Me: I know, I know, I really shouldn't be writing this right now. I really have my hands full with my other SnK stories. But I just got into the Hetalia fandom, got addicted, and was struck with the biggest bout of writer's block since I started writing, so voila! Crossover one-shot!

Gohan: That will most likely turn into a full-fledged, three book series.

Me: *Smiles sheepishly* Probably. But… *Makes superhero pose.* Not until I finish Journey into the Unknown!

Gohan: Good luck with that.

Me: *Shoves Gohan off the computer.* Anyways, I meant this to be a thousand words at the most! How in the world did this grow into a five-and-a-half thousand word, angst-filled story? Seriously! Who does that?!

Gohan: *In the distance* You and everyone else!

Me: ...Be lucky that I wrote that in for you. But on another note, this story will probably be slightly confusing to those who haven't read the manga or the Before the Fall prequel series, or the Ilse's Notebook OVA (Which is what I based—heavily, I might add—scenes 1 and 2 off of). The story can still be read with having read either manga or OVA, but it will be slightly harder to understand.

Also, for those of you who have read Before the Fall, I'm 95.76% sure that the characters in here are most likely dead or injured or something crazy like that. I've only read up to the fourth book, so prepare for some big inaccuracies. This story goes on the idea that the Survey Corps defeated the MPs, Kuklo cleared his name, and he and Cardania mastered the 3DM gear, mass-producing it. The second and third scenes take place ten years after Kuklo escaped from his prison.

*Takes deep breath.* Wow, that might be the longest A/N I've ever written! I bet you guys are bored of me now! And I'm sorry for all the feels!

So here...We...GO!

The forest was deathly silent, the twilight air that was usually punctuated by the wakening of the nocturnal animals and the goodnight calls of the daylight creatures completely quiet.

Then the crunching of leaves began. A man rushed by, sprinting through the forest as fast as he could while preserving energy. His blond hair was sweaty and matted, plastered to his face as his lungs heaved for air. He wore an old, dirtied green military uniform with a Sam Browne belt. In his hands were a pen and a leather-bound notebook, which he was hurriedly writing in.

I fully expect to die, the man wrote as he ran. I hold out on a slight hope that I can make it to Wall Maria, but even that hope has run thin.

The uniformed man paused to jump over a log with inhuman strength, before continuing to run on.

My convoy and I were some of the last to retreat to the Walls. I fully blame myself. I was too stubborn to back down, too foolish, thinking I could fight an enemy that could kill nations.

I will write some of my history, for you, reader, for you do not know who I am.

They first appeared five years ago, in southern China. They were invulnerable to all of the nation's attacks, and they came in the thousands, thirsting for for the taste of human blood. We still don't know why they came or why they eat humans.

At the next world meeting, the Koreas and China weren't there.

Then we knew that this was a world threat.

It was Germany who had proposed joining together, several months later. By then, Mongolia, Pakistan, and Tibet, to name a few, were also dead by that time.

Russia's dissolution into anarchy three weeks later was a good incentive to band together.

And the Titans continued to move westward. Even with the combined might of the Allied and Axis powers, we could only slow them down.

To our surprise, at the next world meeting, America collapsed, half dead, and Canada sustained a heavy wounds. Their countries had been attacked.

We never did find out how the Titans had managed make their way to the Western hemisphere.

America had fallen by the end of the month. The president had survived, and so Alfred lived on, but powerless. Canada had been destroyed, but Matthew, bless his soul, had pulled a Prussia and continued to live.

I wonder where they are now. I lost track of the twins almost a half year ago.

Around two years in, it had begun to dawn on some of the us that this fight really was hopeless. By then, the Western hemisphere had been devastated, thanks to the Titans' inability to die and their numbers.

And when Brazil witnessed Mexico get eaten by a titan and die, even though her country was still partially intact, it was a shock. To know that the Titans could kill us without destroying our country was shocking.

And the Titan's massacre of the human race continued.

It was a year ago, at a world meeting, the Germany offered respite to the dying world. I remember how shocking it was, looking around the room. What had once housed so many nations had dwindled to five—Italy, France, Germany, Japan, and I.

Somehow, Germany's government had managed to create three fifty-meter walls, made of a strange rock as strong as titanium, and were inviting all who could make it to live inside, safe from the titans. Honestly, I don't think that even Germany himself knew how they were made. But I do, now.

I was stupid. I wanted to defeat the titans right then and there. I thought I was strong enough, ready to succeed when Russia and America had failed.

When Germany died saving me and the current King, William, I finally saw how utterly idiotic I had been.

Italy had been devastated, I remember. He hasn't been the same since.

And that brings me to the present. The King and I had been on our way to Wall Maria when the Titans had attacked. Most of my convoy had died, and William and I had been separated. But he's still alive. I can feel it.

The man stopped writing for a moment, before adding:

I am Great Britain, AKA Arthur Kirkland. I am not afraid to die.

England grunted as he stumbled over a root, before regaining his footing again, and running off. This continued for several more minutes until he passed a particularly large tree.

A titan, with short blond hair, peeked out from behind the tree, making a low moaning sound. England stared at the titan in sudden surprise and great fear, before immediately turning and running in the opposite direction from the titan.

I have encountered a titan! It's a 4-5 meter class!

The titan moaned again, before lurching forwards at a much faster pace than England, quickly gaining ground on the once-great nation. Panicking, Britain went faster, but the titan's speed was too much. Eventually, the titan, bending over, lashed out at Britain, hand barely missing, but vibrating the ground behind him and making the nation stumble. England fell to the ground, but immediately crawled on his hands and knees, just barely avoiding the Titan's teeth. The nation turned over and crab-walked backwards, until his back hit the trunk of a tree.

The titan's face was only a few meters away, its warm, carrion-laced breath blowing into England's face, making his sweaty hair flutter. Despite himself, Britain wrinkled his nose at the disgusting smell. To his surprise, however, the titan did not attack, simply opting to sit there, staring at him.

I'm trapped against a tree, the nation hurriedly scribbled down, not daring to take his eyes away from the titan. The titan is so close I can feel its breath. But it's not attacking. Is it an an abnormal?

Then, the blond 4-meter huffed loudly, blowing hot steam into England's face before backing away slowly, until it was several yards away.

The titan is backing away from me. What's it—?

He stopped in shock, watching the titan. Slowly, the titan bent down until it was practically rubbing its face in the dirt.

The titan… it's… bowing to me.

"Zeke-sama."

The voice was more of a rumble than anything, and if England's senses hadn't been so heightened by adrenaline he might've missed it altogether.

"What?" Britain breathed in shock, voice barely above a whisper.

"Welcome back. I am honored."
It spoke to me. The titan spoke to me! It called me Zeke-sama, welcomed me "back." Why is he using honorifics? Who is Zeke?

I'm going to try and communicate with it. It may be possible that this titan is intelligent. I must try to find information.

"Why are you here?" Britain challenged, drawing up the aura only a man who'd lived a thousand years and been a superpower could do. "Why are the titans eating the humans?"

The titan groaned, bringing his hands to his face, but Arthur didn't stop. The nation rarely (okay, maybe a lot) lost his temper, and when he did, there was little to nothing that could stop him.

"How can you kill nations? How do you even exist?!" Despite himself, England felt the tears starting to form in his eyes as he spoke. So many. Billions were dead because of them!

The titan moaned again, this time louder, fingers tearing at his cheeks. England watched in shock, anger fading, as the titan started peeling of the skin on it face. Blood splattered on his shoes, steaming.

"And this is my cue to leave," Arthur muttered to himself, slowly edging away from the titan before hurriedly sprinting away. Before he got any farther than a couple feet, though, the titan lunged forwards towards the nation, flinging out his hands and grabbing him.

Britain let out a cry of surprise and pain before hurriedly scribbling in his journal:

The titan has attacked! My death is imminent! The titan didn't respond to my questions, only ripped—

The titan gripped the nation harder and brought him closer to its mouth.

—its cheeks out! Someone find America if he's still alive for me. Canada, too. Try to find other survivors—

The titan placed England's head in between its teeth, and bit down.

—They'll be a great asset to humanity! The coordinate is our last hope! It mustn't be passed do—

A sickening crack filled the air, and England's body slackened.

The notebook and pen fell to the ground below.

~Flashback~

"Bam! Bam!" The little boy shouted gleefully, holding up a small toy soldier. The child looked to be around nine or ten years old, with blond bangs, pure, blue eyes, and a cowlick sticking out of his hair. "I just killed your captain, Big Brother! Your pirates are doomed!"

"Not yet!" An older man replied cheerfully. He seemed to be quite enjoying this game, even though he was at least a decade and a half older than his "little brother." He also had blond hair, but his eyes were a spring forest green, twinkling with amusement. He took the toy soldier resting in his own hand and made a noise alike to a gun firing. "Me first mate just shot yer commander!"
The little boy laughed at his big brother's priate accent. "Don't worry, civilians!" He turned his soldier to some discarded toys on the sidelines. "The hero will beat the evil pirates and save the day!"

"Hero?" The green-eyed man laughed. "That's a new one, America. Where'd you come up with that?"

America looked up at his big brother with wide innocent eyes. "Well, heroes save the day, don't they?" He grinned, showing off a lost tooth. "And when I grow up, I'm gonna make sure everyone gets a happy ending! I'll be everyone's hero, England!" He looked at his toy soldier with eyes that betrayed his age. "I mean, there's so much fighting in the world. I want to stop it."

England looked down on his colony in pride. He would make an amazing nation and a great asset to the British empire, when the time came. But for now, America was still young and naive, and England was determined to keep that way.

"I sure you will," he smiled.

America grinned up at him. "You're a great big brother, England!"

The mighty nation opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off as a man burst into the room. He looked winded, as if he had run all the way here.

"Sir!" He saluted stiffly, hardly reacting to England's annoyed gaze. "The Spaniards have invaded Nassau*, sir!"

"What?!" England exclaimed, standing up angrily, before seeming to remember that there was a child in the room, and he calmed somewhat, taking a deep breath. "I'll be in the briefing room in a moment, Hinoko. Go on."

Nodding stiffly, Hinoko turned, and with a swish of his army coat, exited the room.

America looked up at his big brother with wide, teary eyes. "You're gonna leave again, aren't you?" He sniffled.

"'Going to,'" England corrected gently, kneeling down to the little brother's height, ruffling his unruly hair fondly. "And don't worry. I'll only probably be gone a little while. Nassau is a small settlement. You even notice that I'm away."

"But what if you don't come back?" America wailed. "Or if you get hurt?"

"Don't worry," England repeated, pulling his brother into a tight hug. "I'll be fine. Spain just doesn't know when to give up." He paused for a moment before adding: "You'll be with Canada and Uncle France for a little while, okay? While I'm gone, you can be a hero for them, okay?"

"'Kay. I'll be the hero."

~End Flashback~

65 Years Later

"I certainly don't feel like a hero," America muttered under his breath, shaking his head to dispel the memory. Why do I have to remember that now? He thought. Memories of England were painful. Alfred gripped his reins tighter as he leaned back on his horse, trying to clear his head.

"Ve, what was that?" Italy asked next to him, looking at his friend with curious auburn eyes. "I didn't hear you."

"Nothing," The former country replied instantly, before looking over his shoulder, through the small forest they had entered. "I think we lost it; let's slow down our horses before we ride them to death. "

"Thank goodness," The italian sighed, sagging his shoulders in relief. "Ve, I thought we were done for."

"Too close," America agreed, nodding his head. "That abnormal titan was strong."

The two comrades continued on for a little longer, before Italy suddenly stiffened.

"Ve, Alfred," he began, voice only slightly betraying his sudden fear. "How will we get back to the formation? We're pretty far away now."

America cursed under his breath. He hadn't thought of that. "We'll have to hide out until nightfall," he replied after a few moments of hesitation. Then we'll head for Maria. If we time it just right, we'll make it right at dawn; that's when the Garrison is starting their shifts."

"If you say so," Italy sighed, pressing his face into the mane of his horse. "Ve, Prussia's gonna kill me for losing the Survey Corps again."

"That makes two of us," America replied. "You have no idea how protective Matthew is."

"And yet you mother hen him all the time."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do. Prussia and I were talking about it earlier."

"Agh. I need a hamburger."

"Ve, they don't exist anymore, remember? But we still have pasta!"

"AGH! I need to eat a burger~!"

"Still don't exist."

"Then I'll make one."

"I'd rather you not burn down the barracks...again, ve. I'll do it."

America rolled his eyes, but bit off a retort, ears pricking up. What was…? Then it hit him.

"In the trees, now!" He shouted. The ex-nation hurriedly grabbed his grapples, shooting them into the trees canopy. Then, his 3DM gear let out pressurized gas, and America shot off his horse. Tree branches whipped at his face, but he didn't care, instead rising up until he couldn't anymore.

Below him, a 4-meter titan boomed into view, its unnaturally large head bobbing in the late afternoon sunlight. It hardly gave a glance to their two horses, who nickered fearfully before looking up at the former nation with an unnaturally wide grin.

"Thanks for the warning, ve," Italy breathed from America's right. "Too close. One more minute and we'd have been titan chow."

"No prob," Alfred replied nonchalantly, hiding the shock at the fact that they had almost died. "Attack?"

"Attack. Plan A?"

"Of course."

The two soldiers separated, zooming off in opposite directions. The titan, having choose between its prey, wobbled towards Alfred's retreating form.

America grinned, balancing easily on his hips as he swung backwards on his 3DM gear, looking over his shoulder every once in awhile to make sure he didn't misfire a grapple.

"Me again, eh?" He taunted, taking a leaf out of Prussia's book. "You guys always choose me! I guess you all just want a taste of my awesomeness!"

The titan didn't react at all, instead opting to limp forwards, hands grabbing futily at Alfred, who was careful to stay just out of arm's reach. The ex-nation could practically see the saliva dripping off of its mouth. Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Wow, you're disgusting," he remarked. Of course, the titan didn't respond. America peeked over the five-meter's shoulder, looking out for Italy. He sure was taking a while.

C'mon, he urged silently. Where are you, Feliciano?

Abruptly, the titan jumped forwards, and America, distracted with his thoughts, didn't notice until it was nearly too late. With a cry ("Hey!") he barely managed to avoid the titan's hands by a foot or so, the air from its hands ruffling the ex-nation's hair. However, the five-meter's hands did hit one of America's 3DM cords, bending it down towards the ground, and snapped the grapple out of the tree it had been embedded in.

Alfred suddenly found himself in a careening arc, now held up by only one cord. Before he could do anything, the ex-nation slammed into a tree, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Stars danced in front of his eyes.

Distantly, America heard Italy's concerned cry, but he didn't pay much attention to it, instead opting to narrowly avoid the titan's hand, ducking and tumbling around the tree's trunk and scrambling to get away.

The five-meter lunged towards him again, and America fell onto his back. The blond titan then launched himself forwards, mouth stretched inhumanly wide. The ex-nation gritted his teeth, digging one elbow into the dirt and pulled the other, holding one of his blades forwards in a weak defense. The titan was only a few feet away-

The beast suddenly slackened, dead. Falling face-first into the ground, it began to steam, its body disintegrating. America looked up in surprise to see Italy, the titan's blood evaporating off of his blades, standing on top of the titan's head.

"Took you long enough," Alfred muttered, rubbing his head. "You know how close I was to dying, there?" He held his fingers a millimeter apart. "This close."

"Ve~, at least you're alright!" Feliciano replied, jumping off of the titan's rapidly dissipating corpse, eyes still wide with fear. "You scared me half to death! Pay attention next time, please!"

"Sorry," the ex-nation muttered half-heartedly, starting to get up. He stopped, though, when his hand hit something hard. "Huh?"

"What is it?" Italy questioned,leaning forwards inquisitively.

"Nothing," America muttered, turning over to see what he had felt. "I just felt something—there!"

Alfred touched something underneath a layer of dirt and leaves. Feeling around for the edges, he found them and pulled whatever it was out of the ground. Shaking off the excess dirt and bugs, the object cleaned enough to be identified as...a notebook?

"Ve, what's that there for?" Italy asked, confused. "There haven't been any recent expeditions here." The ex-nation jumped, realizing something. "What if it's from before the walls, ve? It could be from a citizen of Germany's!"

"Maybe," America replied, slightly sceptical, but decided not to crush Feliciano's hope that he could have something that was from Germany (Really, though, why did he fancastinate himself with German things from before the walls? They lived in Germany!). "The book's certainly looks old enough. And the cardstock is still in pretty good shape; I bet the leather protected it from most of the elements."

"Well?" Italy said, leaning over America's shoulder. "Ve, what are we waiting for?" Open it!"

Alfred stood up, shook most of the remaining dirt from the notebook, and opened it. The paper was a crinkly yellow (honestly, it was miracle it had even survived this long) and threatened to crumble into dust at any moment. However, with Italy standing on his tiptoes to peek over his shoulder, he began to read the faded ink:

I fully expect to die, it read. I hold out on a slight hope that I can make it to Wall Maria, but even that hope has run thin. My convoy and I were some of the last to retreat to the Walls. I fully blame myself. I was too stubborn to back down, too foolish, thinking I could fight an enemy that could kill nations.

"He's a nation?!" Alfred exclaimed in shock, frightening Italy, who was a slower reader and further back than he was.

"Ve, which one?" He exclaimed, stepping back. "Who was it?!"

America skipped over the words, scanning the hurried entry of the book. The ink was faded, almost to the point of disappearing, and the writing was scribbled, making the book almost unintelligible. Finally, though, he came across an actual name.

"No…" Alfred breathed in shock, suddenly feeling very weak. "Feli...This book is England's. Its talking about our history."

Italy blinked, eyes watering. "Do you think he made it to the Walls?" He asked hopefully. "And went into hiding, like Kiku did?"

"I don't know," The ex-nation shrugged. "I hope so...but…" He flipped a page, not bothering to read the faded words. "It just ended suddenly." Alfred sighed, tucking the book inside his jacket. This was bringing up unwanted memories.

Feliciano brought up two fingers to his mouth, letting out a shrill whistle to call their horses. America scanned the area thoroughly, checking to make sure no more titans were sneaking up on them again. Nothing.

Alfred was about to turn back to Italy when something out of place caught his eye. Blinking, the ex-nation studied the tree that had caught his attention. The tree was the largest in the area, its interior open to the elements.

There!

America jolted as he saw what had caught his eye just a few seconds earlier. A flash of faded green fluttered inside of the tree's interior. Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked up to the tree and peered inside.

And froze.

Whatever had been there had obviously been there for a long time and had mostly decomposed, because there wasn't much left. Several shards of brown-white somethings were scattered in the opening. But it wasn't that that made America stop.

An old Sam Brown belt, a pair of leather boots dotted in brown stains, and a single surviving strip of green wool lay on the bottom of the tree's insides.

Shakily, ignoring Italy's confused questions, Alfred reached inside and pulled out the scrap of cloth. His vision going misty, he looked the strip of clothing over, finding a tag with some faded writing on it.

Property of Arthur Kirkland.

And suddenly, seven decades of pain all came flowing out, and America was kneeling on the ground, crying his heart out. His brother, father, caregiver, role-model, his best friend's body—what was left of it, at least— was right in front of him. England really was gone.

Forever.

Epilogue:

2 Months Later:

The sky was a storm-cold gray, a moderate wind blowing Sealand's hair into his face, whipping his hair into his eyes. Peter didn't mind the wind, though. It dried his tears before they could fall.

The funeral was small, just like he would've liked it. The community was mostly made out of former countries, but there were a few humans here and there.

Sealand glanced around himself, his heart devoid of emotion, just like it had been ever since he had received the news. He'd had known that his brother had been dead for a long time, yet some part of him had hoped that he had managed to survive somewhere. He had known he was just kidding myself, though. Sealand represented his brother's people now; it was the only reason he looked as old as he did, 15 instead of the norm of a mirconation's age, 12.

Sealand shook his head out of his thoughts. He represented the people of the Nordics, Britain, and France. That was all. It didn't matter that his adoptive parents, Sweden and Finland, were dead. It didn't matter that he was attending his "birth" brother's funeral. He was just here to pay his respects to a former world superpower.

Peter sighed, rubbing his face with his right hand. Why was he even here? England had never cared for him. He had always ignored him, refused to recognize his micronation, and had let him be auctioned off to Sweden.

"You know why you're here."

Sealand jumped, turning in a flash, ignoring the wind as it took his breath away momentarily in a particularly strong gust.

"Will you stop reading my mind?" He said irritatedly to the albino man standing behind him. "And creeping up on me. It's weird." Not to mention that, once upon a time, it was impossible for you to stay unnoticed, he added silently.

Prussia snorted. "Sorry, kid, but I'm not magically attuned like all you Brits," He replied. "Your feelings are just written all over your face, as usual."

Sealand scowled, folding his arms. He knew Prussia was hurting over England's confirmed death, too. The personification of eastern Europe was simply holding it in under his mask again, trying to make him feel better.

I don't need your sympathy!

"Why don't you just go and bother someone else?!" He finally snapped, regretting the words as soon as he uttered them.

Hurt flickered in the ex-nation's eyes before they hardened, snapped under Prussia's mask once again. With a swish of his nobleman's coat, the older man stalked off in the opposite direction, where Canada and America were conversing quietly near England's freshly dug grave. It was disheartening that all that could be buried was his boots, belt, and several shards of bone.

Sealand looked over the area. As Prussia neared the North American twins, America looked up and Peter noted that his eyes were red from crying. He was wrapped in Canada's arms, the quiet nation silently comforting his grieving brother. The scene sent a shiver down the ex-micronation's spine. America had always been so strong.

Peter forced his eyes away from the scene. He didn't want to see this. Not now. Instead, he watched the other attendee's of the funeral.

Italy was standing close to the other ex-countries. His hair was plastered to his face, his normally bouncy curl drooping down. Standing on the fringes of the gathering, Japan watched the events with an emotionless gaze with the same, dead eyes he'd had since the fall of eastern Asia. Several feet away, the Commander of the Survey Corps and his father, a Training Corps instructor, Carlo and Jorge Pikale, were standing in between Vargas and Honda, offering silent comfort to their old friends.

"Are you alright?"

Peter turned, this time very welcoming, to the young woman next to him. She was stunningly beautiful, with long blond hair that went down to her waist and bright, blue eyes. At least I can trust you.

"I don't know," Sealand sighed, hugging himself. "I don't know what to feel. England wasn't the best brother—heck, he auctioned me off!—but I still love him, and-and I don't know why!"

"Well," Sharle Inocencio smiled softly, in that way that only she could. It was one so full of hope for the future, one that years of hardship had failed to take away. Sealand could see how Kuklo, the "titan's son" and her current fiance, had fallen in love with her. "I think you should be worried if you don't feel anything about these events."

"What do you mean?" The "teen" replied, genuinely confused.

Sharle laughed a little bit, the solitary giggle foreign in the tense atmosphere. "For an all-knowing eternal who's lived over century and a half, you're surprisingly naive." She let up protecting hands as Peter sent his old friend a glare, before becoming serious again. The young woman looked up into the cloudy sky. "You remember Dario, my father, right?"

Peter nodded. Dario had been one of the richest merchants in Wall Sina, and had purchased Kuklo (then nothing more than a slave) illegally to train his son, Xavi, before he entered the military. However, titan worshippers (Sealand hated those idiots, they were all suicidal), had broken into his house, having believed Kuklo to be an actual "Titan's son," and had killed Dario in the process. He had been about to force Sharle into an arranged marriage.

"Do you remember this?" Sharle asked, reaching into a bag she had over her shoulder and pulling out a sheathed knife. It was intricately designed, but it's nobleman fashion was deceiving; that knife had survived multiple encounters with titans and had even succeeded in injuring one.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "It's your and Kuklo's greatest treasure."

"It was also a gift from my father."

Sealand blinked. That...was unexpected. In all the stories he'd heard about the famous merchant, Dario had seemed very greedy and vain.

"Surprised?" Sharle asked, not bothering to wait for Peter's response. "Kuklo was, too." Her eyes turned wistful. "When I was younger, I was absolutely terrified of the titans. I would have nightmares every night. Eventually, my father went to the best blacksmith in the Walls, demanding him to make a weapon that could hurt a titan for my peace of mind. And so the blacksmith made this knife, and my father then gave it to me. I didn't find out how my father had gotten it until years later, after he had died."

Sealand's heart seemed to freeze.

"I thought I hated my father," Sharle continued, clutching the knife to her chest, as if it could fend off a whole horde of titans. "I thought he only wanted me for my political value; to set good relations with the noblemen. But he really wanted to marry me off for my safety, as I see now. It wasn't the right choice, but the Baumeister's were some of the strongest families in Wall Sina. I bet he thought I would feel safer there."

Peter's shoulders were shaking, and something wet was trickling down his cheeks. A choked sob escaped his lips.

Sharle's story was familiar. Too familiar.

It was a story he had repeated multiple times in his own life, without even knowing it.

And then the ex-micronation was sobbing his heart out, thrusting himself into Sharle's waiting arms. The young woman held the "teen" close to her chest, letting Sealand let out what he had held in for over half a century.

Finland. Dead.

Sweden. Dead.

Latvia. Dead.

Wy. Dead.

America. Broken, probably beyond repair.

And England, the brother he didn't even realize he loved, gone before he could tell him how he felt.

He cried for all of them. All the countries, from Egypt to Russia; he cried for the billions of lives lost in the great Titan war. He cried for the lost secrets of the world before the walls, cried for the last remnants of humanity, cowering behind Wall Maria. He sobbed for Japan, his people hunted to near extinction, for America, forced to lead the last remnants of the G8 too soon. Peter sobbed for them all, but, at the same time, felt a fire light within him.

He thought of the Reiss family, actively striving to discover and control the coordinate power. He remembered Kuklo and Cardania, the first to master the revolutionary 3D-Maneuvering Gear. He paid tribute to Sorum, the first man to manually kill a titan at the cost of his own life. And he recalled Xenophon Harkimo, the man who worked day and night to create the 3D gear in the first place, and had worked to make more inventions for humanity against the titans.

Wiping his tears, Sealand took a shaky breath and stepped away from Sharle, who watched him with knowing eyes. Peter let the fire inside him grow.

"I think," he announced loudly, eyes blazing with a newfound determination. "I think I'm going to join the Training Corps."

The little conversation that had been going on ceased at Sealand's declaration, everyone turning to look at the ex-micronation. A new energy he hadn't had in years fueled his steps, and the "teen" strode towards Carlo, who looked at him in surprise.

"I should've joined earlier," he declared. "But what's done is done. Commander Pikale, once I finish my mandatory three years training, I wish to join the Survey Corps. Will you accept my offer?"

The leader of the Recon Corps looked at the Peter in shock, before pride lit in his eyes and the Estonian** saluted, fist thumping on his chest.

"I would be honored," he said, a small smile gracing his lips. "Your service will be well-used here."

"And until then," Jorge stepped forwards, the large man dwarfing Peter's small frame. "I will teach you everything you need to know in training."

Sealand nodded determinedly. Another person stepped up beside him, and the "teen" turned to face America, who looked at him with a nostalgic look. Peter knew that looking at him was now painful for the ex-american. He was practically a carbon copy of England with blue eyes.

"You're doing this for Iggy, aren't you?" He said quietly, voice hoarse from mourning, tripping over his nickname for England.

Sealand paused, then nodded.
"I'm going to kill them," he said simply. "And maybe I'll find a way to avenge everyone's deaths in the meantime."

Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, and Peter suddenly found himself wrapped in a hug, in the gentle yet strong way that only Alfred could pull off.

"He would be so proud," America said, voice choking with emotion. "They all would be."

And in his heart, Sealand agreed. It hadn't been recognition as a country that he wanted, as he first thought, before the Titan war. Nor was it the ability to fit in, as he had believed after the war.

All he had ever wanted or needed was for England, Finland, and Sweden to look at him and say, "I raised that boy. See him? I raised him and taught him everything he knows."

And maybe, one day, he would get that respect that he had always yearned for, but it would never come from his parental figures—at least, not until they were all in heaven together. And Sealand vowed to never let that day come to pass, at least for a very long time.

For he was going to make himself worthy for everyone's sacrifices.

Author's Notes/Historical References:

~ I have a headcanon that whenever a country dissolves, the personification becomes an "eternal." They still have an indefinite life and are invulnerable to natural deaths, but can now die in battle. The eternals heal slower than nations and are more easily injured. They're kinda halfway between human and nation.

They often represent the people of a specific region, even if those people don't identify themselves as a country. Example: In the main series, Prussia is the eternal of eastern Germany. He can feel the people, but Germany (West), is still the representation of the western Germans and the government. (This is why Prussia and the other nations are still alive in the main series and this one-shot. They're eternals.)

*In 1720, during the War of the Quadruple Alliance, Spain made an unsuccessful raid on Nassau, a British settlement in the Bahamas.

**Pikale is Estonian for lengthy, so I'm assuming that's Carlo's nationality.

Me: I know, I know, I'm a horrible person! I killed off my precious Arthur and made Sealand grown up too fast! I'm sorry! *Starts eating ice cream to deal with all the feels.*

Gohan: Uhh...I guess I'll write the rest of the A/N, then.

*Turns to the readers.* Please review! This is a purely experimental crossover, and the two of us want to know what you think! If you guys like the story enough, Pixel's thinking of writing a one-shot centered on Japan(Kiku), and his adventures with Levi and his gang in the underground. Please, review to tell us what you want us to do!

And please, read our other stories in this shameless moment of self-promotion!

See you guys later! Bye!