I do not own Hetalia

Warning: you'll see

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

-T.S. Eliot

Quiet whispers bounced off the white walls; Ivan sat on his twin sized bed rocking himself back and forth. It was the only thing Katyusha allowed in his room for fear that he'd hurt himself somehow. His small closet only contained clothes, but they were thrown haphazardly.

Ivan you're crazy

The Russian placed his head on his fluffy white pillow and stared at his cat from across the room. He smiled softly, his cat understood him; at least his cat liked him. He turned away to face the ceiling. All his life he'd been alone, except for the family he had. His mother had died and left them with their abusive father. He killed her and Ivan couldn't do anything about it.

That's right, it's your fault!

An explosion of red decorated his walls; his father staggered to the floor. Ivan stared down at the man that had beaten him senseless ever since his mother died. The metal pipe was heavy in his hand; icy blue looked at violet and without mercy Ivan slammed the faucet pipe into his father's skull. A loud crunch echoed in his ears, but he didn't stop there. No he had to make sure this man was dead, so he bashed and bashed until a shrill scream sounded from his open door and the pipe fell from his hands and clashed against the floor. He looked in Katyusha's frightened blue eyes; Natalya was behind her with wide eyes.

"Vanya?"

Ivan looked up at his older sister; he had somehow ended up on the floor in one corner. "Your friend is here," she looked a little uneasy. To her knowledge he didn't have any friends. "Send him in," he said quietly. He had almost forgotten he'd asked Alfred to come over. His cat slipped out behind his sister and he decided to make his way back to his bed.

A bouncy blonde walked into his room and shut the door, "Dude, your little sister is scary." Ivan chuckled a little, "She's only being protective." Alfred looked around; he'd never seen a room so . . . plain. There wasn't anything on the walls or any furniture in sight, just a bed. "You can sit on my bed Alfred," Ivan said drawing his legs up to his chest. "Ok dude; what'd you call me for anyway," Alfred sat beside the Russian uncomfortably.

"Tell me how you feel," Ivan said. This was important to the Russian; Alfred was the only person that had considered him a friend. He just needed to know how Alfred felt about them because he was quite confused himself and he didn't like the feelings that were growing in him. He had never felt anything like it before.

He doesn't like you stupid, it's just pity

Ivan was shoved to the ground and his face getting scratched up by dirt and rocks. He lifted his head just to see Gilbert standing over him and laughing. He wanted to cry, he'd never done anything to Gilbert but he always seemed to pick on him. Sometimes he'd even gotten others to join. He looked at all the faces laughing at him. That Mongolian kid was there, even Mathias and Berwald. Ivan placed his face back in the dirt, maybe if he didn't move they would forget about him. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, he looked up and a hyperactive blonde boy gave him a smile.

"Dude?"

"Hey Ivan, you in there? I asked what you meant," Alfred shook the Russian's shoulder. Ivan snapped out of his memories, "Do you like me Alfred?"

Alfred looked confused, "Of course dude, we've been friends since elementary school." Alfred gave the Russian a warm smile, but Ivan was not satisfied with this answer. He didn't know what he was feeling , but he just needed to know. "No Alfred, do you like me as more than a friend," Ivan tried again.

Oh. Alfred honestly didn't know. He looked at the Russian's face, his dull blonde hair, his violet eyes, his big nose, his childish smile. He didn't feel a thing; what was he supposed to say? Ivan looked at the American expectantly. "No, I'm sorry Ivan, I kinda like someone else."

I told you, you stupid bitch

Ivan felt his heart break in his chest, as if his heart was beating against his ribs trying to break free. He needed to be alone now. He turned away from Alfred, "Leave!" He hadn't meant to yell, but he didn't want to cry in front of Alfred. He couldn't deal with this.

You only have me, hahaha!

Alfred felt bad, but Ivan didn't want him here so it was time to go. Alfred got off the bed and made his way out the bedroom. Once he was outside the closed door he heard a faint 'click' and he waited. Something was tugging at the edge of his mind and his heart was hammering in his chest. Natalya glared at him from her position on the couch, almost daring him to look away. Alfred felt anxious, what was he waiting for? He took a step towards his exit and his ears rang loud and clear.

Katyusha screamed from the kitchen; Natalya's eyes grew wide. Alfred felt like he was going to hurl. Ivan would never do such a thing, he could never. Would he? He turned around and slammed Ivan's door open.

"Oh god!" Tears instantly rushed to his eyes. Ivan's body lay on his bed like any sleeping person would; except Ivan wasn't sleeping he was dead. Blood had splattered the white walls and his carefully knitted quilt. His eyes were open and bloodshot, but the rest of his face was smiling; a terrifying sight. This is not what Alfred wanted; this was not supposed to happen at all.

Alfred rushed over to the Russian, he didn't want to believe this. He closed Ivan's eyes and sat on the bed. He picked his head up carefully and began cradling him as if he were just an upset child. Alfred squeezed his eyes tightly and cried into Ivan's hair. He didn't care if he sounded horrible, losing Ivan was too much. Where had Ivan even gotten the gun from? There was nowhere to hide it.

Two more cries joined his, but those were much louder and accented. It all sounded far away from him.

Heroes don't let people die; he wasn't a hero; he couldn't even save one friend.

Ivan I am so sorry!

Does this deserve another chapter for Alfred's feelings?

I will leave the story In-Progress until I get an answer.