The House

By: Insanity's Pen

A/N: Hello there! This little ficlet was inspired by the song Pictures of You by The Last Goodnight. I haven't written anything with a happy ending and everything I write seems to come out angsty, so I thought this would be a nice change. Chapter one, Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

The house had lain vacant for almost two centuries and everything inside was covered with a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs filled corners and rust clouded metals. The wallpaper that had once been an elegant shade of blue with gold trim was grey and peeling, revealing wood and plaster underneath. Leaks and cracks marred the ceilings and a pungent odor filled all the rooms. All kinds of crawling creatures had made themselves comfortable in the decaying walls and had no qualms in leaving their droppings anywhere they liked. The old furniture lay in a decaying state. The outside was no better. Graffiti covered a large portion of the front wall of the house, all the windows were broken, the balcony hung haphazardly by two rotting planks from under a window, and someone had thought it was a good idea to paint a face onto the front door. In short, the house was in bad condition.

The only reason they were here was because America and France had gotten into an argument with England over whose cooking was better. Though France easily won that argument, it had brought up memories of when they, along with Canada, had all lived under the same roof once long ago. And so, on a whim, the four had decided to go and visit their old mansion. They had walked in to find everything in the same place it had been all those years ago. The old recliners were still there, the broken clocks still upon the shelves, the stained rug still under the centre table, and the same curtains adorned the windows. Pictures upon the walls hung crookedly as did the chandelier. It was like a ghost mansion straight out of a horror movie.

"Dude, this place is creepy." America said as he opened a door to a random room.

"Well, it's been untouched for years." England rolled his eyes at the younger.

"That would explain the smell as well." chimed France. Canada silently walked on.

The four men walked down a dark hallway and into an old fashioned kitchen.

"Cet endroit est degoutant." France complained as he scrunched up his face.

"Says the frog." muttered England.

"Hey!" France yelled.

"How about we clean the house?" Canada suggested quietly as he avoided stepping on a scurrying mouse.

"Great idea Canadia! A home project sounds awesome!" America smiled at the plan. "The hero will make this house totally epic!"

"That does sound like a rather good idea. But we'll need to get all the materials needed first." agreed England.

"Oh! With my unquestionable taste in décor, I shall make this mansion magnifique!" France smiled happily.

"Shut it, frog."

~x~

The first thing they decided upon was cleaning all the grime before they started to fix anything. After a quick trip to a nearby convenience store for the needed cleaning supplies, the foursome was busily at work. A good part of the afternoon was spent fighting over the smallest of things as usual, but the group was proud to say that they had gotten a good amount of work done. Most of the first floor of the mansion was dust free and clear of any stray pieces of trash.

It wasn't until their stomachs had started to growl that they had noticed they sun setting behind pink clouds. They decided to stop their labor and eat dinner at a nice restaurant. Their work would resume tomorrow.

~x~

It had been two days already and the progress, despite all of the arguing, was very good. The place was starting to look really nice. Everything downstairs was clean and ready to be fixed. Now they were upstairs cleaning and taking note of things that needed fixing. Things were moving along pretty smoothly. However, there was one particular room that took what felt like forever to clean out. All four men were silently standing in the room, taking in the surroundings and letting the memories flood them.

The large room was divided evenly in half by colour. One half had once been a nice shade of blue, while the other had been red. Each side was like a mirror image of the other in terms of furniture position. In both corners stood a tall wooden bookshelf filled with books, their yellowing pages falling out and withering away. Placed against the wall adjacent to the shelves were cribs. The dusty wooden bars were a decaying gray. The once soft blankets inside each of them had holes from where years of aging and moths had come to feast upon the silk. Near the cribs sat rocking chairs with lacy padded cushions for comfort seated on them. Matching wooden dressers sat in the middle of the opposing walls. In the very centre of the room, against the same wall as the bookshelves, was one small wooden side drawer. Placed upon its dusty surface was a single oil lamp, its glass cracked. On either side of the drawer stood a child sized bed. The quilts were dirty and had a musty scent to them and were riddled with holes. A single broken window placed just above the oil lamp creaked quietly as a breeze blew outside.

"This room..." America said quietly, all traces of his boisterous personality gone. Canada walked to what had once been his crib and reached inside, gently pulling out a now ragged blanket. He brought it up to his cheek tenderly. The rough feel brought back memories to when it used to be soft. He held it out to find the stain that was in one corner of it. He smiled when he found that it was still there. He clearly remembered the day that he had accidentally knocked over a cup tea and in a desperate attempt to clean it up, he had used his favorite blanket. When France had found the blanket hidden in the toy box and tried to wash it, the stain wouldn't come out.

"Oh wow, they're still here." America said after opening the ancient wooden dresser on the blue side of the room. Inside hung a row of children's clothes ranging from casual to elegant. He ran his fingers over the fabric, remembering the times he used to wear them. England had always had to chase him down to get him to wear that uncomfortable stuff. Quite frankly, he still didn't like the feel of tweed.

"Ah, this book." France stood by the bookshelf, book in hand. "It was your favorite, Canada." His fingers traced the spine of the book and using his sleeve he wiped away the dust covering the title. Robin Hood. Despite being the quieter of the two children, Canada had always like adventure stories just like his louder brother. France remembered how at bedtime Canada would always choose that book, never mind how he had it practically memorized word for word. France smiled softly.

England opened the drawer in between the beds and pulled out some ancient pieces of parchment. Gently he blew off some of the dust to reveal a faded drawing. Softly, with the tip of his finger, he traced the lines that made up a house, the curves that made people and the faded colors that made the drawing glow with childlike joy. A small smile formed on his lips as he recalled the day when a toddler America had proudly shown him the picture he had so diligently worked on by himself.

"Look what I drew, daddy! That's our house and that's me, you, Mattie, and Papa France!"

England sighed at the memory. How long ago had that been?

Canada inspected the room once more, letting all the warm memories return before quietly suggesting,

"Shouldn't we start cleaning?"

"Uh, yes, right. Back to work." England agreed. With sluggish movements, they all got to work at clearing away the dust.

~X~

Translations:

Cet endroit est dégoutant. : This place is disgusting.