AN: Well…I just started writing and this is what came out. It's gonna be multi-chapter, no one's gonna read it…Blah, blah, blah. I don't own any Hetalia characters. Knock yourselves out reading this. –Kaida Amarante-

Life is what it is. There's no way to change that. I like to think that everything happens for a reason and that we all have a set fate ahead of us that we can't change, no matter how hard we try. It just so happens that mine included getting killed. So how am I writing this if I'm dead? That's because I, Bryn Kirkland, am a ghost. It was…three hours ago when the tragedy happened. When the unthinkable happened. When I died at the too-young age of 25.

I had been walking home from college, since my brothers and I lived only a few blocks away from campus, when I was suddenly grabbed and pulled into an alley. I stare up into the face of a smirking man much taller than my 5'5 height staring down at me with a hungry look. "He looks like a girl! Feel how small his waist is!" I yelp as he threw me to another guy, bigger than the other one. Maybe I should have listened to Alistair's advice and built up some muscle. It's not my fault I'm naturally small. "Hold him down." I felt my eyes widen as I struggled against the large man's grip, only to get pinned to the brick wall behind him. He moved to the side and smirked at his buddy, who was smiling at me from behind a pocketknife.

I knew what would happen. "Come on, you don't want to do this. I-I'll do anything you want! Just don't…please, don't hurt me." He came a few steps closer and pressed the knife against my abdomen, causing a slight tear in my cotton t-shirt. "Please, don't do this." The knife suddenly dug into my stomach, causing me to hiss a bit at the pain. "We just…My brothers and I…we just lost our parents to a violent accident…If I get hurt…They won't be able to handle it. Just…let me go and I swear I won't tell anyone." I cried out as he twisted the knife and plunged it downward, digging it into my abs.

He smirked at me as he leaned down and licked at my neck. "No can do. I get off on torture. And the sex is somehow better when they're newly dead." I feel my eyes widen even further and struggle again against the bigger man's grip, wincing as the movement aggravated my open wound. "Keep struggling, boy. Makes it so much more fun." At this, I let out a shrill scream, hoping someone would hear me. The bastard covered my mouth and pressed the knife against my throat. "Attitude problems, hm? Then I'm going to have to get rid of you." My screams and movement stopped short in fear as the one with the pocketknife pressed said knife into my neck and slit my throat from ear to ear. My vision started going black and blurry soon after and I blacked out as I felt my black skinny jeans get pulled down around my ankles.

When I woke up, I was long dead. I actually ended up puking as I stared at my body. I didn't know that the dead could puke, but apparently it's possible. My throat was slit from ear to ear, stained with blood. My abdomen was torn open, blood and guts spilling out onto my grey t-shirt, which was also torn and bloody. Cuts littered my bare thighs, especially inner, and semen was dried around my…well think you get it. But the worst part was looking at my face and arms. Bare arms had words like 'slut' and 'worthless' carved into them and my face…my lips were slightly parted, covered with blood that ran down my chin and cheeks. Wide, brown eyes had lost all light and stared up at nothing. Seeing yourself like this would freak anyone out.

So that's how I ended up here, sitting on the roof of what had been the house I shared with my three brothers. I wonder how they reacted to the news. Arthur probably took it the hardest. He was the youngest after all. Though I have to admit that I was surprised to see a uniformed police officer walk up to the door and knock with a solemn expression. Alistair, my eldest brother, was the one that answered, brushing his disheveled red hair away from his face as he looked the officer up and down with slightly narrowed emerald eyes. "I'm sorry for bothering you, Mr. Kirkland."

"What're ya doing here, Dave? I haven't broken any laws lately." Alistair leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette as he did so.

"It's not about you, Alistair." Alistair scoffed as Dave (I suppose that's his name. How Alistair knew that, I don NOT want to know) looked down with sadness in his eyes. "It's about your brother, Bryn."

My dead heart skipped a beat. "Bryn hasn't been home all day, so you can't talk to him."

"I don't need to. I need to talk to you about him." Alistair's eyes widened.

"Bryn's a good kid. What kind of trouble did he get into? Is he in jail? Did one of his friends get him into something?"

Dave stopped and sighed. "I recommend you sit down, Alistair."

"Hell no! Not until you tell me what happened to Bryn!"

"He's dead, Alistair." Alistair's already pale face went as white as a sheet. "He…Bryn Cymry Kirkland was murdered…raped…mutilated…I'm so sorry…"

There was a silence as Alistair used the doorframe to hold himself upright. "No…quit lying! He's not dead! Bryn isn't dead! Not Bryn! Anyone but Bryn!" At this, Alistair burst into quiet tears. I knew it was my fault. It was my fault that the strongest person I had ever known was breaking down. If I had been more careful…less stupid…"He can't be gone…"

I was on my way to go down there to try to comfort him when I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You can't intervene. You're an angel now." I spin and stare into the face of man probably younger than I was with crimson eyes and silver hair. "As an angel, you can't change fate."

"Fate can't be changed anyway." I look back at my brother, who is on the ground crying at this point. "No one can change anyone's fate. That's why I ended up dead." That's right, it wasn't my fault at all, was it? No, anything I had done differently still would have ended with me dying this day.

"Angels can change fate." Things need to quit shocking me today…"But we're forbidden to do it. It's…against angel law."

God, Arthur came to check on Alistair. This wouldn't end well. Wait, why was Alistair sending him inside and closing the door? "How did he die? I don't care how gruesome it is, just tell me. I think I deserve to know."

Dave glanced up at Alistair, who towered over him, and sighed. "Throat was slit, multiple stab wounds and scratch marks to the arms and legs, abdomen was sliced open, guts laid out beside him. But the worst part? He was raped, also. But the imbecile left DNA. That'll make it easier to identify him." Alistair leaned back again, covering his mouth.

"How much was he awake for?"

"Awake…we're not sure…Alive, probably until his organs started getting removed. According to the coroner, he was alive for the rape." Alistair shuddered and hid his face. "I don't even want to know what the kid was thinking or feeling."

The silver haired angel pulled me into a hug, his breath surprisingly warm on my neck for someone who was dead. "How much of that do you remember?"

"Until my throat got slit…that was the beginning…then…" I closed my eyes tight and leaned into the warm body behind me. "I keep getting these flashes…rape…pain…blood…blood, everywhere…" His grip around me tightened as tears started flowing down my cheeks. "It hurt…"

"I know." He kissed the top of my head and turned me to face him. "But now you're with awesome me, so nothing will hurt you anymore. By the way, I'm Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Bryn. My name's Bryn."