This is based off an RP I did with a few friends.

Don't own Hetalia.

Names: Logan-Northern Ireland; Peter-Sealand; Sophie-Wy; Arthur-England; Darach-Scotland; Emrys-Wales; Lorcan-Ireland;

There's mentions of death and its very sad. You've been warned.

Logan adjusted his sunglasses in frustration. The accessory was new and odd for him, but the sun blinded his sensitive eyes. His short orange hair was now tipped with envious green, his clothes completely black. On his left stood a blonde haired boy of twelve, staring ahead in an unusually silent manner. To his right was a ten year old brunette, a young girl with a paintbrush tucked in her hair. Both children wore only black. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so odd, as they were in a cemetery, and black is the color of mourning, if they were standing over a grave. But, rather than weeping over a headstone, they were standing in the shadows of the trees, observing a group of mourners from a decreed safe distance. The extended Kirkland & Nordic families were gathered around a trio of graves. Though the observers couldn't see the headstones through the family, they knew exactly what each one read. After all, it wasn't hard to remember one's own name.

". . . Logan?" the boy child spoke softly, uncharacteristically solemn, "Can't we just. . . say hi? Just. . . just this once?"

"Don't be stupid, Peter." The girl snapped at him bitterly, her eyes never leaving the mourners, "We're dead, remember?"

Logan shook his head gently. Sophie was the most recent death, she was still having a hard time coming to grips with the end of her human life. Bitterness was only to be expected from a child whose life was torn away by a senseless prank. "You know why we can't, Peter. It's against the rules. We'd be punished. . ."

Peter nodded slowly. He knew why he couldn't. The Master did terrible things to demons who gave them away to humans. . . But he wanted so badly to hug his parents. To tell them he was sorry. That he loved them, that he should have listened to them, that it wasn't their fault he'd been so stupid and set that fire. . .

Sophie clutched her hands into fists. It wasn't fair. She hadn't done anything wrong. She didn't deserve this! She'd been an artist, and it had killed her. Those stupid, stupid big kids had killed her! It wasn't right; she shouldn't have to suffer for the foolish pranks of jealous teenagers. Kyle shouldn't have to suffer like this. . . She watched as her elder brother set a bouquet of brilliant pink hibiscus flowers on her grave. Her favorite flower. Tears welled up in her brown eyes. It just wasn't fair. . .

There were so many things Logan regretted. He regretted letting that bitch trick him like she did. He regretted not being strong enough to defend himself. He regretted letting his brothers slip so far out of his life, not telling them how much they truly meant to him. Most of all, he regretted not being there to save Peter and Sophie. He would die a thousand times over if it would save them from this damned existence. He watched his family and friends mourn, place flowers on their graves. There was blue flax on his grave, hibiscus flowers on Sophie's, bluebells on Peter's. The graves were so covered in flowers, you couldn't really see the polished stone underneath. It gave him a pained joy to see the love being shared. Everyone had placed a flower on each grave. Their brothers, their friends, even that idiot Dane he'd never admitted he loved. He almost trembled as he watched his four elder brothers talking, touching, even a hug or two, without fighting. Perhaps his death had done some good after all. Perhaps he could feel more at peace, knowing his family was stronger. He shook on the inside, but it wasn't until the youngest living Kirkland brother turned around that he lost it. There were tears on Arthur's face. His big, strong brother, the one he'd admired ,the one who'd cared for him, the one he'd pushed out of his life. . . was crying for him. His heart shattered then, more completely than he'd ever thought possible. Finally, it truly hit home that this was it. Never again would he insult Lorcan, watch Emrys cuddling his newest lamb, share a drink with Darach, be scolded by Arthur. He'd never have that family back.

He spun on his heels, ears ringing as a hollowness spread where the warmth of family had once been. It left him cold and broken. He grabbed each of the young demon's hands, tugging them along with him. He had to get away before the tears came. He couldn't let the children see he was so cold and hurt now. They were all he had left, the prideful little boy and the bitter young artist, and he would be strong for them. He would make their afterlives the best they could be, Master Demon be damned. He may be sent to rot in the deepest pits of hell, but he would protect them now like he hadn't been able to in life.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

Arthur blinked, swallowing back his sorrow and wiping away his tears. It wouldn't do to break down in public, and at the moment, he was too surprised to let them fall. Just for a moment. . . he'd sworn he'd seen. . . that flash of orange had been so familiar. . . but no, that was ridiculous. He was simply letting his grief make him crazy. He turned back to Emrys. "Fine, just fine. Thought I saw. . . someone I knew was all."

Emrys watched Arthur turn around and walk off stiffly, before casting another brother a skeptical look. None of them were alright after so much tragedy. Lorcan only shook his head, kneeling down in front of his young brother's grave and setting a single orange rose amidst the sea of blue petals.

"We miss, you Logan. . . We miss all of you." He whispered softly, his voice carried away by the wind as all conversation abruptly stopped.

A few sad looks were shared, a few mumbled goodbyes, and the mourners went their separate ways. Three deaths ended three beloved lives. . . but three tragic afterlives have just begun.