Autumn Leaves, Summer Breeze
A USUK fanfic
Romance, Angst (I'm not sure if this falls under Angst or Hurt/Comfort...)
Rated M for dark theme
Warning: Character death, angst, Scotland, Ireland, Wales and Australia OCs, a happy (?) ending (contradictory of the angst genre)
By pasuterukyan FF; kesefusohon LJ; msmstee Tumblr
{ Scotland - Alastair, Ireland - Caitlin, Wales - Gwyneth, Australia - Jett }
November 17th.
Time ticked away, counting Arthur's last breaths. He was lying down on his bed, in his immaculate room, with boring taste for design. By his deathbed's side were his siblings: Alastair, Caitlin and Gwyneth, Peter, Jett, Francis and Alfred.
It was incurable. It was inevitable. It was something bound to happen, to any nation this cruel fate might befall. No one saw it coming right now, though. They didn't think that his time would come so early.
Arthur had become a mortal.
Arthur Kirkland was merely a nation's personification. His body was too old and worn-out to carry on, his poor health along with England's deteriorating economy. He needed to be replaced. And it was easy as dying. His immortalisation has been removed, making him a human. He was a human being who's lived for centuries. Normally, humans don't survive that long. When Arthur turned into a mortal, his health quickly deteriorated, making up for all those years in a flash.
Arthur would come back. They knew all too well that he would. But they didn't want it to happen. They say if a dead nation were to be reborn, they would be totally different. It would be a completely different Arthur. A completely different person. It wouldn't be the same. That's what they are scared of.
The very moment Arthur came down with a fever, and passed out while he was talking to Alfred on the phone, Alfred rushed right over. Horrified at the mangled body of his lover, sprawled out on the dining room's floor, he didn't know what to do. Arthur awoke moments later, and told him that he was dying. Dying. He asked Alfred to inform his brothers and his sisters, and Francis.
And there they were, crowded beside Arthur's deathbed.
Alfred was silently crying beside Arthur's head, his face buried into his pillow. Arthur heard him, but his strength wouldn't let him do anything to calm him down.
Caitlin and Gwyneth were asleep beside each other on two adjacent chairs, having cried themselves to sleep, cheeks stained with tracks of dried tears.
Alastair was looking out the window, his face was stony. He was grieved, though he kept calm and tried not to show it. The lit cigarette between his fingers released a thin film of smoke. It would probably be the last one he'll ever smoke. He remembered those times when Arthur was young; he would nag him to quit smoking. Those times he'd chide him, but he'd pay no attention to what Arthur had to say. This would probably be the last cigarette. Alastair would quit smoking, in the memory of Arthur's death, even if the fulfilment of the request was late… several centuries too late. It's all right; Arthur would still have wanted it for me. Even beyond the grave… he thought.
Peter was leaning against Francis, hysterically sobbing. Francis murmuring silent prayers, even if he knew prayers wouldn't save Arthur anymore. No one tried to calm Peter down. Let him cry, they all said. Peter was actually relieved, to be allowed to pour out all his tears like this. Even if they all knew Arthur wouldn't want Peter's crying face to be the last memory of him that he takes to the next world.
Jett was beside Alfred, rubbing Alfred's back absentmindedly as he looked at the face of the man who he had known as his brother. He was in a daze.
Arthur's breathing was alternating between heavy and laboured, and shallow and calm. His temperature was skyrocketing to the high heavens.
"Alfred...?" Arthur whispered to him.
"...Artie..." Alfred replied, slightly raising his head from the pillow, gazing into Arthur's dull, green, half-closed eyes.
"You know, I don't want to leave you... Any of you, for that matter." he gave him the tiniest of smiles. Alfred felt the tears coming on again.
"I.. Don't.. Want to leave you too, Artie..." he choked out, a lump forming in his throat, making it hard for him to speak.
"But you know what, they say dying is quicker than falling asleep..." he paused. "I think it's a relief, that I'm finally getting the rest I deserve..."
Alfred couldn't answer. To accept Arthur's death was the horrible truth, and the truth always hurts. To deny his dying would be selfish, it was showing that he was deluded and that he refused to let go. He planted a kiss on Arthur's forehead, letting it stay there. His brows were knitted together in a frown, he bit his lips, and closed his eyes.
"You're going to die..." Alfred said.
"I know that, you git." Arthur gave a short chuckle. Even on his last hour on Earth, he'd laugh and insult Alfred.
"You're... going to die... But, you'll always be with me, aren't you?" his voice cracked and his voice wavered.
"Of course, love... I'll always love you... And I will stay with you no matter what." he replied, his breathing going steady.
"Thank you, Arthur. For everything." he said, a peaceful smile on his lips. This was his goodbye to him. This was his last farewell. The last chance he'll ever get.
"Thank you too, Alfred..." he said, his voice barely audible, as his last breath was exhausted.
His final breath. His last words. His life's closing act. He died with a smile on his face. Death isn't sweet, death wasn't supposed to be happy. "But Arthur died a happy death. It's somehow an irony." Alfred chuckled, talking to no one in particular. "He finally got his long deserved rest." he smiled peacefully, looking out the window wistfully.
Alastair sighed. Caitlin and Gwyneth were asleep. Peter's cries had reduced to hiccups and silent tears. Francis stopped praying. Jett looked at a single spot on the wall in front of him, still in a trance.
"I love you, Arthur." he said silently.
The autumn leaves blew away.
November 18th.
Everyone was in semi-formal attire. The casket lay in front of them. Arthur's face was peaceful and calm. Bouquets of flowers, arranged in front of them, decorating the platform where Arthur's casket lay. Nations like Arthur attended his funeral. Men and women were mourning. It was a shared silence among them all.
Alfred cleared his throat and stood up, walked to the podium beside the casket.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to take this moment of silence for a eulogy." he spoke into the microphone.
"All of you here know this fine man. All of you here are aware of the impact he has left on this planet, the footsteps he had left in history. No matter how young or old you are, you know him.
"Arthur... He is a kind person. He is smart, he is a gentleman, he is strong and brave and he is... indescribable. He was the one who raised me, and even when I wasn't his younger brother anymore, he still treated me like family. Sometimes, he would get all haughty and huge pain in the ass, and sometimes he would push people away from him. He always got hurt in the past. Emotional scars left by other people, me included, made him think that he was better off alone. He told me many times that no one needed him. That no one would remember him. I replied many times that I needed him, and that many others need him, and that I'll never forget. Up until his dying day, he probably never realised how much he meant to us.
"I regret that there were some things that I never got to say to him, or things that I never got to do with him. It was too late when I realised.
"You guys have your own share of memories with Arthur. Cherish them. No token, remembrance, or any material possession would be greater than the power memories possess. Remember all the happy, sad, funny, annoying things you remember about him. I know no amount of reminiscence would bring back the dead, but... it will be as if we are reliving those days with him. As if he was with us again. He would know that he's not alone, even on the other side, and that dead or not, he is not forgotten. He is inside our hearts; he is a part of our memories. He won't be forgotten or be left alone. He... is a great man." he paused for a moment before everyone started clapping.
"Ah, I just rambled on a bit there... Why are they clapping...?" he said confusedly to Matthew, to whom he was seated next to.
"Well, it's because those words were spoken from the heart, and that we all feel the same way." Matthew smiled at Alfred.
He nodded back at him. "Yeah… straight from the heart." he said, a smile on his face as he looked up, as if he was facing Arthur and Arthur was looking down from the heavens.
March 3
"Hi Artie... It's me again." Alfred faced the tombstone, engraved o it were the words, "Here lies Arthur Kirkland, who died on November 17, in the year two-thousand and seventeen.
All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players."
"So…" he sat down in front of the piece of carved rock, his knees up in front of him.
"Happy birthday." he said shortly. "It's your 'human' birthday, right?" he chuckled. "You did say you prefer having two birthdays, right? One birthday for the whole nation of England and one birthday all to yourself." he smiled wistfully at it.
He pulled out a rectangular plastic container. A slice of cake was in there, neatly placed in the centre.
"It's your favourite flavour. Chocolate mousse." he said, a sad smile on his face. "I wanted to share it with you, but it looks like it's only me eating this year." he opened the container and took the fork that came with it.
"I'd love to leave you some for you to eat later, but someone might see it and steal the cake." he laughed in between bites.
"I miss you, Arthur. March 3 isn't the same without you." he stopped eating and looked at the grass beneath his feet.
"I want you to come back..." he whispered as he started tearing up.
His mind went clear again, and he rubbed his eyes in frustration. "S-sorry… I'm being selfish again." he grunted.
"Happy birthday again." he said, replacing the container's lid. He gently placed it down on the grass, along with a bouquet of assorted flowers, and a letter. He had no idea why he left the cake there, especially after he had told Arthur that he wouldn't.
"I have to go, babe. I'll come back soon again. I love you." he said, his lip quivering and his voice wavering. His chest was starting to hurt, starting to constrict his lungs.
"Happy birthday, Artie." he sniffed, allowing the warm tears to flow freely down his cheeks.
He turned away, walking to the parking area. Honestly, he can never stand at least an hour in the cemetery. He always ends up breaking down into tiny little pieces.
He tried to promise to Arthur that he wouldn't cry over him. But it never worked.
June 14
"I now call upon this world meeting." Alfred enunciated clearly across the room. Matthew was beside him, his notebook out and a pen in hand. The seat beside him was always vacant.
"So." he clapped his hands together. "Anything you guys want to discuss?" Alfred asked them, his eyes looking at each and every one of them.
"Alfred..." Feliciano raised his hand. There was a silent intake of breath in the room. Everyone was nervous. They all knew something Alfred didn't.
"Yes, Feliciano?"
"Alfred..." he breathed first. "Arthur's back." he said timidly.
Alfred stared at him as if he had said something like, "The Sun is now starting to pull Venus in by magnetic force and is going to eat it up and we're next." or "The moon is melting." He was utterly gobsmacked, flummoxed, shell-shocked.
"Wh-what?" he asked him, trying to get him to repeat what he just said.
"You heard him, dumbass. Arthur's back." Loving spoke up, an annoyed look on his face as always, his arms crossed and folded in front of him. He looked up at Alfred and gave a little smile.
"He is...?" his face was elated. He had to know for sure, to confirm if it really is true!
His face fell. A sudden flash of realisation hit him. It would be a different Arthur. It's not going to be the same. He involuntarily sat back on his own chair, a disappointed look on his face as he buried his head in his hands.
"Alfred!" a voice shouted out from the doorway. Everybody turned to look.
Alfred looked up, his face hopeful and expectant.
"A-Artie...!" he yelled, jumping off his seat, running over to hug him.
"Alfred!" Arthur gladly took him in his arms, calming him down as Alfred started having a crying jag, his body shaking, tears spilling from his eyes like a faucet, his emotions confused and at the same time, happy.
"It's me, love." he whispered soothingly.
"It can't be you..." Alfred said, his breathing was becoming heavy and he found it hard to breathe.
"It is me. I haven't changed." he said.
"Yes, you have..." Alfred shot back bitterly, an accusing tone mixed in his voice.
"No, I haven't. I'm the same Arthur you knew. I am reborn. All those crap they said about being reborn were just a load of bollocks, you hear?" Arthur rubbed his back gently.
"Then tell me, how is it that you're the same person?" he asked.
"Because I told them, either they bring me back as the same Arthur Kirkland, or they don't bring me back at all, and since my nation is not yet completely dead, they had to bring me back using a new body." he explained, trying to wipe the tears away.
"Mon dieu, Arthur... That's a miracle..." Francis silently spoke up.
"Welcome back, Arthur." Femke smiled warmly.
"Arthur Jerkland, don't you even dare... don't you ever... do that again... you hear me?" Peter started to cry. They were all surprised, only having noticed the small child now and that he was in the world meeting. Arthur smiled at him apologetically.
"It's nice to have you back, man!" Mathias grinned at him.
The whole room was rejoicing and everyone was happy on Arthur's surprising return.
"I love you." Alfred whispered to him, so that only Arthur would hear.
"I don't know what I'd do without you." he smiled, before tightening their embrace.
The whole room was buzzing with happiness and joy.
Arthur Kirkland is back.
Outside, the summer breeze blew; their hearts were as warm as the warm sun.
Author's Notes:
Gah, I can't kill Arthur off forever okay. ;~; I just love my babies too much. Also, I suck at eulogies. Actually, I've never listened one IRL... Ugh, this fanfic sucks... Oh well... It's not like anyone will read these... = 3=
The 2 lines on Arthur's gravestone were taken from William Shakespeare's poem, "All the World's A Stage".
It's hard finding names for OCs... A
Rate and Review please~!