Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or HetaOni, or AoOni. Each belong to their respective creators. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this, now would I?
He stared in horror at the bodies before him. Still and unmoving, just like the others. Shock kept the tears at bay. Denial whispered bittersweet nothings in his ears, things he wanted, needed, to hear. 'Run. Leave this place, and they'll be okay. They are waiting for you outside. All you need to do is leave.' A fledgling hope spread its wings, and he obeyed, sprinting out of the claustrophobic room and mindlessly crashing through wooden doors and past stone hallways.
If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine them, all of them, running beside him, around him, yet images of their broken bodies flashed past his eyes, and it was all he could do to continue. And so he focused every bit of his being into escaping, unable to face his unforgivable failures. Unable to face his cowardice.
He ignored the colors flashing by, ignored the red splattered on white. The painter in him, however, took it in and marveled at the stark contrast. The way the two colors could even blend and mix to create pink only confounded him more. It reminded him of pure innocence corrupted by pain and loss, making a revolting, broken chaos.
He hated pink.
He hated the prison-like walls that seemed to close in on him, the loud thudding of the monster's feet as he chased after him, and the heavy guilt that only served to hinder him. And he could only blame himself.
He stumbled up the stairs, the echoes of time ticking away following him like a rabid dog. The cursed sound seemed to float around him, teasing him. It filled his ears. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock tick tock ticktock ticktockticktockticktickticktock.
Why couldn't he hear the monster?
Tick tock. Breathe. In. Out. In.
Only a couple hours before, weren't they all alive and happy?
Tick.
Was it not his fault they had come?
Tock.
Why did he deserve to live? The others should have survived, not him. "Life is unfair."
The clouds seemed to agree with him, because the minute he stepped outside, they weeped a light rain that mirrored his misery and mixed with his tears. He did not let himself stop, instead dashing forward to where he knew the gate was waiting for him. Steve was still following him.
Cold metal touched his hand, begging to be opened. And that was when he realized.
He was about to walk out alive. The voice had been so obviously lying, yet he followed it with all the hope in the world. Had he learned nothing from childhood? He was about to leave his friends' bodies to rot with Steve. "We should call him Steve. What? It's a totally unawesome name, just like him!" He had laughed then, they all had. Before it had taken Japan and everyone else but him.
The thought enraged him, and adrenaline flooded his body. He spun around to face his grey pursuer. Grey was such an ugly color. It portrayed a blend of good and bad. It was the color of steely neutrality, yet it lied to him. It was far from neutral. It was the color of the death of nations, after all.
"Stop! I won, right? You couldn't catch me; you lost! The moment I get out of here, you'll lose! There's nothing you can do from that distance! When I get out of here, this place won't be the same as before, you know! As a nation, I will destroy this place!"
Silence.
"Doesn't that make you frustrated? Huh? I'm your last trophy, after all. You lost to the guy who's only redeeming feature is his fast feet." You lost to the useless guy. Pretty pathetic. The suddenly pessimistic thought sounded bizarrely funny to him all of a sudden, and a manic smile tugged at his lips.
Infuriating silence. And a light bulb slowly cracked open in his mind.
"...back... Take us back! You can take us back in this warped space, can't you? If you do that, why don't you eat me first?" He spreads his arms into the refreshingly cool rain, offering himself as a target.
"If you can catch me, that is."
.
.
.
.
And it should've ended there. But there wasn't just one Steve anymore, there were two, three, four... They were uncountable. They were everywhere. They surrounded him, blocked him, suffocated him. Huge, hideous, black eyes stared into his very soul, taunting him and goading him to try and fight back. Monstrous hands reached out, eager to grab him and snuff out his life like they had so many others.
This wasn't supposed to happen!
No, no, no, no no no nonon-
"Italy!"
Frantic amber eyes shoot open to look into worried blue eyes. Blue.
The blue of the sky they had all been deprived of for so long. Blue, the color some consider to be red's opposite. Blue, the color that promised safety. Blue, a color that could easily fade and darken and dull to the point of no coming back. Glassy, unseeing blue.
His breath hitches at the thought and chokes on a suppressed sob as he scrambles backwards and away from the other. He is supposed to be dead, gone, left behind in the mansion. He died, not just once, but so many times. The Reaper had claimed him, had stolen his life, had taken his soul.
A gentle, hesitant touch to the cheek brings him out of his reverie. "I'm alive. Italy - Feliciano - We're safe." A sorrowful smile. "We all got out. You don't have to worry anymore. It was a dream, nothing more, nothing less." Tears slip out of those blue eyes and he doesn't realize he's crying too because this isn't real, can't be, you saw him die, stop lying to yourself! A thumb reaches up and brushes the wetness away.
— And he realizes that maybe he is real, is corporeal, is alive. He is a warm, breathing being with true feelings whether good or bad. Completely abandoning all mannerisms he might have learned in the presence of other nations, he cuddles into Ludwig despite the blonde's quiet protests.
Not even a tissue box can dry his tears now.
But he needs to make sure, even if the other already knew his human name, just to convince himself it was all real, so he whispers, "Ludwig, thank you." Germany nods tightly, and a familiar, real, blush darkens his cheeks, noticeable even in the dimly lit night.
He ignores the dreamy mumblings of the surrounding nations. He doesn't mind that his brother's elbow was digging into his spine. The mischievous red eyes staring at them from across the room didn't bother him. The inhuman growls and snarls from outside the room? Just his overactive imagination.
As long as he is in Ludwig's arms, all is right in the world.
A/N: I have recently discovered HetaOni. And this is what happened. I didn't really mean to put that kind of ending, but...
In other news, I found out that I can't update regularly. I applaud those who can.