A strong scent of rotting meat almost knocked Alfred backwards from the doorway into Matthew's house. His hand instinctively grabbed his nose if only to tolerate the nauseating smell as he followed his brother into the hallway. The American found it odd how such a pungent odour filled the seemingly pristine interior; Alfred could see his reflection on the wooden floors and not a single speck of dust could be found on the ornaments on the mahogany dresser.
"Jesus Mattie! What did you feed your polar bear!? I can see why the others haven't returned or said anything; the stench probably killed them!" Alfred almost gagged while asking wavy, blonde haired Canadian who stopped a little way from him.
Matthew turned to Alfred with his usual gentle smile and fingers intertwined together. "I feed Kumadouga the same thing I always do: raw salmon."
"That doesn't smell like raw salmon Matt. It smells more like rotting meat or something," Alfred choked a little and additionally covered his mouth. "Holy crap, do you have any air freshener to get rid of the smell or open the window maybe? The stench is making me sick!"
"Why don't you go into the lounge and open the window to get some air in here? I'll see if I have any air freshener around somewhere." Matthew said and made his way into the kitchen. Alfred grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open before his sapphire eyes widened at the scene in front of him.
Corpses of lots of his fellow nations either slouched against the grass green couches and wooden chairs or slumped onto one another if they sat next to each other. Alfred paled more as he took a few shaky steps into the lounge, not wanting to see the extent of the damage done to their cracked skulls. The dried crimson blood seemed to have drained from each of their heads and stained their clothes, the floor however remained immaculately clean. Eyes that once had life now rolled back in a disturbing manner; even Feliciano's hazel orbs that used to sparkle with cheerfulness, presently showed the last terrified expression he made before he died.
Alfred's stomach couldn't take anymore of the horror filled room and lurched, his fists curled around his honey blonde locks. He let out a piercing scream before throwing up the contents from his McDonalds meal onto the polished floor. All of those nations, all of those people (some he considered his friends and relatives) sat in the living room like some kind of macabre mannequins. Alfred regurgitated the rest of the contents from his stomach before he heard some faint footsteps behind him.
"Do you know what man fears most?" A soft voice, almost like a whisper asked. "It is the fear of being alone."
Alfred snapped his head and glared through his glasses at Matthew, towering over him with a bloodstained ice hockey stick in his hands. "You… you killed all of them? Even your family and friends?" He croaked having spewed the food he ate earlier. Matthew lifted his head and scrutinized the scene in front of him.
"It's strange how being ignored all the time makes one feel alone in a room full of people. I've always dreamed of feeling like I belonged and valued as a person in a crowd. Shame this seemed to be the only way I could do it." The Canadian fingers curled around the ice hockey stick. Alfred still kept eye contact with Matthew's violet eyes; out of all the people in the room, his eyes bared the least amount of vitality of the living. They were cold and heartless. Alfred straightened himself up and wiped the trickle of vomit from the corner of his mouth.
"You're a sick bastard. You're a sick twisted bastard," His voice stammered, provoking a laugh from his Canadian brother.
"I just don't want to feel alone anymore." Matthew took a step closer towards Alfred and raised his stick. "I can never have too many people in a room, eh? Why don't you stay? I could use a little of your company dearest brother of mine."
With one fluid movement, the stick swung towards the side of Alfred's head. He ducked letting it whip through the air and dashed out of the lounge and towards the front door. No matter how violently he shook the door handle to release him outside, it was locked.
"Shit!" Alfred spat and took a quick glance and having seconds to dodge another blow from Matthew. The American sprinted upstairs and turned around the corner into Matthew's bedroom. He scanned the room looking for anything that could be used as a weapon against his brother. He could quickly rummage through the bedroom to see if he could find a spare ice hockey stick or something else that could suffice.
"I know you're up here Alfred," Matthew's voice blared, causing his brother to quicken his pace. His hands patted all the surfaces he could touch before he spun around to find Matthew had already arrived, he displayed an uncharacteristically sickly grin. "Now lets stop all this nonsense, eh? There's only one way in and out of this room and I'm blocking it. You may as well keep me company eh?"
Alfred panted rapidly and decided to do exactly as his brother said. Like a bull, he charged towards Matthew and grabbed the ice hockey stick while he rammed him into the wall. The Canadian arms instantaneously fell limp at his sides and his head bowed forward. Alfred took many deep breaths and stepped away from Matthew. However, instead of collapsing onto the ground, Matthew grabbed the ice hockey stick and swung the American at the top of the stairs, forcing him to lean backwards dangerously. Alfred took one last glance at the bottom of the stairs before turning his panicked gaze at Matthew smiling sweetly.
"Have a nice trip. I'll meet you at the bottom." All at once, Matthew let go of the ice hockey stick. Alfred tumbled down the stairs and snapped his neck once he finally crashed at the bottom.
!
"You really are heavy Alfred," Matthew let out a growl and slid him off himself and onto the end of the green couch next to the wavy blonde haired Francis. Alfred's head cocked unnaturally away from the other corpse so Matthew tilted it towards him to make it a little more humane. "That's better. Now your head doesn't look as though it's about to fall off." He said with satisfaction and sat himself between Francis and Alfred. After modifying their positions so they didn't look so dead, Matthew let out a relieved sigh and bought Kumajiro, his white polar bear, onto his lap and stroked his tenderly. He looked up and smiled at the party of corpses around him. "I know it'll be a very long time before I can finally feel like part of the group but for now, I'm so happy that even my brother is now keeping me company." Kumajiro, nodded and let tiredness take him into slumber. Matthew drifted his gaze onto his companion and petted him. "Yes, I'm going to have to buy more chairs for my guests when they come and visit, eh?"
FIN.