Disclaimer:Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me. They are property of Himaruya.

~X~

"Arthur James Kirkland."

The teen's head snapped up, glaring defiantly at the darkness. "Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" Bottle green eyes searched the shadows, hoping to bring clarity to this bizarre situation.

He heard a chuckle. "Temper. Do you realize what is going on, child? Where you are, even?" His voice caressed over the words, sending an unwelcome shudder through Arthur's system.

Arthur huffed in irritation as he tried to get a closer look at the speaker. He couldn't see the ground he walked upon, but it certainly wasn't going to stop him from moving forward. "It's a dream," he said definitively. "I'm asleep on the plane. And more the point, I'm not a child."

"Oh, but you are, Arthur." He could almost hear the smirk in the voice. "That's actually one of the reasons I'm speaking to you."

"Will you shut up and get to the damn point?" Arthur snapped.

There was a marked pause, and a low chuckle. "Let's make a deal, shall we? I'm sure you won't regret it."

~X~

Arthur Kirkland peered over the edge of the two-story home he stood on. A small grimace turned the corners of his lips. He was regretting his decision more than ever.

The roof's tiles were rough beneath his combat boots, and he could feel the chill of the early-April night on his exposed skin. A soft breeze caused him to tense farther, the teen hypersensitive to everything around him.

He never should have made a deal with Death. It was probably the stupidest thing he had done in his short life. It was a hell of a lot worse than the tattoo he got when drunk, or the tongue piercing a few weeks after. Sure, the deal had sounded appealing at the time, but now….

Now, he had priorities. Getting irate over a done deal wouldn't help him now. Instead, he had to try and get his bearings the best he could. Best he get it over with.

The area he was in was unfamiliar to him. It was a suburban neighborhood with nothing but perfect cookie-cutter homes, and lives. A place where Arthur obviously didn't belong.

If anyone were to see him on the roof, they would immediately call the cops. Green dye still clung to the tips of his once bright blond hair, and hints of eyeliner rimmed his bright eyes. His clothing was tattered from years of hard wear, and some of it was only held together by safety pins. Even his posture was hunched over, crouching on the roof of a home he surely didn't belong on.

In a word, he looked suspicious.

He realized this; if he could change his appearance, he would in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, he couldn't do a thing about it. Not anymore. He was going to be stuck looking like a teenage punk until he repaid his debt.

After nearly an hour of patient waiting, his target came into sight, and his frown deepened.

Arthur used to be partial to Mr. Stephens; he was a good professor. He judged the teen based on his intelligence, not his piercings and brightly colored hair.

But, work was work. Or, that's what he told himself as his grip on the bow tightened. It didn't matter how much he liked the man ten years ago; what mattered was that if Arthur didn't do this, then he would lose his shot to come back.

He had too much blood on his hands to turn back now.

He pulled an arrow from behind his back, and carefully notched it. Slowly, he eased it back until he couldn't force any more give from the bow. "Sorry, professor," he whispered as he let it loose.

A loud 'snap' reverberated through the once-silent night. The man on the streets below collapsed, and hit the ground heavily. Arthur's aim was as perfect as ever; one shot straight through the heart.

Something twisted in the teen's gut. It didn't get any easier to hear the thud of a body hit the ground. Ninety six deaths hadn't made this one any more bearable. If anything, this was the hardest so far.

He was never forced to take the life of someone he knew before.

He allowed himself to fall from the roof, landing noiselessly on the pavement. 'Just get it over with,' he told himself as he approached the dead body.

It was unnerving to look at the corpse of someone you once knew. The past decade wasn't kind to the man; his hair had thinned significantly, and he looked worn down.

Now, death's pallor clung to his skin. Hazel eyes fixed unseeing on the night sky. There was no blood, and when Arthur finished his assignment, there would be no evidence of foul play. He would be considered another heart attack victim.

Cold fingers locked around the blackened arrow, and with a sharp tug, it dissolved in his hands as the man's soul was released.

"Three more," he murmured aloud. "Then I can be done with this hell of a job." Turning on his heel, he disappeared into the night, like the ghost he almost was.

~X~

Sunlight was beginning to touch the sky as Arthur shoved open the door to what looked like any other corporate building. Several people were milling around the lobby, some as young as thirteen, while others were well into their forties and fifties. All of them were just like him; dead and looking for a way out.

Likely, it was an introductory day. People normally didn't linger here longer than necessary. While the white tiled floors and cream colored walls didn't raise much alarm, there was an aura about this place that made people shy away. It was as if they could sense the darkness that went on here.

A man with shoulder-length blond hair and sharp green eyes was seated behind the main desk. Vash Zwingli, from what Arthur understood, had made a different sort of deal than Arthur had. Instead of dead bodies, he was paying with years of service. Sometimes, Arthur was sure that Vash had a harder deal than he did.

"Your last three kills, Kirkland," he said with disdain. In his hand, he held three different files. Impatiently, he motioned the boy over. "I don't want to hold these damned things all day."

Dutifully, Arthur made his way across the tile floor. "Know how much time is left on my sentence?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't know, don't care. Now if that's all you're here for, get out. I have enough problems without you running around." With that, he slammed the folders against the desk, causing some of the other people to look over.

"How much time do you have left?" he asked quietly as he took the files. Vash had been here for at least as long as Arthur; he didn't think deals lasted too much longer than fifteen years on average.

A small shift in his expression told Arthur more than he needed to know. "Too long," he muttered. "At this rate, even Braginski will get out before me."

Arthur shook his head. The Russian had been here for over half a century and he still had a long way to go. "I head one of us got out. Know who?"

"What part of 'don't know, don't care' don't you get?" he asked testily. "It was the Italian one," he admitted with a sigh. "Lovino. About time, honestly, he'd been here too long."

Arthur tried not to smile. "Well, best of luck. Hopefully we'll meet on the other side."

The Swiss man scoffed. "Not likely. Now get out; I don't want to see you back here."

Arthur couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. He knew Vash well enough to translate what he had just said.

'I hope so too. Now get out and finish so you can finally be done with this cursed deal.'

He didn't open the folders just yet; curious as he was, the building made him tense. The glass door was cold on his hand as he pulled it open for what he hoped would be the last time.

The sun felt good on his skin. Instinctively, he tilted his head back to bask in the warmth for at least a little while. He had nothing pressing to attend to anyways.

~X~

'Three months', Arthur thought in disgust. He wouldn't be free until mid-July. He could care less about the last three deaths he was about to cause, but the fact that they were so spread out… That upset him.

The typical wait-time he had between kills was about one month. It was normal to take out three people in three months, but this time… It felt much different this time. To know that these were his last victims and to have to wait three months before he was done was hard for him to deal with.

For the twelfth time, he went over the names and dates of the soon-to-be deceased. Just to make sure that he had them right.

Andrea Parks would be killed next Thursday. That wasn't a big deal. He could find a way to amuse himself for a week or so. He had done it multiple times before.

Arthur would then have to wait over a month before he could kill Peter Michaels. That would test his patience. He was getting anxious just thinking about what he would do with that amount of time.

But the worst was Francis Bonnefoy. There was almost a two month gap between Peter and Francis. Arthur thought he would likely go insane during that wait. To be so close to success, but not being able to actually attain it for two agonizing months… Excruciating.

In a way, though, this would be easier. He didn't know a single one of these people. None of them were particularly interesting to him. There was no reason he should have trouble taking any of them out.

The files were tucked away, and Arthur decided that now was as good a time as any to acquaint himself with the people he was going to kill.