A/N- So I was playing Slender, and the Slenderman scares the ever-loving Christ out of me, and it originated in Germany from what I can gather. So I got the idea, what if it was real, and he had seen it as a child? This is what happens why you watch Hetalia and then play Slender…

"Brother, what is that? I thought there was no king but yours here." The young Germany asked, walking hand in hand with his elder brother. The forest was covered in fog, but the blonde had always been the perceptive one. Not to mention the purples and reds the man across the way was wearing were hard to miss. He was a giant, and he seemed to have all the wrong proportions.

"What the heck are you talking about kid? I don't see anything." Prussia replied, looking to where the small hand was pointing.

"Do you not see him? He's been following us for the last few minutes. He's right there, wearing the garments of a king. His skin is white, like yours, but I do not see his red eyes." Innocent blue eyes looked up at red, questioning. Prussia was a bit concerned, but figured it was simply the imaginings of a young child. He hadn't seen things, of course, but then again, he spent his childhood plagued by wars, with little free time. He protected his younger brother from this life, and so perhaps he had given the boy too much time to simply dream.

"There's no one there, Kid." Prussia said, shaking his head and resolving to get the kid something to do in his spare time. Playing the piano maybe, or at the very least fighting training.

"But I see him. I know he is there. Do not lie and say you do not see him!" Little feet stamped with the temper the child had always had, his cute little face screwing up into a pout.

"Do not talk that way to your brother, Kid. Come along before I decide to actually punish you. The old switch father used is still in my room, and I won't hesitate to take up his mantle." Prussia hissed, grabbing his brother by the ear and dragging him along, tiring quickly of the fantasy games.

But Germany was not imagining. He looked back, and saw the Earl King, dressed even more exuberantly than his brother at his best, but owning no face. The young boy wondered if that was the reason he simply did not approach them to say hello. He had no mouth with which to speak, and so making friends must have been quite difficult for him. He couldn't smell the delicious smells that wafted from freshly cooked meal, he couldn't see the beautiful and harsh sights of the world. The King was just a blank canvas, not filled with any kind of love, sadness, or hope.

"I'm sorry brother. Perhaps I am seeing things. I will see the physician when we return home." Germany shook his head, trotting along just behind his brother; no longer looking at what he had decided was a hallucination.

"Germany! This game is really scary!" Italy screamed, wailing as though he were being murdered. He had recently gotten a game called "Slender" from America, and like the fool he was, Italy had played it, knowing that it was scary and he would likely have nightmares concerning it.

"It's just a bastardization of one of my old myths, Italy. Calm down." Germany said, exiting the game and lifting the hysterical Italy into his strong arms. He had long since gotten used to closeness with the tiny nation before him, though Italy still claimed it was simply what friends in his country did. Germany had questioned it since the start, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the touch quite a bit, at least not to himself. To everyone else, however; he had always been a good liar.

"The monster creeps up on you…and…and THE FUZZY NOISE!" he cried, sobbing into Germany's favorite black wife beater.

"It's fine, Italy. He only attacks children, even in the myth. This game is just made by some American who wasn't creative enough to come up with his own monster when he was making a scary game." Germany tried consoling the other, petting his hair, though he was careful to avoid the curl that would lead to another set of awkward moments.

"Will you play the game, Germany? Maybe if you weren't scared of it, then I wouldn't be." Italy asked, his eyes opening for the sole purpose of pouting. Those puppy eyes would have tempted Christ himself, and Germany was nowhere near strong enough to say no. So that night, he found himself sitting in his computer chair, loading the game with a still whimpering Italy behind him, clutching his shoulder as if it were his only anchor to the real world.

Germany sighed, taking a drink of the coffee that would be keeping him awake. He knew that Italy had taken an extra long siesta that afternoon, and wouldn't be tired until about midnight. It was currently nine o'clock, and the blonde planned to have the game beat by that time. He cracked his neck as the game started, and he was in the woods, with only a flashlight, chasing after pages.

"This is stupid. Why do I need these damn pages?" he growled, wishing he at least had a clear goal. Either way, he was only doing this to sate Italy, so he continued, walking through the dark forest. He jumped as he saw the tuxedoed man following, and hoped that the other hadn't noticed. By the fact that he simply sat there, staring at the screen with tears starting to gather in his eyes once more, Germany decided that he had not.

But he knew that face. He shook his head to try and rid himself of the images that were coming out from his mind. After living so long, people tended to forget the majority of their experiences, solely because their minds did not have room for all of that. But you can never really get rid of memories, simply set them on the backburner. Even memories you haven't thought of in centuries.

Germany was looking out his window, as cool air blew in. He had seen his brother off to war that afternoon, something that was common enough, but still left him with a vulnerable feeling. He watched the moon, his big blue eyes full of fear for the albino that could just stop coming back at any time. He had heard tell that that's what happened to his father. He didn't remember, as it was nearly a century ago, but he knew it was possible. Apparently he and Rome had gone off together, and never returned. He didn't want to lose his big brother, and the mere thought of it brought tears to his eyes.

Through the blurred vision brought on by his crying, he thought he saw a sudden flash of bright colors. He looked over to his door, fear gripping his heart as he saw, not a figure, but a carving on the wood of the entrance. A circle, crossed through with an x. It had defiantly not been there before, and he hadn't put it there. That meant someone was in his room, and that symbol didn't look friendly. He knew that his brother had many enemies, who would be happy to see him dead, or kidnapped for torture and ransom. His brother would pay it, yes, but what happened in between the times would not be pleasant.

As he started to hyperventilate, he turned again, and saw the man from earlier. The man dressed in purple robes, but still he had no face. He towered over the child, and black tendrils came from his back.

"Please don't kill me." Germany pleaded, head feeling light as his breath quickened even farther. His heart was racing and he wished more than anything that he were by his brother's side once more. He looked into the blank face of the man in his room, and saw the outline of lips form into a smirk, before the man was gone, leaving behind a scared puddle of scared German as guards rushed in, asking him what was wrong. He sat there, falling to his knees and staring at the spot where the man had been, unable to make his mouth form words.

He didn't speak until months later, when his brother returned, concerned for the little guy's safety. He clung to the battle dirtied clothing, as if trying to disappear in the white cloak.

"Don't let him get me, brother." He sobbed, his voice hoarse from lack of use, tears already soaking through the material.

"It's okay, kid. I'll never let anything hurt you." Prussia promised, holding the boy closer to him.

"This game is stupid." Germany declared as eleven thirty rolled around and he collected the last page, winning the game. He sighed, looking at Italy, who was positively terrified.

"But he got us like seventeen times! Wasn't it scary?" Italy protested, clinging to Germany's arm.

"No. It was suspenseful, perhaps, but not scary. It doesn't exist, Italy. Now let's go to bed." Germany suggested, rubbing his tired eyes. Italy relented, though he pouted as he crawled underneath the covers, latching onto his strong blonde companion as soon as he had settled in. Germany sighed, and gave on last look out the window before closing his eyes.

But as he closed them, he realized there had been something out of the ordinary. He had seen a white patch that should not have been there. He threw his eyes open, and found that outside were as it should be. He took a deep breath, deciding that it was merely a hallucination brought on by the late night and the game. He sighed, shook his head, and closed his eyes again.

Only the next morning, he awoke to find an unfortunately familiar symbol on the wall across from his bed. His eyes went wide, and he started breathing heavily, now thinking of Italy more than anything. He was sure this was just one of his stupid brother's tricks, and didn't want Italy freaking out about it. He thought quickly, and remembered Italy had painted him a large picture that was currently under a sheet in his closet. He rushed to grab it, as well as a hammer and a nail, intent on covering the symbol before Italy woke up, at least until he could have it fixed. He planned on strangling the American for this.

When caramel eyes awoke, they were happy to see the painting on the wall, and Germany beside him fully dressed, but still waiting for him. He was, however, a little weirded out by the way he was looking at him. Blue eyes were staring at him as if he were somewhere between a coveted child, and an injured bird, and while Germany's eyes usually had the injured bird part in them, they had never held so much care before.

"What's wrong, Germany? Are you sick or something?" Italy asked, a little worried at the concern in his best friend's eyes.

"No. Just wondering if you slept well was all." Germany answered, looking away as his cheeks turned a pale shade of pink.

"Yeah. I always sleep well knowing I have big, strong Germany to protect me!" the smaller man exclaimed, a big grin on his face.

"Good. Would you make breakfast, I want to get an early start on my papers today." Germany said, and Italy nodded, running off without bothering to put on clothing first. He hoped his brother stayed asleep, or at least stayed modest.

But today was Sunday, and Germany had no work to do, but he would be doing research. He needed to make himself more familiar with some of his old lore, and whatever this "Slenderman" was, it reminded him of the Earl king it was based on, and for some reason, that smirk wouldn't leave his mind.

That night, Germany lay awake, sapphire orbs staring at the ceiling. Italy was out beside him, and he wished that he could be so at peace. All of the times that faceless man had visited him were rushing back, clearer than ever. What he had though was only a fever dream, vivid, but false, did seem more and more real. The website had told him that the Earl King went after young children, and adults with tragic pasts. Did his count as tragic, he wondered? Did it count if the faceless man himself caused the biggest trauma? What about when you were the one causing other's tragedy? Germany was honestly scared.

When America had landed on his beaches, he had been nervous. When Russia had closed in from the other side, he had been apprehensive. When he took Prussia, he had been furious. When Italy had flown off into the sky, though he was found later, he had been heartbroken. Now, he was well and truly terrified, a feeling that was only remembered from his other encounters with this little piece of his history. Sweat gathered on his body, though it was early fall, and he had to pull the blanket over his neck to keep from shivering. Every sound sent his heart running marathons, and he stared around the room, as if the man would appear at any moment.

Eventually, exhaustion let him sleep, though the sun, and Italy's voice had him awake soon enough. He had a headache, and he thought it was strange, since he had no reason to have one. He had no drink, and Italy's voice had never actually given him a headache before. When he sat up, he was shocked to feel strange warmth running down his face. He dabbed it with his finger, and was even more so to find there was blood on his fingertip. Glancing at Italy, he nearly ran to the bathroom joined to his bedroom, his heart pounding in his throat.

That was one of the signs, was all he could think. The so-called "slender sickness" that meant the demented spirit was following you. When Germany looked up, and in the mirror saw the tuxedoed man, he shouted in fear, eyes going wide and tears prickling them. When he turned, it was gone, but Italy was already storming into the unlocked room. He looked up, and saw that the man was now behind the ignorant man. The look of pure horror on Germany's face made Italy look behind him to scream like a woman, and then it all went black. Germany's last thoughts were guilt. What if, when he had often begged the faceless demon not to kill him, that smirk meant that he would simply wait until Germany had something to loose. Namely the Italian who had just been dragged into this special corner of Hell with him.

When he woke up, Germany found himself in a strange wooded area. Italy was right beside him, and he scooped the waking man up into his arms, holding him close. Italy was in shock, and clung to the strong chest offered to him.

"I'm so sorry, Italy. I lied to you." Germany whispered into auburn hair, his own tears trickling from his eyes.

"I'm safe as long as Germany is with me. I've always been safe as long as you were by my side." Italy said, his naïve notion making Germany want to laugh and scream at the same time.

"We need to find a way out of here. Wherever the hell here is." Germany stood up, looking around and taking Italy's hand into his.

"Yeah. But I don't know where this is, and neither do you. How are we supposed to get home?"

"I don't know. But I bet the asshole without a face does." Germany growled, his fear becoming anger. It was fine when the Earl king was only hunting him, but when he added the Italian to the mix, it was going to far. Germany loved Italy, this he could not deny, to himself, or to any other. He was going to find a way to kill the thing that had sprouted from his nation. He controlled it, after all, it came from him. If there was anyone who could kill it, it should be Germany.

"Wait, what if he gets you?" Italy said, looking worried.

"He's my mythology. If anyone can kill him, it would be me." Germany growled, walking into the woods, keeping that iron grip on Italy's hand.

"Wait, what is this, Germany?" Italy asked, going over to where a piece of ancient looking paper lay.

"I don't know. It looks like it's in some language I don't speak." Germany looked at it, recognizing Latin, and looking expectantly at the Italian.

"Wait, I know this. This is Grandpa Rome's handwriting." He said, looking up and finding yet another of the pages a ways down the twisting path through the dark woods.

Dear diary, today Germania and I decided that we need to find a way to take care of our children. We don't know how yet, but we both have magic, and I'm sure we can figure something out. We know that we are going to die soon, and I only hope that they can take care of little Italy.

"Grandpa Rome…" Italy trailed off, looking at the paper. Germany dragged him over to the other piece, gesturing for him to read it aloud as well, and seeing the next paper a ways down the path.

Dear diary, today we consulted Britannia about what she thinks we could do. She says that together we could likely summon a guardian. She said that it's a very powerful creature, which will hold all the magic we put into it. We can choose it's powers, and even what can kill it. It sounds just perfect, but 'Mania wants us to look into it some more, since it sounds too good to be true.

And the next

Dear diary, Germania and I have decided that this really is for the best. I hope that this truly can protect Italy and my little Romano. They have never been very good at fighting, and they are so cute, I know that everyone will want them.

Dear diary, we think that we will give the guardian the ability to transport him, so that way he can protect both the Italy's as well as Holy Rome. It seems interesting, and I hope that we truly can manage it

Dear diary, we are going to make the only things that can kill the guardian our very own swords, which we will then give to our descendants. That way, they can kill him, but no one else can. I hope they don't abuse this power. But I know my little grandsons have hearts better than that!

Dear diary, it is almost time to make the guardian, and I am glad. My wounds are hurting more and more each day, and I will die soon. I wonder if Italy will be able to find this forest, where Germania and I make love. Perhaps one of my grandsons will be the perfect match for Holy Rome as I am for his grandfather.

Dear diary, we are going to make the guardian take people to this forest, in the middle of the space that Germania and I share. It is secret, and sacred. We feel it holds special power, and we hope that the boys will be able to feel as safe here as we do.

Dear diary, today we perform the ritual, and introduce the guardian to the boys, so that they will know it is their protector. Britannia warned us that this is crucial, as it can become mad if created and not given something to protect. I told her that we would be fine. I can't wait to see the look on Italy's face when he learns he never has to be bullied again!

At the end of the path, a clearing appeared, and rather than any more of the journal entries, the two men found two swords.

"This looks like Grandpa Rome's sword." Italy said, walking over to the roman gladius. Germany likewise felt a spark of recognition for the long sword opposite the short blade. He looked over to see Italy holding the sword in his hand, surprisingly able to lift it and swing it around without any strain, in spite of the fact that it was made of heavy bronze. Germany grabbed the long sword, pulling it from the stone with surprising ease.

And as if on cue, they looked back and saw the faceless man, but he was no longer wearing the tuxedo, but rather the purple and red robes of the Earl King. Germany growled, moving protectively in front of Italy, who whimpered with fear. The blade was light in his pale, large hands, and he felt a strength in his arms that went beyond the simply muscles that lay there. He looked at his arm in surprise as the black tank top became a green tunic, and a forest colored cloak appeared on his shoulders, where blonde hair fell. He was wearing fur boots, and when he spoke, his voice was not his own.

"Italy…" he looked over to see, not his innocent Italian, but the strange man who had come into his room that night. Rome.

"This is weird, Germany. Why do we look like our grandpas all of a sudden?" He asked, though his voice was deep and tinged with the same accent as Rome.

"I don't know, but I think this is our bigger problem." Germany said, looking to the large figure that seemed pretty pissed off across the clearing. Germany readied himself to defend the man he was in love with, only to watch the Earl King disappear. He swiveled, and found the tentacle monstrosity behind Italy, and he threw him aside as one of the black tendrils shoved through his chest.

"Germany!" Italy cried in his grandfather's voice, running to the blonde's side, tears running down his face.

"You are the Roman Empire, Italy. Do not cry." Germany said, though he didn't use English, or even german. The language coming from his mouth was one that he did not know, and yet he was speaking it.

"But neither can I run, as I know you were about to tell me. There was only one thing Grandpa could do better than make art and love, and that was fight." Italy said, turning to the monster. He extended his long arms, ready to attack, only to find the bronze blade rammed into his chest.

Black sand started to blow away from the wound, and a horrid shriek came from the monster's mouth, as white ripped open into a black abyss. With a flash of startling white, the monster was gone, and the two men were themselves once more. The swords were no longer in hand, but rather next to two skeletons, in the cloak and armor that had been on Germany and Italy. The two bony hands were clasped together, and Italy realized that this was his grandfather's corpse, and that the hole in both of their middles was the same hole that was in Germany's chest.

He ran to the blonde, whose face was even paler than usual. Tears fell from his eyes, and he was panicking.

"Are you alright, mien Italian?" Germany asked, his voice weak, but a smile gracing his white lips.

"I'm fine, but you aren't. You can't die, Germany… I love you!" Italy shouted, pressing his lips to Germany's. they were shockingly cold, but Germany kissed back, weakly, but still making the effort.

"At least I can die happily now, knowing that you love me as I love you." Germany's hair was a mess, and that smile…Italy knew that face.

"H-holy Rome?" He whispered, wondering if the same Holy Rome mentioned in the diary, the same one he had promised himself to so long ago, had been in front of him the entire time.

"The name was Rome's idea. Said they were the three strongest names he could think of." The heavy northern voice that was momentarily Germany's said, and Italy looked over to see that there were ethereal forms of the bodies laying behind him, though these had all their flesh. Still, their hands were interwoven, looks of bliss upon both their features.

"Grandpa Rome! Please save Germany! I can't live without him!" Italy sobbed, and the two ancients smiled.

"We haven't much magic left, but I think between us both, healing this wound wouldn't be unthinkable." Rome said, the two of them bending over Germany, his eyes unfocused as his breath came in shallow gasps. Warm yellow light washed over him, and suddenly his cheeks started to fill with color once more. He gasped, and shot up, as their grandfathers began to disappear.

"So you call yourself Germany now. I like that name better than what this idiot came up with." Was the last think the german ancestor said before they both faded away to Rome's hearty chuckle.

"Was that…?" Germany asked, and Italy nodded, tackling the now well man to the floor as the forest started to fade around them.

They woke up back in the bathroom, Italy firmly placed on Germany's chest. He tried to get up, only to be held there, strong arms holding him close to a chest where an equally strong heart beat.

"I love you, Italy." Germany whispered, placing a kiss to the tan shoulder, which simply happened to be the closest piece of flesh he could reach with his mouth.

"Ti amo, Germany." Italy replied, putting his lips strongly on the now warm and passionate German's.

From heaven, the two ancients watched, smiling down on their descendants, and deciding to give them some privacy.