Pain and sadness hung from the room like thick, musty tapestries. The only light was the yellow seeping through the crack around the edge of the door, and it was only barely enough to luminate a slit of the room. The trail of light burnt a hole through the darkness, revealing a mess of clothes and weapons, all caked in dirt. Photos and newspapers lay crumpled and stepped on, so the faces and words were lost in smears, water and mud. Just before the light began its ascent up the wall, a white hand interrupted as it lay motionlessly across the beams path.

A young man sat in the darkness, red eyes blank and unseeing, still reeling from the recent pain still evident on his face. Breathing out, his eyes focused to watch the dust motes spiral past the light, briefly illuminated as he exhaled. Eyelids dropped to mask his sight and he steadily inhaled through his nose. His pale hand tensed and relaxed with his breathing.

From outside his room, there was the sound of raised voices; someone, a man, shouting about rights and disgust. Ludwig, the personification of Germany, his brother was the source of the din. Though now it was a different voice, one of an indignant girl. A resounding clang meant that Elizaveta, or Hungary, had just concussed someone with her infamous frying pan. The corner of the albino man's mouth twitched up into a ghost of a smile.

His relaxed posture broke as a third voice entered his ears. Eyes snapped back open and he looked up towards a patch of darkness, to something he knew was there. Pushing himself up so his back was straight against the wall, his gaze flicked from the darkness to the door, finally setting on the hidden object. His body sagged again.

Then another voice, this one more of a surprise, the voice of Roderich. What Austria was doing so furiously shouting was a mystery; he was normally the quietest of the four somewhere outside, the most dignified and calm. It still didn't pique his interest enough to coax him into moving. What the world outside his darkness was doing was no longer of relevance to him.

Well, he'd have liked that, but the noise grew louder as the people moved towards his room.

"In the politest possible manner; fuck off."

"You have no fucking right being here!"

"Fuck off."

"You haven't even said why you want to see the Nation you've destroyed!"

"Nor the man!"

"Fuck off, I'm not explaining myself to you."

There was a noise that told him that someone outside had been punched and there was a consequential thud as they smashed into the wall.

There was a stream of curses in a mixture of an old language he didn't recognise and German which he knew very well. Then the voice repeated, 'Fuck off' and started talking in a low whisper. No longer being able to pick out the words, the man lost interest. Heated mutters were cut off as someone snapped in a perfectly audible voice;

"If you don't fuck off and let me in now your brother's going to die!"

Then the door opened wide enough to allow a dark silhouette to fit through, before slamming closed to the stunned silence.

The man remained motionless. Lock clicking in the door, the person who had entered turned and felt around the wall to find a light switch. He found it and in a few moments the room was revealed. In its centre tied up to some metal post that had long since lost its purpose, hung a noose.

Both men's gaze fixed on the black and white fabric.

"The Prussian flag?" the new arrival said flatly.

"Three of them, actually," the other responded, tone emotionless.

"Very tasteful," was the dry reply.

Both lapsed into silence. The man on the floor eventually wondered why his 'sanctuary' had been invaded, and why the intruder in question didn't seem to be at all fazed by the scene he'd stormed into.

"Why are you here, England?" The name was spoken with distinct venom.

England, or Arthur as he was known to some, didn't reply immediately. Sinking down to the ground at the other side of the room, ignoring the chaos on the floor, he looked blankly at the noose.

"Because I knew that you'd do something like this."

"You did?"

He'd thought he'd been quite clever about it. Ludwig and the others had let him go to his room alone; if they expected him to do anything, they would have stopped him. Arthur didn't reply.

"This is your fault." There was no accusation in his tone, just cold assurance.

"I know, Prussia."

That provoked movement from the other man. On his feet in seconds, Gilbert, he would not think of his Other Name, took one of the discarded guns from the ground and aimed it at England's head.

"Don't you dare call me that, you bastard."

Arthur looked past the barrel of the gun to meet the furious man's red eyed gaze.

"Why didn't you use that?"

That threw Gilbert off; he'd expected Arthur to rise and produce his own weapon at the threat.

"Use what?"

"A gun. Any of them," the blonde Englishmen gestured around the room, at the weapons scattered on the floor. "There are plenty here. A better way to go, surely, than hanging like a criminal."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, but was surprised enough to reply seriously. "I didn't want them to hear," he jerked his head at the door. "That way's silent," he finished looking to the flags still tied to the ceiling.

"I see." The gun hadn't wavered throughout the exchange. "So you care enough for them to not immediately tell them you have killed yourself, but you'll still hang yourself with your countries flag. Because that's so much better." Arthur's tone was less flat now, more sharp, cynical and characteristic.

"It's hardly my flag now is it," Gilbert replied, smirking as Arthur flinched. "And whose fault is it? Yours, you son of a bitch."

Gilbert moved forward, as if he was going to hit Arthur with the gun, but decided against it half way through the movement and carelessly dropped the gun.

"What's the fucking point."

He turned and kicked his way past the mess on the floor to his original seat. "What do you want, England. You can hardly take anything else."

"I could, but apparently you've decided to do that for yourself," Arthur replied, flicking the noose so it swung.

Something inside Gilbert snapped. Unbidden, tears started streaking down his face and his eyes were burning through the wetness.

"What have I got? You and your fucking friends, I've got nothing thanks to you! I'm a Nation, and you've dissolved my country!"

He furiously wiped the tears across his face, though more took their place instantly. "Why am I even still here? All the others disappeared, forgotten! What happens next?"

Arthur was frozen, and Gilbert pressed on. "Am I a Nation or a Human? Do I live forever with the rest of you, or am I mortal now?" he was getting louder, and there was a thump on the other side of the door. The other three were listening? These thoughts flitted straight through his head.

"Am I stuck like this? A Nation on its fucking knees, about to die? I've got no people, they're not changing anymore, so do I just stay like this?" He crumpled against the wall.

"Forever, Arthur. I can't imagine staying like this forever. It hurts so fucking much." His fist smacked over his heart with such force it must have been painful.

Arthur watched silently as the man he effectively destroyed sobbed. Gilbert's breathing was coming out in ragged gasps, choking on air and tears and convulsing every few seconds. Silently, Arthur walked over to the fallen Nation and slid down the wall to sit next to him.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert. I know it's not worth anything. But I am."

There were a few more strangled sobs then, "Fuck you."

Giving a wry smile, Arthur turned away from him. "Yeah, I know."

Gilbert turned and punched him. His jaw cracking in an altogether horrible fashion, Arthur rolled slightly with the blow and took it without a sound of protest.

"Feel better?" he asked, his mouth aching with pain and blood trailing down his chin from a split lip.

"Much, actually."

Snorting, England stood up. He cast a glance towards Gilbert, and then walked towards the noose of flags. A stack of various objects made steps up to it- boxes, books and clothes all crammed together. He fingered the soft material of the Prussian flag.

"I've tried, you know."

Not responding immediately, Gilbert composed himself. Eventually he replied. "Tried what?"

"To commit suicide. To kill myself."

Silence hung between them. Forgetting himself and the fact he didn't give shit about his enemy, Gilbert asked in a shocked voice;

"What? Seriously?"

"Yes."

"...When?"

"Many times. Across the centuries..."

Gilbert's mind reeled. The great pirate, empire, Nation, had tried to kill himself? Arthur obviously sensed his disbelief.

"The first time..." Arthur's voice was soft and empty. "Was when I realised I'd killed my mother."

"...What?"

"You know how a Nation is usually born, right?"

Gilbert nodded. "The first Human to name the land, I know."

"That's not how I came about. I'm the second representative."

This was news to Gilbert.

"My mother was the first. She called herself 'Angle'. She was born the normal way; she came to England with one of it' first settlers, the 'Angles'. For seven thousand years, I think, she was the land and its people. They changed a lot, England kept getting invaded. It was hard on her, but she was still changing and adapting with her nation. But then the Romans came..." he was silent and Gilbert waited, enraptured.

"I was born then, of her. Looking like her, but different, I was to personify the new England because the change was so great and she was so tired... And I killed her. She cared for me and loved me, but my very existence meant she couldn't.

"I didn't know that at first. But I figured it out... That's when I tried the first time." Tears ebbed slowly from the Englishmen's eyes, and he made no move to wipe them away.

"Arthur-" Gilbert was silenced with a look from Arthur.

"Then I did the same thing. I knew what I was doing, though I didn't realise it at the time. America. I went with France and we both fought for this part of the New World; Alfred. That was the name of England's first king, you know. Alfred. And he was born when we arrived, as I was for the Romans. But this time it was me invading, conquering and the personification of the Native Americans was killed rather than my mother. I made it happen. I killed America's mother and still called him my brother."

Gilbert watched, transfixed, as Arthur slowly ascended the wonky steps.

"My brothers, I had so many. Scotland, Wales and Ireland; my older brothers of blood or as close as you can get when you are a Nation. We never did get along. They threw stones at me when I was little. Probably the kindest thing they ever did for me; I learnt to be physically stronger that way. Maybe that's what they intended..."

He trailed of thoughtfully, looping the noose round his hands.

"Then my many adoptive brothers and colonies... America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong and the rest. None stayed, of course. Caged little birds, if you love them let them go, something like that. If they love you they come back. Of course, they want to be independent. As Nations, they have every right, to be fair to them. None ever came back, but you'd know all about that wouldn't you?"

Gilbert knew he was referring to the American War of Independence. He helped train Alfred's army.

"And of course, that little brat Sealand," Arthur smiled slightly. "My darling little brother. 'Jerk England,' that's my name to him. Another time I tried. I think I went to Beachy Head the time I spent too long thinking about my 'family'."

"You're fucking insane."

"Yeah… I guess."

Arthur gently placed the loop around his neck. "Nations all have dark histories… There's never been a time when no where on the planet has been fighting."

"So why haven't you just given up then?" Gilbert was slightly traumatised by this encounter. England was a git that had possibly killed him by dissolving his country and he was set on hating him. Justifiably. But it was difficult not to be sympathetic when aforementioned enemy was going telling him of how much he hated himself, while going through the motions of suicide.

On that note. "England, get down. I'm not explaining to your stupid Allies why you're dead in my room."

"Why haven't I just given up?" Arthur repeated Gilbert's question, and to Gilbert's horror he stepped off the boxes.

Only to land straight on his feet, the noose still round his neck with one piece attached to the ceiling. At some point he'd cut the flags apart.

"Because I've stopped myself every single time." He removed the rope. "Because I still have people to represent, I still have England. I need to stay alive for them. And my brothers, who apparently like me enough to let me be representative of our countries. I've just fought a war with America on my side, he's still here, and the others I still see."

"Gilbert, just because you think the world's shit and will never get better doesn't mean that everyone does. The World's not going to suddenly commit mass suicide and just end every problem. So we need to stay alive for that, to try for them. You're still here, so are you people. Just because they're under a different name. That's what I'm still alive for. For them, for the sacrifice my mother made and to try and rectify all the shit I've upset in the past."

Gilbert looked at him. "I think you should fuck off now."

Arthur grinned, the expression plastic and dead in his emerald green gaze. "Here's another reason, Prussia," he said in an airy tone. He walked over to the door and swung it open without hesitation.

Elizaveta fell forward and only barely saved herself from landing on her face. She was clutching her frying pan- obviously having been just listening at the door- and behind her stood Roderich and Ludwig, both looking angry and worried. Shooting forward, Hungary dropped her weapon and launched herself towards Prussia, hugging him tightly round the neck and shouting at him in German.

Ludwig pushed past Roderich in his haste to get to his brother, kicking past all the things on the floor also speaking in German, and from his tone he was telling his brother off for keeping his room in such a condition. Arthur smiled wryly as Ludwig prised Hungary off his brother and flicked the iron wrought cross Gilbert was still wearing, talking in rapid undertone.

Turning, England walked past Roderich who was watching him carefully. He said something that Arthur couldn't translate and held his hand out. Arthur tossed the noose towards Austria who caught it and toyed with the soft black and white material.

"I will not thank you. This was still your fault," Roderich said stiffly, his voice quiet.

"I know," Arthur shrugged in response. "I wouldn't expect you too. I'll see myself out, shall I?"

The blonde walked down the corridor and didn't turn back to watch Roderich drop the noose and dart into Gilbert's room. He passed through the dimly lit and scarcely decorated house, refusing to think of how his destroyed surroundings were largely his own fault. Letting himself out the house and walking out into the street, Arthur was soaked almost immediately by the down pour of rain.

Vaguely wishing he'd brought an umbrella, Arthur hunched up inside his jacket and skulked off into the foreign streets. He'd only gone a few roads before he came to a park and sank down onto a soaking wet bench. Tilting his head up towards the sky, England listened to the rain hit the leaves on the surrounding trees and make ripples in the dark water of the lake somewhere to his right. Green eyes closed against the sky as Arthur relished the quiet solitude the earlier hours of the morning and the heavy rain allowed him. His hair caught together in wet locks and flattened against his face, while rain drops trailed steadily down his face and neck wiping away the blood that had remained since Gilbert hit him. Arthur let out a long sigh.

"Angleterre, you look entirely too ravishing like that," someone breathed into his ear and an arm slipped round his waist.

Arthur's eyes snapped open and letting out a muffled noise of surprise, he fell off the bench. "What the bloody-"

"Iggy!" an entirely different voice interrupted. "We've been looking for you for ages! What happened to your face?"

England sat up his fingers chilled by the cold grass, and met the amused blue eyed gaze of his Ally, Francis who was lounging across the bench holding a red umbrella over his head. Then he was yanked to his feet with inhumane force, his gaze redirected towards Alfred.

"You're all wet, Iggy," the blonde pointed out with an oblivious grin, his glasses specked with raindrops.

"Yeah, I'd figured that one out on my own actually," Arthur retaliated, trying to avoid being impaled with Alfred's umbrella; which was closed and currently being swung around. "Stop waving that thing around!"

Alfred stopped. "Sorry, Iggy."

"Why aren't you actually using it? You're freezing. And why the hell are you here?"

"You can't talk, Angleterre," Francis pointed out, rising from the bench and holding his umbrella over both himself and England. "Why on Earth are you in Germany, at three in the morning, in the rain?"

Arthur shrugged and dodged the question. "Three in the morning? Seriously? I haven't eaten since yesterday; I'm going to go get something to eat."

"Yeah! I'm starving, but we need to go somewhere else to eat. France is closest," Alfred grinned, effectively inviting himself to Francis' house.

"Actually, I was thinking of making something myself."

Arthur's suggestion was met by furious protests, and Francis briefly forgot to pursue his question. Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrist and hauled him off through the sodden streets proclaiming that he 'would find the best restaurant ever because he's the hero!' Arthur in turn grabbed Francis so he wouldn't have to suffer Alfred alone and the three made their way out of the park.

It didn't take long for America to drag him past Prussia's home, and though neither Francis nor Alfred noticed where they where- they were arguing over what they'd eat- Arthur looked up towards the house despite himself.

For a second his gaze met a pair of bright red eyes filled with confidence and fire. Prussia smirked down at him from the window of his room, Roderich standing behind him with his arms folded.

"That's not how the awesome nation of Prussia's going down," Gilbert mouthed down to him, before he retreated back into the room and the curtains swung closed.

Arthur smiled. Saving someone else; another thing to live for.

This is my first ever Hetalia fanfiction... I'm not sure I particularly like it. A lot more Angst-y than what I usually do, and the attention seems to be a bit choppy. It hasn't been beta'd so if anyone would mind helping me improve it, I'd love you forever...

Disclaimer- You know what? I own Hetalia, fwafwafwa. Now who believed me? What is the point of these disclaimer things? Seriously.