I do not own Hetalia

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Thought I'd let you enjoy all the love and wonder before unloading the last chapter.

Also – I'M lazy

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She was buried in America.

Her wrinkled face the image of bliss and peace. Her outfit was one of the last designed by her father with the usual splashes of red and black. Clean pressed and beautiful the design was finally put to its intended use. A rosary is clasped between tiny arthritic hands.

The usher didn't know that the rosary was made from the obsidian taken from and Icelandic mountain. A last gift from an uncle.

The usher also couldn't understand why the only people in the funeral home were young men and women of various nationalities. All extremely beautiful. The usher also doesn't understand why no one is crying.

Dressed in a black trench coat with a little black hat, hands on his knees and staring at the dark coffin is a tall man. His face had been ashen and drawn the entire time and he has barely said anything. Even to the man in a light blue suit with fathomless eyes and a cross hair pin. The two are not holding hands.

They don't need to. Such affection and love could easily be communicated through simple, delicate touches. A knee bumping against a leg or an arm brushing across a hand. It is another thing the usher doesn't understand.

Is the man in the coat the woman's child. It seems like the support flowing through the room is all angled toward that man. A massively tall man in dark blue coat with thin glasses and an impassive expression doesn't say anything to the short blond in a beret next to him. He just holds a quietly sobbing little boy in a sailor suit. They are mourning.

Another person, wild red hair and a cigar is hunched in one of the pews, glaring at the ceiling. His acid green eyes are unreadable but the usher thinks he might be crying. But the man only sighs and grunts the direction of four other men. All with bushy eyebrows and varying shades of blond and red.

Brothers, the usher assumes. These five have their own group and no one has spoken to them yet.

A group of women is also there. Sitting in a pew dry eyed and upset they all seem to console the youngest of their group. A short blond teenager with a green ribbon. One has short ashy blond hair and the largest breasts the usher has ever seen. The other had long platinum blond hair that hangs past her shoulder. She is beautiful in a cold tragic way that terrifies the usher. Another had long brown hair with a flower. This lady is also beautiful in such an old fashioned way the usher has a hard time looking away from her.

Young eyes turn back to the man in the black coat before shifting to a man with a white mask and such an exotic costume the usher take a few moments to appreciate just how fancy it is. Sitting on his left is a man with a cat on his lap and sleeping. On the masked mans right an Egyptian fellow stares straight ahead.

There are other people, a man in a green uniform, He is glaring at the coffin. A blond fellow with a blue cape who is dabbling at his eyes with a handkerchief. A couple, on in a reddish coat with a little hat with two ribbons. The other is a greenish coat with plain features. The couple looks older than their twenty years of age.

One man with reddish hair and a funny curl sobs into his twins shoulder as quietly as he can manage. The twin look grumpy, uncomfortable and like he wants to cry also but doesn't for the sake of his brother.

The usher, unable to stomach such misery sidles into the antechamber and stops.

A tall man, ashy blond hair, gray coat and violet eyes is standing next to a shorter blond man with glasses and an old World War Two bomber jacket. Leaning against the wall is a tan man with brown hair and bright green eyes.

These three are talking and the usher takes a moment to listen.

"Still the oldest out of her little posse?" The blond man said his accent American.

"But never always the voice of reason." The tallest fellow said. He was Russian, that much was obvious.

"Un poco loco," the Spaniard said running a hand through his hair, "You should have seen her when we lost Jenny."

"I remember," the American whispered, "I remember."

"It was worse," The Russian muttered, "When we lost her dear husband."

"And now we've lost her."

There was only silence.

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The coffin was lowered into the ground in front of a double headstone. The entire crowd of strange people watching. A few more were crying now as the man in the black coat stood at the foot of the grave and spoke.

"As fleeting as a simple spark is life. With the capability to build or destroy. The capabilities air or harm. In the unending cycle of life and death we celebrate those who have stood, walked and fallen. All beings who had wandered over the Earth's surface, above it or below it. All those who have impacted each others. All those who had loved and mourned. We are here to lay to rest the body of a loved friend. A beloved daughter and sister. Her soul has passed on to discover what lays beyond short human life. As was true to her nature, to explore something new and alarming. We are here to celebrate the life of an explorer. We mourn her death but rejoice. For dear Amelia lived and loved. She laughed and cried.

But like day turns to night and night turns to day the inevitable will come. Death claims all in the end." He paused his face dark as if he had no idea what else to say. As if his words failed him but then he cleared his throat and blinked away tears. The usher only watched in shock. "But we know that Amelia would not want us all to sit around moping so." The crowd watched now a little more cheerful. "We're going to have a wake at Al's place right after this."

The usher waited around knowing his duties were over but couldn't convince himself to leave. The coffin was lowered, the crowd dispersed and the grave filled. Tents packed away and chairs removed. And a few hours later all was quiet. The usher moved forward staring at the headstone.

Amelia Dante Kohler - Rafael David Kohler

Friends and Explorers

Wanderers and Family

May your restless spirits guide you always

To the left were two smaller headstones. With bile rising the usher acknowledged that neither infant had lived more than a week. Both of them the offspring of the now buried family.

"Quite a service wasn't it?"

The usher jerked about staring at the sight of a short blond woman with a bright smirk. She couldn't have been over twenty five years old and her arm was linked with a tall man with curly brown hair. Blushing the usher nodded.

"Did you know them?"

"You could say that." The woman nodded and the man chuckled, "Good friends did there best to raise a crazy child."

"Um."

"Oh, you mean the lady they buried?"

The usher nodded.

"Well, I knew her too and her husband."

"You look cheerful for some one who just went to a funeral." The usher blushed, what a rude thing to say but the woman didn't mind it at all.

"They're where they belong," the lady said, "Don't you know young one? Everything dies...even stars die out."

"Indeed," the man spoke this time. His voice gentle and soothing to the ushers confused emotions. "It is nothing to fear."

"Mama! Mama!" The Usher took a step back as pair of five year old twins bounced around the couples knees. Bright smiles and bouncing curls "Mama! Mama!" The woman smiled, overjoyed when she knelt next to the twins.

"Hello my little darlings."

"We've been waiting," the twins said from her mothers arms, "We missed you."

"And I missed you little one."

"And now," the husband said clutching the other twin to his chest, "we are finally together. A family." They hugged as one, kissing and crying. And before the very eyes of the usher the little family...disappeared.

The End

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