Epilogue (I think? I'm not sure)

A/N: I wanted to write something like this, subconsciously. Never really thought I'd act upon it though. It's short, mostly because that I used this part of the story to vent my frustration with the stupid world. And plus, I don't really know how to write…Spain. I'm not sure. At times, I feel like I do, other times, I'm thinking WTF am I doing?...Yeah. Anyways!

Enjoy.

"Spain…Come on…you need to sit down…Spain." Prussia said in a wary tone, but Spain refused to move. Instead, he only stared down at the closed casket, imagining the last time he saw Romano. A cute scowl was on his face, as he stormed off.

God, why did this happen? Was this punishment for the countless sins Spain had indulged himself in the past? His fingers gripped at his pants, sweat gathering on his palms. Tears fell on the golden wood casket, Spain's breathing becoming harsh.

Finally, Prussia was able to drag the still shocked Spain back to his seat, seating Spain down harshly. Spain didn't notice, his eyes still lingering on the casket. Veneziano's sobs were audible, as he tried to smother them in his hands.

Canada was nowhere to be found, America and England both sitting together and they both were whispering together. Spain could feel their glances, their pitying stares at him, and they glanced at Veneziano as well. He ignored them.

China and Japan, both were engaged in the act of praying. In fact, almost all of the world were praying, or sending their condolences. France was for once quiet, keeping an eye on Spain, who still sat there, shocked at how his little tomate went.

Spain still couldn't have believed that Romano was dead, suicide. All he remembers from that night was accompanying Veneziano into the house, along with Prussia and Germany. Veneziano said something about checking up on his brother, and walked away to go find him.

Then they heard Veneziano scream Romano's human name. Over, and over, and over, like a broken record. Spain instantly shot up to Romano's room, panic and worry making Spain's stomach turn in knots. When he appeared in the doorway of Romano's room, all he saw was Veneziano on the ground, on the far side of the bed.

He looked like he was cradling someone.

"Fratello…Fratello…Lovino….Please wake up….please…" Veneziano whispered, his voice choked by tears. Spain could only stare, his mind racing, and at the same time, he felt like he couldn't think of anything at all. Prussia and Germany scooted past the staring Spaniard, Prussia lingering behind to look at Spain worriedly.

Germany crouched on the other side of Veneziano, his eyes seemingly to be staring at something. Spain couldn't take it any longer, he had to say something. "…W-…what's wrong with Roma?" His voice was surprisingly loud, empty. Germany glanced up, a grim look on his face.

"…Romano's dead."

Those words seemed fake, unreal. Not true. Spain couldn't, no he didn't want to believe that his little Romano was gone. Spain didn't want to acknowledge that Romano was dead, willing to believe as long as he kept on avoiding the subject, it won't be true.

Yeah, that's it. Spain smiled internally, waiting for the day Romano would wake up, and when Romano did, he'd be there. Spain would be there, ready to greet Romano to another day, another day they get to be together.

I promise.

Review, Favorite, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

-BMTM