AN: Sequel to Look At Me.

I've been wanting to do this for a long time, honestly. It's always been in the back of my mind and, seeing all the effect that the original story had gotten, I felt it was time I actually put this into action.

I Am Not Sure if I'll be adding to this. People can imagine what happens after this point. If I get around to adding another chapter, it likely won't be any time soon. So, please just kinda keep that in mind.

Anyway

Enjoy~ c:

The truth of the matter is, that even if Matthew had not regretted his choice in the end – it would not have made any difference.

Because a nation does not die so simply.

Not to say that they don't die at all. If a nation withers away, like Rome, for example. They will die as a result of that.

Matthew's act of suicide was not probable cause to actually dissolve and die. True, his body died. However, Matthew – to a point – could not. Instead, he would be reborn. Much like Russia was, in the last days of the USSR. As far as the people of his nation knew, Canada was still Canada. A few things may be changing here and there, a few worried voices may have started to be heard. As a whole, however, they were still a thriving and peaceful nation as far as they knew. Completely oblivious to that one lone man, lying dead in their woods. Oblivious to the ones crying over his loss, and the others who sensed it. Dread and panic and sadness echoed throughout the planet earth as the souls of nations whom were close to that mere boy – that barely man, so young to have been taken already – felt the life leave him. So unaware were that boys citizens, of all the possible outcomes there future could now hold. As some nations mourned, others prepared themselves – for the opportunities that await them, and the competition they were soon to face.

They cried.

They planned.

The plate shattered against the hardwood floor.

Freshly made pasta quickly slid across the spotless surface, while tomato sauce was more like blood splatter as it hit walls as white as snow.

There was a deafening silence for moments afterwards, everyone was struck still in their shock. All eyes but one's had moved to the same place, the same person. The only person in the room who was not aware of their surroundings.

"B-Bird–" was all Gilbert managed to choke out before his knees crashed into the splintered porcelain.

Ludwig was there instantly, by his side, hold tight on his brothers shoulders to try and keep him grounded.

And then Gilbert was screaming.

Footfalls were rushed and the heavy breath pushing out of her lungs was as panicked as her glossy eyes. She had to find him, she had to make sure he was okay. Worry was etched into her usually vibrant features as she looked over the rainbowed fields for spiky blond hair. As soon as she had him in her sights, she rushed for him. Ignoring the flowers being crushed under her feet.

His hands were buried deep into the fertile soil, bright red tulips crushed between his shaking fingers. Tears splashed over the dirt on his skin, muddying them one spot at a time. He stared at the bright red petals and tried so hard not to cry aloud, but he couldn't stop himself. Not as his sister wrapped her arms around him, not as he looked at that poor broken flower in his hand.

The saviour of Holland was dead.

Matthew was dead.

The room was destroyed. Broken glass littering the floor, papers, books, various other items scattered around with the rest of it. Hot, bright sunlight came in through streaks from the half torn shutters on the window – giving the dark room little light. In the silence, you could hear children laughing outside.

Almost unable to be seen, in the furthest back corner of the demolition, was a dark hunched figure. His hands were bloody from broken glass, pieces that still clung to the small picture frame dug into his thumbs as he held tightly to it. In the picture was a gruff looking man with a bright smile, his dark brown hair was tied back in dreadlocks and he most definitely needed to shave down his beard a bit. His bear-like arm was slung around a younger man, who's skin glowed in comparison to his own darker tone. Blond hair looked like captured sunlight falling around his peaceful features, even then, it couldn't outshine the soft smile touching his face.

There was a drop of Cuba's blood now, on that face.

The wind was harsh and cutting like a razors edge. Snow swirled around and whipped against the sturdy walls of the grand estate, trying to fight their way into the warmth of the near empty house.

A fire cracked and cackled brightly, it's heat scathing and sinister to the hard violets that stared into it's depths. To anyone else, everything was quiet – almost peaceful – in the large, empty building. To him, however, it was horribly loud. The snap of the flame, the Roar of the wind, th of the windows, the splash of the alcohol as he brought the bottle to his lips. Not once did the cold hard edge in his eyes waver, not once did his sadness find its way to his surface.

But the sadness was there.

Like a hollow rot in his chest.

"Matvey. You fool."

Matthew Williams was not dead.

But for those who knew him, he might as well have been.

Matthew would live – reborn to his country as a new man, with new eyes. All those many years of living, growing, learning, would still be in the back of his mind, but they would no longer belong to him. Because that Matthew died in a forest, surrounded by the one's who loved him most. That Matthew's eyes were now void of life and the bright peacefulness that made him unique to himself. He was gone, everyone understood this.

That was why Arthur shook despite not being cold.

That was why Francis legs gave out beneath him as he tried to stand strong.

That was why Alfred refused to let go. Even when both Francis and Arthur knew it was time they had to.

That was why they cried.

And as the blood disappeared and Matthew started to fade, Alfred's screams for his only brother turned frantic. Francis turned away and ran, like he could simply escape all of this if he just pushed hard enough.

Arthur stood and watched, taking in every last moment until there was nothing but snow surrounding them. He watched on as Kumajiro's sorrow washed away, watched as the small bear started to walk down some invisible path that only he could see.

Matthew was reborn, Kumajiro was going to his new master.

And Arthur followed him.