A/N: Whoa. This has to be the fastest update I've ever done without writing the chapters beforehand. Dont expect the rest to be this fast, though. I just felt like writing.

Oh, and I forgot this from the previous chapter. I don't own Hetalia, etc, etc, if you're offended by swearing or whatever, you've been warned and hence should go get a life, etc, etc, this applies for all chapters of this and all my work, etc, etc. Now, on with the story!

"...exactly. It truly makes us thankful for what we have."

There was a voice wafting into his ears. It sounded so far away, but he could tell whoever was speaking was close by. Antonio stirred vaguely. Why did the voice sound so familiar? Where was he? Why did his arm hurt?

He opened his eyes, only to immediately shut them again as they were assaulted by white. "Ow..." he moaned quietly.

The voice spoke again. "Dieu merci! He is awake!" A hand gently touched Antonio's arm.

That's why the voice sounded so familiar – it was Francis. Antonio opened his eyes again, much more carefully this time, and his friend's blond-framed face swam into view in front of him, a smile splitting it from ear to ear. "Antoine, we are so glad you're alright."

"Yeah, man. You nearly died. Scared the shit out the awesome me when I heard." Antonio turned his head slightly and saw Gilbert standing at the foot of the bed, a relieved grin on his pale face.

Instantly Antonio remembered what had happened. So that's where he was now, in hospital. It was fairly obvious, what with all the starched white lined and the sterile white walls. But it was moderately confusing. How on earth had he managed to survive an impact with that behemoth of a truck? Surely he should be dead, or at least grievously injured. But no, all he felt was a slight pain in his head and his right arm was in a sling. A fabric sling, though, so it wasn't even broken.

He turned his head back up to realised that Francis was in full-flow. "...and we realised that it means nothing. School council elections are worthless compared to someone's life, especially that of a friend. Gilbert and I have resolved to end this silly feud for good now. We were both devastated when we heard, after all."

"Mmm," Antonio replied vaguely, still confused. "How long have I been out?"

"'Bout four hours?" Gilbert said, glancing at his watch. "It's quarter past eight now, same evening. We decided we'd stay 'till you woke up. You know, 'cos we're awesome friends like that."

Antonio nodded. "Ok. But...how am I even still alive? The last thing I remember is being feet away from a truck-related death. Wouldn't that have at least broken one of my bones?"

Francis and Gilbert exchanged glances. The smiles had gone from both of their faces instantly upon mentioning this, replaced instead by distressed, sorrowful looks.

"Well..." Francis began unsurely. "We thought it best not to speak of this until you'd recovered a bit, but..." His words cut off as his voice cracked. Antonio could have sworn he saw tears in his friend's cornflower blue eyes.

"You were pushed out of its path," Gilbert completed. "The lorry never hit you. You just got buffeted about a bit."

That made sense, Antonio thought. "So, someone saved me? Are they ok too?"

Gilbert paused and bit his lip, before solemnly shaking his head. "He died...about an hour after he was brought into hospital. There wasn't anything the doctors could do."

The news hit Antonio like a sledgehammer. Someone had saved his life, and then died for it? By all rights he should be dead by now, but it was actually someone else instead. Stabs of guilt wracked his mind.

"Who?" he managed to croak.

There was a tense pause. "Lovino Vargas," Francis said eventually. "We don't know why he did it, but..." He stopped talking again and choked back a sob.

Lovino Vargas... I know – I knew him. We were on the same football team, he was quite good. I never spoke to him much, though. Why did he sacrifice his own life for mine? Why did I have any meaning to him, especially one enough for him to lose everything he's ever had? He's got a brother – oh God, Feliciano! What...I can't even begin to comprehend what he must be going through now. His brother's dead. That could have been me...that should have been me.

Everything was going fuzzy, Antonio didn't even realise he was hyperventilating until Francis called for a nurse and his vision blacked out for the second time that day.

They held the funeral two days later, at a nearby church. Antonio was surprised by how many people turned out – he'd never thought Lovino had that many friends.

But the school had hailed him as a hero for what he did. He'd got a mention in assembly the day before, and there was talk of a memorial garden being erected in the school grounds. Almost everyone in both Lovino's year and Antonio's had turned up to the funeral service, all clad in black with solemn expressions. Most of the girls – and even a few of the guys – had been in tears at at least one point while the priest was reading the eulogy.

Poor Feliciano was suffering the worst by far though. The younger Italian had been in floods of tears throughout the entire ceremony, sobbing in heartbreak in Ludwig's strong arms. The German had just sat there, silently holding him. After all, what could you say in times like this? Nothing could possibly improve such a situation.

He'd stood up once, to play a short tune on the violin. The whole audience watched in silence as he played a soul-wrenching melody, tears streaking silently down from puffy red eyes as he mourned through song. The lament of a solitary boy, who'd lost the last relative he had in the world. There hadn't been a dry eye in the house by the end.

The coffin itself was barely visible under dozens of garlands and bouquets of flowers. The biggest, the one on the top, was a clutch of daisies and cyclamen as a final gesture from Feliciano. But there were many others; roses from Arthur, irises from Francis, cornflowers from Gilbert and Ludwig. So many people had sent in tributes, and there were even more at the scene of the crash site. The fence near the road looked like a florist's had exploded. It was moving, how many people came out at times like this. But the thing was, they'd never spoken much to Lovino when he was alive.

Antonio had stood there in his pristine black suit through it all, motionless. All he felt beyond the numbness that gripped his limbs was loss. Loss that someone he'd known had been cruelly taken from the world before their time. Devastation that Lovino had sacrificed his life, that he'd never be among them again. Guilt that Lovino had died in his place and left so many grieving. Regret that he'd only spoken to Lovino a few times, that he'd never gotten to know him, yet the boy had given his life.

He wished it hadn't happened, that it wasn't real, that he'd just fallen asleep in class and everything was just a dream.

But it wasn't. And that was the worst thing, the harsh, painful, soul-destroying reality of it all.

Just a note that, although Lovino's dead, it doesn't mean he's gone from the story. Not by any means. *dramatic music*