Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, then there would be no need for a disclaimer.


Two Lives Lost


Your mind races as you recall the events of a few hours ago. You still cannot believe it, and it really only felt like minutes. You're in a dreamlike state that isn't quite reality, most likely because of the rush of adrenaline that you received at the thought of not being alone. Although, being a ghost makes you have a twisted sense of reality after you think about it.

Now, you must go home, but you aren't really sure your home is now. You decide to go back to your apartment, because now your brothers must be back to their normal behaviors since they still don't care about you. Your mind reels at this, and comes up with the worst and most bitter thoughts that they can process. You tell it to shut up, but they will not, because you know that it is all true.

Finally, you arrive "home" and almost tried to open the door, and then you scold yourself. You decide to float up the stairs anyway, and you notice that there are a few ghosts roaming the building, but they don't even bat an eyelash at you. Of course, you're forgotten even now by your own kind. You sigh, and they glance at you shortly, so you know that they're intentionally ignoring you. You stop for a moment, realizing that your thoughts have become rather redundant, and you curse yourself for acting that way; you have more class and optimism than that.

Once you finally reach the sixth floor, you enter through the doorway and look around the seemingly vacant apartment. It was silent once again, and you're genuinely shocked. Alfred isn't on the couch watching horror movies—even though your constant talk about him getting nightmares fell on deaf ears like usual—and you do not see Arthur lounging about with a book and some tea, or his practicing his embroidering. You are actually worried, since that has been the norm for years on end. Soon, you shake these thoughts, because why should you worry about them if they don't even care about you? No, that does not make any sense in your rational mind.

You decide not to worry, but you're simply curious at what your brothers are doing. You can hear something now as you make your way through the same two bedroom apartment, and you can't quite tell what it is. When you enter the kitchen, you see that all three seats are vacant, so you continue your search. The noise is growing louder, and you can tell by the pitch that it is Alfred. You go to your shared room with him, and you can hear the noise more clearly now. You pause in shock, because that sounds…

"No," you whisper in reassurance to yourself. Alfred would never do that, he is too proud and arrogant to show an emotion like that. Slowly, as if you were afraid that he would notice, you slip into the room. You notice the figure on the bed with his head buried in the pillow, and you notice that it seems fairly wet. Your suspicions are confirmed, and you know that he is crying. You turn away, because you cannot bear to look, but you can still hear it. You do not want to pity your brother, because this was his entire fault and he deserved it.

But, no matter how much you tell that to yourself, you know that it is not true. The nagging thought at the back of your heard keeps telling you to stop being over dramatic and irrational, and that thought is becoming harder to push out.

You exit the room, because you cannot stand to listen to his desperate sobs and he how continues to say your name as if he actually cared. He used your nickname, chanting it as if it would magically make you return to your former physical state. Even outside the room, you can hear it. You hear the desperate words calling to you, the desperate call for "Mattie, oh Mattie!" and other chants of "I'm sorry! Come back!"

Instead, you try not to listen. You enter the Arthur's room, expecting to see him sound asleep with some earplugs to tune out the younger brother. You're wrong, because Arthur is kneeling in front of his bed with both hands clasped together. For a moment, you wonder what he's doing, but then you hear his silent whispers.

He is praying, praying that your soul will pass on and you will enter the kingdom of heaven. You're shocked, because Arthur didn't pay you any mind most of the time, and when he did, he was hardly affectionate. You notice that his eyes are red rimmed, and you don't know what to think anymore. Surely, he was only upset because he broke his promise to their parents to protect you. Yes, that must be it. He must be apologizing, or maybe he is only praying because he feels obligated to do so.

It makes you sick to think about that, but as you keep telling yourself, you know that it is true.

Yet, you don't leave. You stay in the room, and even sit on a chair in the corner of the room even though there is no need. You watch him, waiting for him to give up and go to sleep. You do this for the whole night, and as much as you try, you can still hear Alfred crying.

Needless to say, both of your brothers were awake all night.


It is 12 o'clock sharp, and you're standing—floating—in the middle of the park that Gilbert had motioned to yesterday. You see many people walking around, both the living and the dead; there seem to be more alive and well. You gaze around, looking for the unmistakable features of your new friend. He had told you to be there right at noon, and not to be late.

Maybe he had forgotten? Maybe it was a joke? Maybe he really doesn't care? All these thoughts invade your mind like a storm, and you can't help but allow them to dampen the mood. You decide to wait, seeing as you have nothing better to do and figure that he is simply late. Maybe he had a rough mor—What on earth are you thinking. He's a ghost; ghosts don't have problems such as those.

Whatever the reason, you decide to stick around anyway. At least now you don't have to watch the sunken faces of your brothers, and you can examine strangers around you without seeming creepy in the slightest. You see laughing and playing children, young couples holding hands, the elderly feeding pigeons and such. You can't help but forget your troubles for a while and relax. Even though you can't feel it, the air seems nice on a day like this, and the scenery is as nice as ever. You check the time, half past twelve.

Another fifteen minutes pass, and then another, and then another…

Soon, it is nearing 2 o'clock. With a sigh, you decide that there is no point hanging around this place much longer. Gilbert won't show up now, especially since he was the one who said specifically not to be late.

However, just as you're about to leave, you're shocked when you hear a shout behind you, and you can't help but jump in surprise.

When you turn around, you're met with those same ruby red eyes.

"Hey, Matt!" He said cheerfully, not noticing the scowl on your face. Apparently, a little while later, he must have noticed since he frowned a bit. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did a bird shit on your head or something? Hah! If one did, that'd be hilarious!" He even started to cackle, and you couldn't help but sport a smile at his attitude. Your previous anger is lost and you seem to forget what you were mad about it in the first place.

"No…" Oh, now you remember. "Why were you late?"

"Huh? Oh! See, the coffee machine wasn't working…"

"Gilbert."

"What? Sounds like you don't believe me; why not?"

"You're dead…" He stares at you blankly for a moment, before looking down and examining his disembodied state.

"Damn, no more using that excuse…" You sigh and decide to drop the matter, deciding that it wasn't worth your while. Instead, your roll your eyes in mock irritation, but Gilbert doesn't seem to notice.

"Anyway," the albino continued. "Let's get a move on! I want to show you some places!" He made an attempt to clutch your arm, but noticing that he couldn't in their state, he shrugged and walked off—expecting you to follow, you assume. You do just that, and catch up with him without question. It's nice, you think, that he is keeping you company; you don't feel as alone as usual, which is a relief to you.

Before you know it, the two of you are standing in front of a simple house in the west end of town. You examine the yard, noticing that it is immaculately well kept and not even a single blade of grass out of order. You gape slightly at the perfection, and Gilbert seems to see that.

"Yeah, my brother is a neat freak. If there is even so much as a speck of dust somewhere in the house he flips out." Gilbert explained with an almost fond look in his eyes. You watch in amazement, not quite comprehending how one minute this rowdy and loud character suddenly turned into a caring-sounding and calm person. Soon, you notice that you're staring.

"What are you staring at me like that for?"

Apparently, Gilbert noticed as well.

"N-Nothing!" You stammer. "You just... You sound like you are proud of your brother." You say this lamely, and if you could, you'd pale at the cheesy words. Gilbert, though, seemed to nod knowingly and ignored the odd words as if he didn't care.

"I am, you know. He's a better person than I ever was, and at least he's able to make something of himself," he talked fondly once again before he started to chuckle. "Hell knows I never could! Not many people wanted to hire a high school dropout, but luckily some did. Our parents died when I was 17, so we needed some form of income."

As Gilbert explained these things to you, you feel bad for the poor man. You thought that you had it tough, but he had it much worse. You wonder how he has so much self confidence and pride, but you notice in a sudden realization that it is really a façade. While he continues to explain, you swear that you can hear him starting to choke up every once in a while. He covers it up as much as possible, but you can still see it there.

Even so, he is still proud and seemingly happy… Why can't you be the same?

"Hey, Mattie?" You gasp on instinct, because only Alfred would call you Mattie. Hearing it spoken by someone else almost felt wrong, but since it was Gilbert, you felt that it was okay.

"Yeah?"

"Well… I think that crying will get us nowhere." You glance at him, and notice that there are a few tears rolling down his cheeks—apparently as a ghost you are able to cry—and he went on, "So let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" You ask, intrigued at the idea. Although, you ponder on how he knows that you cry about it as well.

"The dead are not supposed to remain in this world. To be honest, I just want to pass on and be happy. I know that you want the same, so we should make a pact. No matter what, we will help and make sure that we both pass on peacefully. What do you say?"

You have to think for a moment. That idea sounds nice in theory, but what waits for you after passing on? You don't want to be alone, and there is a nagging thought at the back of your mind that you shouldn't entirely trust this man that you met only recently. He seems to notice your doubt, and helps persuade your thinking.

"Oh come on, what is there to lose?" Besides everything?

"We'll be in a better place!" How do you know?

"There are probably some hot girls!" So? We're dead; it doesn't matter.

"We won't be alone." How—wait, what?

You stop your internal responses at that. All that you truly desire is to feel wanted, and to not be alone… But how could you be so sure?

"How do you know?" You reply quietly, and he—knowing which statement you are talking about—says simply:

"Because, I just do." He leaves it at that, and you decide that you may as well. Nodding your head in agreement, his solemn look turns into a smirk and he holds his hand out. Regardless of physical state, you shake hands.

"Deal." You smile, that promise of being with someone until the end has a nice feeling attached, and in that moment you swear that for once since your death, that you can feel an odd warmth in your heart.


After the pact you made with Gilbert, your mind is at ease as you trek back to the apartment.

However, once you arrive, things come crashing down to earth. As soon as you enter the small living space, the silence feels almost overwhelming. Just like the previous night and, judging by the circumstances, many to come, things are grim, and it is almost suffocating. Even in your state, you feel it strongly. It makes that pit in your stomach sink, and you think that perhaps your brothers left and will never come back.

The sound of shattering glass immediately relinquishes that thought.

"God damnit!"

You stop, and freeze. Looking through the hallway and into the kitchen, you can see a glimpse of Alfred's figure. His back is to you and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. You make your way to where he is, and you immediately notice the glass covering the floor in front of him. Intentional or not, you could not tell. Judging by the look on his face, he was either angry and, in turn, smashed the cup, or he dropped it and became angry—you could not tell which.

His next action catches you off guard. He sinks to the floor, the anger almost seeming to fade away as he simply becomes a broken pile of tears and sobbing. The glass is forgotten, but soon Arthur is by his side (probably heard the crash) and consoling him to the best of his ability. He helps Alfred get to his feet, and by this point Alfred has calmed down. Soon, though, he starts to mumble without stopping.

"Why did I make it happen…?" You hear distinctly, and you instantly know that it wasn't the broken cup that upset him. You try to remain indifferent, because Alfred never really cared about what you felt when you screwed up. About halfway through his attempt to help Alfred, Arthur freezes for a moment. You're curious, but seems to brush it off with an odd glance in your direction.

After ushering him to his room, Arthur walks back into the kitchen where you still stand idly. He walks until he is right in front of you, and lifts his head up enough so that he is staring at you.

"I can see you."

Your mind halts to a complete and utter stop. It takes you a while to register these words, because they seem utterly unreal to you. He barely acknowledged you when you were alive—not to mention the fact that you're dead—so why would he be able to see you now? He must be able to anticipate that reaction, because he explains himself.

"When we were younger, do you remember when I had that pet rabbit? Well, when it died, both you and Alfred thought that I was lying when I said that it was still here. I could see it, and I can see you." Arthur explains softly; he sounds like he does not want any sort of conflict.

Now that you think about it, that story does make sense. You can remember when Alfred—more than he—would tease Arthur about talking to his friend the "flying mint bunny" and even you would encourage their banter. That's all the proof you need, and you nod at his explanation.

Arthur nods in return and adds, "I didn't want to say anything about it in front of Alfred. He's taking it very hard, and he blames himself you know."

"Yes, I know." You manage quietly and with hostility, which Arthur picks up on. He backs away for a second, and looks at you in what looks to be… Pity?

"I'm so sorry Matthew…"

"I know. It's not your fault, Arthur." Even if it is a reassurance, you say it in a cold tone. He watches you carefully again, and with that same look of pity that you have grown to hate. Everyone seemed to use it, well, except for Gilbert. You think that maybe you should tell Arthur about what you've been doing ever since, but decide against it. You don't want to speak with him, and you certainly don't want Alfred hearing about it.

"A-Arthur?"

Speak of the devil.

He spins around sharply, trying to hide his nervousness. "Yes, what is it Alfred?"

"Who… Who are you talking to?"

"What? Oh… Just one of my… My "imaginary friends" as you like to call them." He covers smoothly, and Alfred seems to believe him. He turned around and walked back into his room.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Arthur continued, "I won't tell him. I can't see you all the time, anyway. Only in some cases, and this is the first time so far. Have you been around us already?"

You nod.

"I thought so. Listen, Matthew, I hope you can move on. Being stuck here can't be too glamorous, but if you want to talk, I will listen," he assures you, and you're surprised. You stare at him, but then you utter a simply 'okay' and leave it at that. After some more chatter, he says that he wants to sleep. You are thankful, for if you had to talk to Arthur some more, you may start to cry at what you're missing out on.


A/N: Reviews are much appreciated.