plan in real time.

Germany opted to walk through the garage and enter the house through the interior door. It opened into the kitchen. Prussia and Austria sat at the island conversing, Austria eating dinner while Prussia sipped from a stein. Austria appeared well-kempt as usual, his clothes and hair in orderly shape. Germany supposed he had showered and cleaned himself up; now he sat eating a bowl of soup for dinner, its steam fogging the bottom half of his glasses as he slowly scooped up another spoonful. Prussia held his tilted head up with his left hand, his elbow planted firmly on the counter. In his right hand, he gripped the handle of the large stein. Judging by his ruffled hair, flushed cheeks, and wrinkled street clothes, it was safe to assume it wasn't his first drink. Austria made eye contact with Germany as he entered and the conversation stopped abruptly. Prussia refused to look up, instead keeping his eyes fixated on the countertop.

Austria smiled warmly at Germany, the first in a while that felt genuine. "How was your day, Germany?"

"Great," he answered, moving towards the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of beer for himself. "I took everyone for a run on a nature trail and we went to dinner."

"Very generous of you," Austria replied. He swallowed the soup from the spoon and scooped more out of the bowl. "He made me breakfast this morning, Prussia– isn't that nice?"

Prussia did not respond, merely taking another sip of his beer.

Germany cleared his throat to fill the awkward silence. "Well, I've had a long day, so I'm heading upstairs. Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Austria concluded. He quickly glanced at Prussia, assuming he would speak. He didn't.

Germany quickly shuffled out of the room and made his way up the stairs to the top floor. Halfway up the stairs, as soon as he was no longer visible, Prussia's voice came out in a flurried murmur. He figured that Prussia's silence was a passive-aggressive act intended to fluster him, but the only effect it inflicted was justification for the anger dwelling within him. Prussia wasn't worth the headache. The plan for reconciliation could wait until tomorrow.

Germany entered his bedroom and changed into loungewear, his plan to spend the rest of the night unwinding. He lay in bed with his beer balanced against his body as he scrolled through social media aimlessly. He preferred lurking over posting, the majority of his social media presence being comprised of scrolling through mindless content, unconsciously liking friends' posts, falling into the trap of poorly-edited and pirated videos being reposted. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders daily, and with recent events, he deserved a break.

A half hour passed in which Germany fixated on his phone and forgot about the turmoils of the real world, but he snapped back to reality when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. There were two sets, one booming and moving at a steady pace, one quickly scuttling. The footsteps grew louder, closer to the door now, and the door suddenly burst open. Prussia stood in the doorway, his complexion the same color as his eyes and his body slightly swaying. He steadied himself with an arm leaning on the frame. Austria stood behind him, his hands on Prussia's arms in a failing attempt to drag him away.

"Don't even bring Italy into this," Prussia slurred.

Austria's face reddened with embarrassment. "I told him what you said earlier, when you apologized," he explained, "and I mentioned Italy, and–"

"He, he's gotta look loss in the…in the face every day, every single day."

"Please stop, Prussia–"

"He's suffering, Germany, he's, he, just," Prussia swayed more severely, Austria gripping him harder to prevent him from falling, "leave him out of it. He's suffered enough, he–"

"Germany, please help me get to his room."

Germany nodded and set his empty beer bottle on the floor. Austria took one of Prussia's arms and Germany took the other. They led Prussia to his bedroom, his balance constantly shifting. He continued repeating himself while Germany opened the door and Austria grabbed both of Prussia's arms himself.

"I can take over now, thank you, I'm sorry," Austria bumbled.

Germany walked back towards his bedroom while Austria nudged Prussia through the doorway. Germany, now standing in his own doorway, watched as Austria pushed his brother onto his bed and began closing the door.

"Prussia, I can't–" he said, closing it mid-sentence.

Going to bed and concluding the day felt like the best option after witnessing that spectacle. Germany readied himself for bed, all the while pondering Prussia's actions. Judging from the lack of eye contact in the kitchen and the manner in which he busted through the door, Prussia's anger at the situation still raged. Admittedly, Germany braced himself when Prussia started spewing words in his direction. They were rarely on this bad of terms, but when Prussia fought, he fought like his life depended on it, and while it was easy to keep himself in a state of dismay as he replayed Prussia's words in his mind, a tidal wave of curiosity washed over him instead. He looks loss in the face every single day, Prussia had said. It felt oxymoronic, to lose something and yet look at it every day of your life, especially when Italy never mentioned a loss that would fit that description. The only loss he had experienced, to Germany's knowledge, was–

His previous relationship, he realized. To look loss in the face meant to continue living with a hole in your heart, to feel an irreplaceable absence that affected the way you perceived every aspect of the world. This previous relationship served as the main bar between a budding romance with Italy, the loss that led Prussia to assert that Germany lived in a protected sphere, the explanation of how Italy looked loss in the face on a daily basis. Prussia's insistence to leave Italy alone reignited his desire to find answers. Germany did not know how Italy's past would connect to his own search for the truth, but if its uncovering meant the end of his suffering, it was a worthy detour. He resolved to explore this mystery in the morning. If his dice could not face up, maybe he could ensure that, at the very least, Italy's would.