Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.


"Good morning," Finland said with a yawn and a stretch as he walked into the living room of their boarded up house. "What are you doing?"

"Playing poker," Denmark said with a one-shouldered shrug. "There's food in the kitchen. Nothing exciting."

Finland eyed the circle of nations. "What are you playing for?" He silently prayed that it was not strip poker.

"This!" Denmark held a bottle up reverently. "Bourbon! We found it hidden away in a little hidey-hole of the owner's. God bless Americans and their shame at their alcoholism. We're playing for shots."

Finland glanced over at Sweden, then quickly joined the other Nordics. "I'm in."

Sweden frowned at them. "S'early."

"It's around nine in the morning," Norway said, staring intently at his cards. "That means we have twenty seven hours to live."

"At the most," Iceland sighed.

Denmark nodded. "Someone with an axe and a bunch of guns could chop their way in ten minutes from now. I've got booze, and I'm gonna enjoy it!"

"Hm." Sweden sat down beside Finland. "I'm in."

So they played, enjoying what was probably the last drink of their lives, chatting about random nonsense as if it were any normal day. As everyone laughed at a particularly stupid comment by Denmark, Finland smiled, and decided that—with everyone else out in the wilderness fleeing for their lives, terrified, alone—his possible last day on earth could have been spent a whole lot worse.


Greece's first thought when he opened his eyes was Oh, shit... He had fallen asleep, back-to-back with Japan. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see the other nation still sleeping, chin to chest. Greece heaved a sigh. They had been taking turns sleeping, the other keeping watch. Greece's last turn as the guard had obviously failed.

Oh well. They hadn't been murdered in their sleep. No harm, he supposed. In fact, a bit more sleep sounded good. Greece glanced around, but saw no sign of anyone else. He didn't have much time left, and wanted to spend it doing what he enjoyed.

Besides. If he had to die, he would prefer to do it in his sleep.

That decided, Greece settled back against Japan—who was starting to stir, anyway—and let his eyes drift shut. Soon he was again dreaming of sunny skies over ancient ruins.


"It's my turn!"

"Not it isn't!"

"Yes it is!"

"Idiota!"

"Ve~ Germany!"

"SHUT UP!" Germany ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I swear, it's like traveling with children! If you don't knock if off, I'll take the MP3 player."

Spain nodded. "If you two keep fighting, we'll turn this car around and-"

"You shut up, too!"

Spain shrugged. He flopped onto the pile of leaves he had fashioned, tugging out one of his water bottles. "Just trying to lighten the mood. Come sit with me, Romano!"

But Romano had already turned his "weapon" on, bobbing his head while smirking at his brother. Then his face fell. "Goddammit! You stupid thing!" He yanked the headphones off and glared at the player. "It died... fuck me..."

Germany pinned Spain with a glare, silently ordering him to not make any additional commentary.

"Stop yelling!" Italy whined. "It's bad enough we have to worry about everyone else!"

"We haven't even had to deal with anyone," Romano muttered. "Nobody alive, anyway."

Italy shuddered. "Don't remind me!"

"I know what will make everyone feel better." Spain yawned. "Early siesta!"

Germany groaned as the brothers readily agreed and started to strip. "No!" he barked. "Napping is not the—oh, whatever, you aren't listening." He kept Italy's handgun close by (and Spain's hacksaw as well, for the hell of it), and kept watch, trying to ignore the growing migraine.


"I miss our house!" America whined.

"We know," England said, running a hand down his face.

"You've said before," Canada added, unnecessarily. He missed the house, too, but on the bright side, they had all thought to grab their bags in their quick dash to escape. He and England hadn't even questioned America's warning—as soon as they had heard him hollering about an intruder, they had snatched up their things and ran right out the kitchen door. They hadn't even stopped to worry about leaving America alone with whoever the intruder was until after their escape, and that was only a second before America himself rejoined them, grumbling about Russia.

"It's not like we could have stayed there forever," England said.

"I know, but still..." America sighed. "Wandering around out here sucks." He stomped harshly onto a twig, snapping it. "I should have fought him!"

"With your weapon tucked safely away?" England said. "Don't fight Russia unarmed."

"I could take him unarmed!"

"Of course you could, dear."

"Quiet!" Canada hissed, reaching out to jerk both of them to a halt. "I see someone."

They both looked in the direction Canada pointed. Sure enough, in a nice sunny grassland ahead, they could make out three figures walking together, all female. Some more female than others.

"Ukraine!" America said. "And..." He peered closer. "Vietnam. Seychelles." He looked back at his companions with a grin. "Well, they wouldn't hurt us!"

"Oh yes," Canada said, "Vietnam's a pussycat."

"Well she's hanging out with Ukraine and Chelles! Let's group up with them."

"Ladies would be a nice change from only having you two to hang out with," England mused.

America gave him a half-hearted glare, then raised his arm in a wave, opening his mouth to call out. Canada quickly tugged him back, though, shushing him.

"What?"

"I see somebody else..." Canada whispered.

"Who?" Once again America and England strained to see what Canada had noticed—another figure, much bigger than the trio of girls (who seemed to be arguing about something), carefully following them. "Wait, that looks like...!" America jerked out of Canada's grip, digging out his weapon.

Canada did as well. He flicked out his knife, swallowing. "Let's go."

"Hey!" America yelled at the three unsuspecting nations. "Look out!"

The sound of gunfire filled the air. All three girls went down, before America and Canada even had time to start running.

"No...!" America stared at the trio of bodies collapsing to the earth. "No! Russia!"

Hearing them, Russia disappeared back into the trees. Before anyone could stop him, America took off after him.

"Wait!" Canada cried, gaping in shock. He moved to follow, but England grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"We don't need all of us getting lost," England said, voice sounding a lot calmer than his expression looked.

"We're just letting him go?"

"He won't listen to us. Or wait for us." England bit his lip, staring at the ground.

Canada stared in the direction his brother had gone. The way he had raced off, they wouldn't have been able to catch him. "He'll be okay... right?"

"Of course," England said, his words not especially comforting due to the overwhelming worry in his eyes. "He's a hero."


A low grumble startled France, who whirled around in alarm, sickle gripped as tightly as ever.

"Settle down!" Prussia cried, scurrying back. "That was my stomach! Damn!"

France stared vacantly at him for a second, then turned back around and resumed his trek. Shuddering, Prussia continued to follow. He tugged a bite of ration bar out to munch on, hopefully alleviating further noises. He could have killed for some wurst or something. Or a beer. He would have let France violate him with the sickle for a nice cold beer. He bet his brother was thinking the same thing—well, maybe not the same thing, but something similar, and of course he was fine. Prussia wasn't hugely worried about West. If anyone could take care of himself, it was him! He would be a much preferred companion, too. Prussia would have to seek him out once he acquired France's weapon and got the hell away.

He wasn't even sure what France's mission was anymore. He hadn't mentioned his "family" in quite a while. Prussia didn't particularly want to ask and find out. He still wasn't convinced France wasn't seeking out his family to kill them. Poor crazy bastard.

Okay, so he didn't want to ask France about the ones who may or may not have triggered his crazy, but the silence was driving him nuts and he had to talk about something. France always mostly ignored him, anyway. "So. We're down to the low twenties, huh? That's crazy. Almost half. At least Germany hasn't been on the list. But he's pretty awesome, he would kick ass."

"You think he's been killing the others?" France said, startling Prussia. Oh, so he did want to chat.

"I don't know. Uh, maybe? Probably only in self-defense! Don't you think?"

France just shrugged. "I can see him playing. I can picture him firing a gun at England, the hot lead tearing through skin and tendons, punching holes in organs, breaking bones..."

"Mein gott, France!" Prussia cringed.

"Or maybe he has a knife. Maybe he wants to stab Canada, blade cutting through him like pâté, severing—"

"Okay, okay! I get the point!" So he was still thinking about them. Juuust lovely.

"I cannot picture him killing America," France mused, voice almost in a sing-song. "So America would kill him. He would probably use a gun. Or maybe a baseball bat, he is fond of baseball. Swinging it and—"

"Fuck, France, if you don't shut up right now...!"

To his surprise, France stopped talking.

"France?" a tiny voice said. "Is that you? And Prussia?" A petite girl stepped closer, trembling. "Are you playing?" She eyed the sickle in France's hands with trepidation.

"Nah." Prussia shot a glare at France. "We're not playing. Hello, Liechtenstein."

She nodded in greeting. "Brother, he says they aren't playing."

"I'm sure they'd tell the truth about that," Switzerland muttered, joining his sister, distrust in his eyes as he watched the pair.

"Are you playing?" France asked, taking a step back. Prussia glared at him again, then winced. France actually looked kind of scared. Who would be scared of those two?

"Of course we're not!" Liechtenstein took a step closer, despite Switzerland's hissed warning, arms raised peacefully.

"Stay back!" France cried, holding his weapon before him.

"Man, not awesome!" Prussia said, wanting to pull France away but not willing to get close to him. "She's a cute little unarmed girl!"

"Stay back," France repeated. Shying away from him, Liechtenstein instead moved closer to Prussia, who gave her an apologetic smile.

France sprang suddenly, startling everyone. "Get away from him! He's my only friend, don't hurt him!"

Liechtenstein shrieked as the sickle's curved blade sank into her back. The weapon made an even more horrid sound as it was tugged out, and the girl fell. France brought the sickle down again on her twitching form, and her body jumped one last time then stilled, blood spilling down her chin. Switzerland had, of course, jumped on France, screaming, the instant his sister had gone down. He too received the sickle's blade, tumbling to the ground while clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Prussia cried, dimly realizing that he was probably next but unable to stop himself. "They weren't going to hurt us!"

To his surprise, France did not try to kill him. He stood, staring down at the siblings, chest heaving. For a moment, the only sounds were France's panting and Switzerland's agonized cries. "They... they weren't, were they..."

"You killed them!"

France turned toward Prussia, expression melting into one of horror. Prussia could almost see the last lingering thread of his sanity snap. "No..." And he finally did what Prussia had been waiting for the entire time—he dropped the fucking sickle. "No..." France turned back toward the pair on the ground, on the dead girl and dying boy. He took a tentative step toward Switzerland. Prussia inched closer to the weapon.

"F-fuck you," Switzerland gasped as France knelt down beside him.

"I'm so sorry," France said. And the crazy fuck actually reached down and caressed Switzerland's cheek, smearing blood around. "So sorry. Come here..."

"G-go awa-way."

"Grand frère will make it better..." Prussia hadn't thought he could possibly be more horrified, but he managed as France leaned over to kiss Switzerland's bloody lips, hand sliding up his shirt. Switzerland struggled as well he could, trying to push the other man away, but was far too weak.

Leave! Come on, Gil, leave! But Prussia found himself frozen on the spot, staring at the train wreck that was unfolding. No... this was much worse than a train wreck.

Murmuring almost entirely in French now, France crawled onto Switzerland, straddling him, either ignoring or not even noticing the cries of pain that caused. He continued to kiss him, and Prussia wished the poor dying nation would at least bite. If he did, France didn't notice that, either, and worked a hand into Switzerland's pants. Prussia sagged in relief when Switzerland went limp, mercifully dying before he could be fucking raped. And to Prussia's even greater relief, France seemed to realize he was dead and rolled off of him. Oh good, no necrophilia, either.

Prussia didn't wait to see what France would do next. He turned, gory sickle gripped tightly, and fled.


18 nations remaining