DISCLAIMER: Hetalia's not mine, but it'd be cool of it was.
WARNINGS: Character deaths and dodgy French.
AN: So I was rereading the Hunger Games, and started wondering how Alfred would feel about the whole thing - but then, how did he get to that point? So this is not so much a Hunger Games thing, as an apocalyptic fic. I hope I got Canadian places right, I'm so very bad at geography :3
One last thing! I've given England's brothers names too - Lachlann (Scotland), Caellum (Ireland) and Dylan (Wales)
He had found Matthew first. Plumes of smoke threatened to choke him as he stumbled through what had been Ottawa, searching blindly for any signs of life. There had to be someone in the tattered ruins of his brothers nation, anyone. For five whole hours he searched, refusing to accept the alternative. Finally, he came to the heart of Ottawa itself. There, in the rubble of what had been one of Canada's most majestic buildings, he found his brother. The little boy he'd grown up with, half-buried in the mangled remains of his Parliament. Coughing up ruby liquid. Shaking far too much. Dying.
I...I'm sorry Alfred... I...
"No Mattie, no, no please, don't! Mattie! Mattie!"
S'the end... I'm sorry Alfred... You were the best, y'know?
"Damn it Mattie, no! I'm gonna save you! Don't, please, just don't-"
...I love you, big brother...
"... Mattie?"
Francis was in an even worse state. The charred streets of Paris were burnt beyond recognition, the once gorgeous coastlines submerged beneath the ocean. He found the man, broken and battered, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. It stood crooked, casting shadows in the late evening sun. The place no longer felt warm and inviting. It was cold and desolate. The shattered man trembled in his arms, weeping softly for his friends, family; his people. For the other nations as well as his citizens. He drew shaky last breaths.
Ah, Amérique... I am afraid... I cannot last for much longer...
"No, c'mon Francis, you'll be okay, lemme help you up!"
Non... I cannot... Please, do not make me... I have come to my end, mon petit...
"Francis? No, come on, just don't okay? Francis!"
D-Désolé...
"... Francis?"
Arthur's whole family was gone. Lachlann, trying to reach his brothers, and had got down as far as Edinburgh, before the storms tore his country to shreds. Caellum had been long gone, the water having sunk the even smaller island already. Dylan had held on longer, but the tide had grown closer and closer, until there was no way to fight it off. Britain, the tiny island, so far from his own home, so small in comparison. Arthur had outlasted nearly everyone. It was by mere chance that he had been in one of the towering offices of London when the floods began. He survived the storms that ravaged his coastlines, bearing scars nonetheless. He'd survived the death of his people; just, as the few survivors clung to life. Even when the Thames overflowed and washed out the city of London, he had dragged himself into a corner and clung on. When Alfred found him, he was barely conscious. He was soaked, from the waves that had crashed through the windows, even at this height, shivering, coughing and freezing.
A-Alfred... you came all the way... here?
"Ah, Arthur, 'course I did - for you! You can't go now, please, don't! You're the only one left!"
I...I'm so sorry for this... I don't... don't want to leave you a-alone... but it's the end...
"N-no Arthur, no it's not! Arthur! Arthur!"
I...I'm sorry, Alfred... Please... be strong... you're... you're the worlds only hero n-now...
"...Arthur?"
He moved the bodies. He travelled around the world, finding friends among the remains of their country. He scoured their land, until he found somewhere with enough solid ground. With a shovel he'd picked up halfway through Italy, he dug graves for his friends. A moment of silence, a goodbye, then he moved on.
It took him just over two years to bury them all.