Germany drove back to Italy, excitement filling him from head to toe. He had chased Prussia out of his room, Prussia cackling as he left. Germany was grateful for his brother. But dropping that bomb on him was a bit much before he was to be hanging out with Italy for the next several days. Just the two of them. Alone. Germany let the windows down, enjoying the warm breeze. He gelled his hair down before he came, glad to finally have it out of his face. He made sure to pack it and checked his bags several times before he finally left an hour after he arrived at his house.

He parked at Italy's house, opening the door and pulling out his luggage. He took the opportunity to shut his eyes and face the sunlight for a moment, taking a deep breath of warm, fragrant air. He opened his eyes with a close-mouthed smile before he took a slow walk up the door and admired Italy's garden. It truly was lovely. The sun baking the fruit in the garden let loose a myriad of fragrance that enchanted the senses. He unlocked the door and stepped in, wondering if Italy was home. He knew it was too much to hope for. He was likely in the middle of a very difficult conversation. Ludwig toed off his shoes and remembered why he was here. It was not just a vacation, it was to make sure Italy was okay.

He wheeled the luggage back to his room, wondering how he could make Italy's return welcome. He remembered that Italy enjoyed that apple cake that Germany made sometimes, and resolved to make one for him to enjoy when he came home. He pulled his apron out of his suitcase and tied it as he paced back to the kitchen. He rummaged around the kitchen for the ingredients, measuring them out in advance. A couple of countries close to him would admit that he has mellowed out in recent years (no recent wars will do that to a nation), but he was still as orderly as he was during the wars, and he still ran a tight ship. It was just fact that measuring out your ingredients before you started made for an easier and more pleasurable baking experience.

An hour and a half later, Germany was cleaning the kitchen. The air smelled of warm, delicious apple cake. It sat on a cooling rack by the stove, and the batter pans were soaking in warm, soapy water. All there was left to do was wipe down the counters, then apply a thick dusting of powdered sugar to the top of the cake. He finished with the powdered sugar and was just admiring his handiwork as he heard the doorbell ring. His mind immediately flashed to Italy, but then decided that he could just open the door himself. He concluded that it was the mail and considered making a pot of coffee to enjoy when Italy came back. He heard the doorbell ring again and frowned. Perhaps it was a fellow country coming to check on Italy? Or maybe Prussia was bringing something Germany forgot about. Germany was halfway to the door when the doorbell rang four times, as if someone were pressing into quickly and furiously.

Germany opened the door and saw Romano standing on the step, his concerned expression souring into one of disdain. "Oh. Potato Bastard. Where's my idiot brother?"

Germany stepped to the side, allowing Romano in. "Visiting France."

"Ugh." Romano untied his shoes, leaving them on the welcome mat as he looked up at Germany. "That blue-eyed, bad-breathed, bimbo bitch from hell."

Germany raised his eyebrows at the creative insult. "I suppose…"

"Something smells good." Romano migrated to the kitchen, his feet slapping against the floor.

"I made apple cake." Germany explained, joining him in the kitchen as he untied his apron.

Romano hummed skeptically. "You made that?"

"Yes…"

"There's no way. Looks too good."

Germany hummed back, wondering if that was Romano's version of a compliment.

"Well? Are you going to get me a slice?"

"If you want one,"

Romano scoffed. "I wouldn't be asking for one if I didn't want one. Mio Dio. I knew you were blonde, but I didn't expect it to actually affect your brain."

Germany hummed again, not really knowing what to say.

Romano strode over to the coffee pot, grunting at the coffee beans. "God, who grinds their own coffee?"

Germany found a cake slicer. "Your brother and I were talking about that earlier. I don't understand why he enjoys his coffee that way."

"Me neither." Romano got out the bean grinder. "Bean water is bean water either way."

Germany let out a small smile at that as he plated a slice of the cake and put it on the counter with a fork.

He cut one for himself, figuring that it would be strange if he didn't eat a slice with Romano.

"How is my brother, anyhow?" Romano asked, his voice slightly less aggressive. The bean grinder whirred, and Romano poured the grounds into a coffee filter. "Spain told me what happened yesterday. Did he really beat up the wino?"

Germany nodded, pulling down two coffee mugs. "He's okay. Last night he acted… withdrawn. But he seemed a little more cheerful today. He was excited that I was spending a bit of time here."

"How long?" Romano asked, pouring two mugs of coffee.

"Six days."

Romano nodded, taking a seat at the table.

Germany joined him, worrying about an awkward conversation.

Romano took a bite out of the cake, chewing it thoughtfully. "Hmm."

Germany waited for his thoughts, not sure why he was so intrigued by Italy's brother. Though they had their disagreements before, he wondered if they perhaps had more in common than he initially thought.

"What do you know?" Romano swallowed. "The Kraut can make something other than wurst." He sounded almost resentful. Like he was looking for something to be mad about.

"Thank you."

"I never said it was a compliment."

"Of course not." Germany replied, taking a bite of the cake. Good as always.

There was a long silence as the two ate their cake.

"So what, you're not going to ask me what it was all about?" Romano asked skeptically.

Germany shook his head, taking a sip out of his coffee. "No. Italy told me he would tell me when we were both ready, whatever that means."

Romano appraised him with what looked like an approving eye. "Hmm. What did you do with him last night? To help him?"

"Japan took care of him mostly. For whatever reason, he didn't want me interacting with Italy that much. But I made him something to eat and drink and made him eat a little until he told me to leave him alone."

There was a moment of silence.

"Listen, shit-stain." Romano pushed away his plate. "I came into this house with the intention to hate you more than I already did. And, surprisingly, I only dislike you."

"… thank you?"

"Don't mention it. Really, don't. Here's all I have to say: You're shit at being subtle about how you feel about my brother."

Germany felt his face heat up. He absently considered the absurd amount of blushing he had been doing these past couple days.

"And I guess I don't hate it. You can cook, and you want to take good care of him. I can tell. You help him be more orderly, and he helps dislodge that giant stick up your ass. But the next few days are going to be harder than you think. It won't all be sunshine and all-night fucks if that's what your perverted mind has been thinking."

"I haven't-!"

"Let me finish." Romano interrupted. "It's going to be hard. But if you're willing to take care of him, you need to know a couple things… well? Aren't you going to get something to write it down?"

"I can remember it,"

"You literally asked me if I wanted cake after I asked for it. I don't trust your brain as far as I could throw it. Which would be pretty damned far, considering how small it is."

Sighing through his nose, Germany stood up and wandered back to Italy's office area. He opened the door and swiped a pad of paper from a cluttered desk. As he walked back, he flipped through various pages of drawings until he found a blank page. He grabbed a pen from the jar of writing utensils that sat on the counter and sat back down at the table. He noticed that while he was gone, Romano had swiped the rest of his slice of cake. He chose not to comment. "Ready."

"Okay. His favorite gelato place is Amalo Gelato E Passione. Be prepared to spend at least twenty minutes there, because he can't choose just one flavor for shit."

Germany wrote this down, surprised at how specific these instructions were. Despite what outward behavior might have suggested, it appeared that Romano really truly cared for Italy.

"If you're going to the beach, do it on Tuesday. Damned tourists will always be in the way, but it'll be least crowded then. His favorite is Bagni 77. It's open for a few more weeks, so you have plenty of time. Expect to stay there for several hours. It's relaxing during the day, but at night it's a party beach. Veneziano loves to party, so expect to stay whether you like it or not. God knows that's what I did. He holds his alcohol almost as well as you do, though, so look out for him."

Germany nodded and made a note about watching him.

"You have to visit Rome. No question. Expect him to bring his damn sketchbook and bring a book or something. He'll want to draw everything… Let's see… that's about all I can think of. The rest of the time he'll be willing to just meander and sightsee, probably. Maybe do a bit of shopping. You really want to make my brother's day? Buy him a flower. And make sure it's a lily. That's our national flower, and he likes it when you remember stupid shit like that. Got it all?"

"Ja. I think so."

"Let me see your notes," he slid the notebook toward himself, appraising them. "Hmm… okay." He took one last long drag out of his coffee. "I should probably be going. Spain wanted me home by lunch." He stood up, and Germany stood up with him. "You walking me to the door, starch head?"

"If- yes. I am."

Romano hummed. "So you were paying attention." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and led Germany toward the hallway. He stopped at the door and tied his shoes back on, standing to his full height. Germany noticed that Romano was about five centimeters shorter than Italy. He stuck out a hand. "You impressed me today, Potato bastard. Take good care of mio fratello."

Germany nodded. "I will. Thank you for stopping by, South Italy."

Romano raised his hand as a goodbye before he slammed the door behind him.

Germany walked back to the table, clearing the dishes away. He considered what had just transpired. Unexpectedly, Germany had come to like Romano. Maybe it was the grudging respect they had for each other, maybe it was that he figured out just how much Romano cared for his brother. Either way, it went better than he had expected. This day was shaping up well indeed. He considered what he would do when Italy returned home.

Perhaps they would relax at home, then he would introduce the idea of going to Rome tomorrow. Then perhaps they could take a day at the house, then they could go for a day of shopping and sightseeing. They would meander one day, then take a break at the house the next. He was happy to have it all figured out. As he loaded the dish washer and scrubbed the pans, he considered what he could do next. He figured he would officially start his vacation when Italy returned home. Until then, perhaps he could straighten things up around here… there wasn't much to do, though. The only fault was that perhaps Italy's house was overcrowded with décor. Everything was kept clean and orderly. Germany knew that Italy had great pride in his art and house, and he spent a good deal of time making sure everything was clean. It was not organized, but it was clean. So, he settled for organizing all of Italy's DVD's alphabetically. This was more from a lack of something to do than anything else.

He heard the door open and heard shoes on the floor. "Germany?" Italy's voice called.

Germany got up off the floor. "Hello, Italy." He stood and looked over to the older nation. He looked tired but satisfied. "How did it go?"

"It went well… I understood what he said. He really had no choice. I forgave him, and he forgave me for breaking his nose."

"You broke his nose?" Germany asked, surprised.

Italy nodded, his brow furrowed. "I feel really bad for it now."

"Well what matters is that all is forgiven." Germany said dismissfully, hoping to distract Italy from his worries. "I made some apple cake."

Italy brightened immediately. "Really?"

Germany nodded. "Want a slice?"

"Of course! I love it!" He followed Germany in the kitchen. Germany was relieved to see that Italy was feeling better. "Why is some missing?" he asked.

"South Italy stopped by earlier and took a slice… and half of mine." Germany answered.

"Really?" Italy sounded surprised. "Why was he here?"

"He wanted to check on you, but you weren't here."

Italy hummed, taking the slice of cake Germany gave him. "I wouldn't have expected him to stay when he found out I wasn't here… how did that go?'

"Awkward at first, but he didn't hit me."

Italy giggled around a bite of cake. "That's good,"

"He said he didn't hate me, he just didn't like me."

Italy hummed, swallowing his cake. "High praise."

Germany smiled, pouring Italy a cup of coffee. "I suppose so."

The two were silent for a moment, Italy enjoying his dessert.

Germany noticed that Italy's shoulders were tense. His eyes were firmly planted on his cake. Different from his usual habit of locking them with Germany's as they made light and easy conversation. Italy almost seemed… nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" Italy looked up, still looking fearful. "Um… do you remember how I said I would tell you what was wrong when you were ready?"

Germany's heart raced. "Yes."

"Do you think you're ready?"

Germany paused. "Well how can I know if I don't know what you're going to say?" He sounded slightly aggravated. Could people stop being so cryptic and just explain what was going on?

Italy went silent. Germany was just about to apologize when Italy spoke again.

"Let's take a seat on the couch."

Italy led the way, his back ramrod straight. Germany followed, wishing he could soothe Italy in some way. But his curiosity outweighed his ability to dismiss what he was going to be told. He sat, on the opposite end of the couch from Italy.

Italy took a bite of cake. "Germany, how much have I told you about my childhood?"

Germany looked down at the couch cushion as he thought. He barely knew anything, and what he knew was just from passing mentions. The two had never really sat down and talked about it. "I know you grew up with Austria and Hungary for a while. You and Romano were separated and he lived with Spain. Nothing else comes to mind."

Italy nodded. "That's all right, I'll tell you. When I was very, very young, I lived with my brother, and France, and this little boy named Holy Rome. He kept wanting me to join his empire, but I always said no."

Germany was surprised. They were getting into Holy Rome territory already? He thought he would be later in the story.

"One day, my grandfather Grandpa Rome wanted me to live with him. I did, and I loved him, but I missed my friends so much. I watched Grandpa Rome conquer and defeat and grow more powerful. He was truly an amazing man." His voice was muted with sadness. "You were looking for him, you know. When you found me."

"I remember." Better than that, Germany met Rome's ghost once… or he thought so. It could have been an extremely vivid dream.

"But anyway, as he grew and conquered, he became so powerful that he would come home with these huge scars and scrapes. And I would heal them." Italy looked down at his hands. "I wasn't even six physically, Germany. I remember how small my hands looked on those bloodied scars. I remember how he would put on a brave face and hide his grunts of pain while I tried to figure out how to apply bandages. It took me a while, but with how many injuries he got I can still do first aid really well."

Germany tried to imagine a tiny Italy healing giant bloodied scars. It was a sickening thought. He pushed it away quickly as it came.

"Eventually, as you know, Rome fell. He just… died. I was left to find somewhere else to live. I went back to my family and tried to live with them, but… they all were so mean… even Romano. They all fought to get pieces of my land for themselves. And Holy Rome? He was one of the worst. Eventually I lived under Austria as a servant. I was still a young child, Germany. I couldn't paint, I couldn't play like a normal child… all I did was clean."

Germany was frowning at this point. He hadn't realized how rough Italy's childhood was.

Italy had a small smile. "I make it sound like it was so bad… Miss Hungary was my best friend at the time. She took care of me. She would dress me in her old dresses, but I didn't really mind. Even now we're close. She's still family. But as the days passed, Austria still kept me as his servant…" He appeared to have noticed Germany's angry expression. "I'm not upset at him, Germany, he apologized so many times that I couldn't help but forgive him! He really feels bad for what happened, and now we get along pretty well."

Germany grunted, not entirely satisfied. But he stayed quiet to hear more of the story.

"But days went on, and I continued to clean. I ate the terrible food I was given. I was so bored… one day I found an old brush and a can of ink. I painted a big old bushy moustache on a portrait of Austria." Italy cracked a reminiscent smile at this. "Austria locked me up for a day with no meals. Or that's what he said he would do. But someone slid a plate of food through the door. I would look up and there would be these piercing blue eyes looking at me through a mail slot. I knew they were Holy Rome's, but I was still terrified. As time went on, I recognized Holy Rome's acts of kindness more. We spent more time together. At one point, I tried to teach him how to paint a rabbit. He said it was awful, but it was kind of cute in an ugly way. Eventually, there was political unrest and France's boss at the time, Napoleon, was planning on conquering the world. Just like Grandpa Rome did. Just like Holy Rome wanted.

"One day he came and asked me to join his empire. He wanted to unify. He said we could become the most powerful empire in the world. I said no, of course. After I watched Grandpa Rome in all that pain just for him to die… there was no way I could. But he went to the war anyway. But just before he left, I gave him all I had – a little push broom – to remember me by. He said he felt bad that he had nothing to get me and asked what people did where I'm from to show affection. I answered that they kissed. And so we did." Italy took a shaky breath and looked away, down at his hands in his lap. "And he left. He promised he would come back to me. I… I promised to make him some desserts and snacks for him to enjoy when he came back." He smiled regretfully. "The foolish musings of a kid, I guess.

"We traded letters. We only got a few to each other before I stopped receiving responses… I think a part of me knew. Just the tiniest part. But I ignored it. I hoped more than anything in the world that he would come back. But… he never did. It was about thirty years later. I was older then, biologically… maybe sixteen or seventeen… and France came and told me that Holy Rome had died. He told me to forget about him… of course, he never mentioned that it was he who had killed him. He had always treated me so kindly after that. Like an older brother." He looked back up at Germany.

Germany had no idea what he was supposed to say. He knew this happened ages ago. He heard Italy say that he had gotten over it. But hearing the details made it so much more real. So much more present. No wonder Italy was still emotional about it. "Italy…"

Italy shrugged. "France explained to me what happened, though. Holy Rome was already so weak… that was Holy Rome, though. Holding out to the very end. He was going to die soon anyway. Napoleon told him that Holy Rome had to go either way. Either France could kill him now and spare the lives of many of his people, or he could let it drag on and lose even more. So, he did what any good nation would do on behalf of his people. He killed him." He said this matter-of-factly. If it weren't for the tears in Italy's eyes, Germany would have thought he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. Italy took a shaky breath. "Nobody ever told me because they were worried I was too weak to handle it. Or they worried it would break me. I suppose they were right, weren't they?" He to

"Italy… that's not true. You clearly are not too weak, and you clearly are not broken."

"I'm not done with my story yet, though. Can you believe it? There's already so, so much more." Italy said, looking at him. "Germany… what comes next will be scary. It will be confusing, and long, and… I'm not exaggerating when I say that it will change everything. Are you ready for that?"

What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could anyone be ready for that? Against his better judgement, Germany nodded.

Italy sighed. "Around 60 years later, there were rumors about a new country. I was vaguely aware of it, but I didn't really pay attention. I was still trying to get over what had happened with Holy Rome, and I was developing my own culture at the time. Not to mention I was involved in a minor war. It wasn't until 1914 that I met this new country. I was hiding in a tomato box…"

Germany smiled a bit at that. He remembered that day. It had seemed like such a cumbersome curse at the time, finding Italy. But he looked back on that day, when his only friends were his brother and a literal stick. Where all he had known was pain and heartbreak and pressure. And he compared it to now where he had two great friends, a relaxed but loving relationship with his brother, and a life where he had a hilarious argument about avocado socks over coffee. Where he baked apple cakes and made plans to tour Rome. Meeting Italy was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

"At first you terrified me." Italy admitted as if it were a big secret.

"I know." Germany scoffed. "You begged for your life by telling me you had relatives from my country."

"I have Germanic blood, you know." Italy replied with a watery smile. "Could've been right."

Grateful for a bit of a lighthearted break, Germany smiled with Italy at his sentiment.

"You scared me at first. But as we spent more time together and became friends, I began to wonder. I felt like I had seen those icy blue eyes somewhere. That blonde hair that was always combed so neatly. Holy Rome had always led with his heart and passion more than with his head, but he had the same temper and led the same tight ship that you do. It was almost as if you were what Holy Rome would be if he had the opportunity to grow up and mature. And I wondered… were you somehow Holy Rome?"

There was a long pause.

"You realize that is impossible, right?" Germany asked, frowning. But something about what Italy had said unsettled something deep within him.

"I thought that too, Germany. But then I began to ask around…"

Germany felt an icy spike of fear. Could it be why people looked at him with such high expectations from his very unification? No way. It was impossible. "Who did you ask?"

Italy hesitated, as if what he was about to say would have been the point of no return. "It… I asked Prussia."

Germany's eyes widened. "What?" His voice was quiet. Brittle.

"He said… he said that much of what Germany is now was part of Holy Rome's territory… all of Germany was in his territory. After Holy Rome fell apart, his body should have dissolved. But it went for years and didn't change even one bit. 64 years exactly. Until 1871, when Prussia organized the German colonies to form the German Empire. The sword wound healed, Germany. And you… you were the result."

"No." Germany said, his thoughts spiraling. "It's impossible."

"It's true, Germany." Italy looked at Germany directly, trying to get in touch with him.

"He- Prussia would have told me." Germany protested, looking for any reason why he couldn't have been Holy Rome.

"He planned to, Germany."

"But why would he wait so long?" He asked.

"Germany, you're only 148 years old. At your age, I was still biologically a baby. Time is strange for nations. For how long Prussia has been alive, 148 years is almost like a week."

"Who… who else knows?" Germany asked.

"Only the European nations, as far as I know." Italy answered, looking away. "Everyone was so preoccupied at the time with whatever they had going on. New nations are born and dying all the time."

Germany sat back in his chair. He smoothed his hand over his hair as he just tried to make sense of what he just heard. He scanned his mind for any clues, any hints of what happened. "I… I have a memory."

Italy faced him, his expression a blank canvas. "What?"

"That one valentine's day. During World War Two."

"I remember."

"The evening afterword, I had a dream… I- I saw a little girl. And my own arm, in a black sleeve tucked a flower behind her ear. That… was that you?"

Italy's eyes were swimming with tears. He nodded, appearing to have run out of words.

Germany scrubbed his hands down his face. "I… I need to call my brother. This conversation isn't over. I need to know everything, but first I need to call Prussia."

Italy nodded again. "Okay. I'll… I'll try to remember."

Germany frantically sat up and fast walked back to the guest bedroom, his thoughts reeling far too quickly for his mind to make sense of them.