Warnings for multiple character deaths, blood, suicide and implied torture.
Awfully cheerful subject matter, ain't it? *sarcastic* But then we're talking about a Hunger Games crossover here, I daresay you already expected it. This is rather new writing territory for me (I still have a "wtf did I just write" feeling), but my muse latched on to this idea and wouldn't let go. So I hope you like it as well.
Read on and I'd much appreciate it if you leave a review at the end!
In a darkened room, a little girl giggled as she skipped along the hopscotch. Outside the window, the Capitol loomed all the way to the horizon, framed by a moonless night dyed red by the city lights. A flicker of light from the streets far below wavered through the darkness, casting shadows from where her bare toes touched the floor as she danced through that child's game. The light retreated immediately as if afraid, but for a brief moment it cast its glow through the room, illuminating hopscotch lines drawn with dried blood.
One little, two little, three little nations...
Ten little nations standing in a line,
She gestured for her men to push the tall nation to his knees, so that his eyes fell beneath hers. Even with that, he simply stared stoically at her, no expression on his face despite the crimson blood that matted his once-neat blond hair.
Now that wasn't fun at all, was it?
She swayed closer to him, like a snake waiting to strike, the sensual movement eerie in her young body. She draped herself over his shoulders to whisper in his ear, her heart thrumming with victory as his body reflexively flinched despite himself.
"I know what you're thinking," she murmured, mockery in her voice. "You thinking that you're a nation, that even if I kill you, you won't remain dead. You think that as a nation, you're invincible. But a part of you already knows that you aren't. I'm sure you've heard the stories, after all I've killed so many of you already. All of them before you, they thought that they wouldn't die, but didn't they just fall anyway? It was so funny, how they believed that they would survive right until the end. So funny, wouldn't you agree, Germany?"
The blond didn't give any sort of response besides a twitch, but she could smell his disgust.
"But you know, I still like it best when they know they will die. I like seeing the fear in their eyes, knowing that a simple pull of the trigger will give them eternal darkness. I didn't know until him, you know, how much I love this. He bled like any human, it was so strange. He tried to hide it, but because he knew of his weakness, his fear was there. I could see it, smell it, taste it. That fear, it was so beautiful. You know, I'm so thankful to him, for showing me this. I've had so much fun since then. Hmm, what was his name again?" She leaned against him as she pretended to think. And then she smiled; slow, vindictive. "Oh right, I think they used to call him Prussia."
And she danced away as he lunged at her, her men catching him by the throat before he could even brush a finger over the tips of her hair. She licked her lips at the fury in his eyes that gave way to despair.
When he sagged and the gun was pressed to his temple, she leaned in again to whisper.
"Isn't it nice? Now you can be with your beloved big brother."
One was chosen and then there were nine
Nine little nations struggling against fate,
Denmark spat in her face. The responding slap that cracked his head sideways resounded through the room. He coughed as blood splattered from his nose and lips only the stone floor, which had already long become brown with dried blood, even before he had been brought there. His eyes blurred, his vision edged with darkness that slowly consumed everything in his sight. A faint light cut through it suddenly, flickering lamplight reflecting off something in the blood-caked ground.
A hand roughly pulling his hair upwards forcibly tore his gaze off the small item. Panem's eyes glowed an eerie neon blue in the half-darkness. Unnatural, just like everything that she had made. "Do you understand now? I am strong. You are weak. You are only alive right now because I allow you to be."
Denmark, strong conqueror of the North, barred his teeth. "Go to hell."
The blade that pierced his flesh was angled in a way that would not kill immediately, but instead intended to make him slowly bleed out. The message was clear – if he gave in to them now, they may still let him live. Live? He snorted quietly, the tiny movement jarring against his wounds and causing blood to bubble to his lips. Staying alive as Panem's puppet could only be a mockery of living.
As inky black stole his vision with ruthless swiftness, his gaze fixated on the only remaining point of light in the room, a golden Nordic cross stained with blood.
'Hey Norge, does Valhalla exist? Are you there, with Sve and Fin and Ís? I wonder if I can go there too.' His eyes glassed over, gaze never leaving the hairpiece.
'I want to see you again.'
One got tangled and then there were eight
Eight little nations caught in a fix,
England heaved, a trickle of blood trailing down the side of his lips. Around him, the bodies of their pursuers lay cold and lifeless. He chuckled humorlessly. That would teach them not to underestimate a 'relic of the past', as those bastards had called them. He was the fucking United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, formerly the British Empire and The Empire Where The Sun Never Set. He was no relic.
Beside him, a figure sat perched on a large boulder. Damn that frog, he somehow managed to look immaculate even in a situation like this. Especially when England had no doubt he himself looked a complete wreck. Still, it was nice having company in these ending moments.
He coughed wetly.
"F-Frog." His fingers twitched, incapable of any further movement, but France understood and caught them in his hand. Glassy green eyes slid down to look at where their fingers lay entwined. "Your hand's warm…" he murmured deliriously. The older nation's grip tightened in response, to a point that might have been painful if England could feel much at all anymore, then loosened again.
"Sleep, mon ange. I'll be here." France's voice was nothing more than a whisper, the gentle caress of a promise given.
England's eyes slipped close, soft lashes hiding emerald pools. A smile graced his face as his breathing stilled. He looked so peaceful he could have been sleeping, just like France had asked him to.
Drawing a ragged breath, France dragged himself off the rock he sat upon, falling upon the ground beside England. He helplessly let out a mirthless chuckle mixed in with a pained gasp as the movement revealed what he kept hidden from the other – that France could no longer walk, likely never would even if he had the time to recover. His legs were utterly ruined, nothing more than bloody lumps of meat. It was part of his pride as the older, wanting to keep up appearances right till the end.
Reaching out one shaky hand, he brushed his knuckles softly across the other's cooling cheek. Even at the end, neither had been able to voice how they really felt.
France leaned down to press a final kiss on England's forehead, then raised his gun to his head.
One died and one could not live and then there were six
Six little nations all alive,
"Fuck you!"
The little girl, no, that demon in the guise of a child, made a reproving tutting noise. "Now, now, didn't your big brother teach you any manners?"
Korea spat at her in disgust. "You have no right to even speak of my hyung!"
Panem giggled, the sound cold and twisted to match the insanity in her eyes. "Ah, your precious 'hyung'," the title sounded like a mockery on her tongue, "I'd heard so much about him, you know. How China was the oldest nation in existence, how he had survived more centuries than I have months. But in the end, he was weak just like all the others. Five thousand years, was it? Five thousand years, crushed so easily when I sent a bullet through his heart. Aren't modern advances so very exciting? You see, that's the truth of the world. The old have no choice but to die under the hands of the new. It would be so boring if the old would just live forever, you know."
The cold head of a gun, its tip crusted with dried blood, was pressed between his eyes as Panem stared down at him with a mad grin. He didn't blink, refused to show fear even in the face of death, because he had been raised to be a warrior.
"So die."
Just like his hyung before him, Korea never looked away.
One fought till the end and then there were five
Five little nations looking for more,
"Panem," he snarled, handgun grasped in hands that gripped its handle too hard as they pointed it towards the girl in the half-darkness.
He hated how her blond hair, cropped short behind her ears, reminded him of another girl who he had sworn to protect. Who he had failed to protect.
The new nation appeared to give no regard to the weapon pointed at her (and wasn't that was a response they all once had as well, back when they had known that mortal weapons could not kill them), smiling fearlessly at Switzerland as she stroked the black-feathered bird in her lap. Several others sat perched on her shoulders, watching him with the same beady eyes. Panem just smiled as her hand slowed, the bird she held also turning towards him. "Isn't this child lovely? My people made them just for me, you see. I think I'll call them jabberjays. Why don't you say hello to Switzerland, darling?"
"Bruder," the bird said in Liechtenstein's voice.
"Bruder?" another one called.
"Bruder..." "Bruder!" "Bruder!"
Then one said, "W-Who's there?"
And the screaming started.
One was found and then there were four
Four little nations up on a spree,
Turkey's hand threaded gently through damp blond locks, longer than they had been in decades, brushing lightly over the edge of the blood-stained strips of cloth they had no choice but to make do as bandages. Ukraine stirred as if in response to the touch, chapped lips trembling soundlessly. But they knew better to think her conscious; she had not awakened in days, and they held no hopes that she ever would. Even if she awoke, she would never again see.
"Take care of her," he whispered sharply, voice hoarse like a blood-rusted saber.
"Even if you did not say so, I would. She is my sister." Russia's eyes were hard, but strangely understanding as he gazed at the man he had never gotten along well with, but tolerated for the sake of the person they both loved most. That person now laid cradled in his arms, the only form of visible life held in the faint shivers that ran down her body. It was because of that understanding that he did not move to stop the other as he finally pulled away.
"Turkey!" America grasped the other nation's arm in a desperate plea as he turned, but the olive-skinned nation threw it aside without even looking at him. "Turkey, please. You know that you don't stand a chance against Panem alone. We'll find help, find a plan-" His stuttered words couldn't even convince himself.
"Leave it, America." The older nation's dark eyes were haunted as they finally looked over at him. "I can't live like this anymore."
And if I can't live, I will fight until I die.
One sought revenge and then there were three
Three little nations out on a canoe,
Russia closed his eyes briefly. So this was the end, was it? His arm tightened around the unconscious form of his sister. They had no escape, not like this, but one of them could still yet survive.
"You cannot die here, little Amerika."
Before America even had time to widen his eyes, a strong hand seized the back of his jacket and flung him bodily out of the boat. Heat singed his back even as he flew over the dark water and plunged into its icy depths. The explosion shook the water, debris shattered to sink into the sea around him. America pushed his way back up to the surface, eyes disbelieving as he stared at the burning sea that was the only proof that there had once been something there. Someone.
It was the saltwater that stung his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, because he couldn't cry. He couldn't.
"Damn you, you fucking Ruskie," he whispered.
One tumbled overboard and there we lost two
One little nation living all alone,
"I've been waiting for this for a long time, I've wanted to see you for so long. But I simply had to keep you for last. Don't you feel special?"
Yes. That was what she had wanted, what she had yearned for. Those bright blue eyes, filled with hate. Hate, rage, sorrow, vengefulness, helplessness. She loved every facet of it.
"Your land is beautiful, you know. So beautiful. But oh, it isn't your land anymore." Her smile was manic, the glee of a nation that had been born insane. "It's all~ mine~" she drew out in a sing-song voice. She giggled as she raised the gun.
"Goodbye, America."
I killed him myself and then there were none
The little girl's steps slowed on the hopscotch, until they finally fell to a complete stop. Outside the window, the Capitol bustled. But inside the room, it was silent.
The click of the gun safety echoed off bloody walls.
"You miscalculated, Panem. America wasn't the last one. You forgot about me. Of course, everyone does. But that was your greatest mistake."
The little girl smiled as she turned towards the source of the voice, a bloody, manic smile eerie in the half-darkness.
"Shoot," she whispered, full of dark promise, still smiling all the while. "Shoot me, Canada."
A single bang of a gunshot, the thump of a body hitting the ground; and a laugh rang though the quiet, brittle with madness.
One little, two little, three little nations
Four little, five little, six little nations
Seven little, eight little, nine little nations
All but one nation dead and gone.