8
"England? Are you okay?"
He opened his mouth to answer, to say "yes I'm fine thank you for asking. Now how about some tea?" but nothing would come out so he closed his mouth. His eyes were stuck so he couldn't look to see who had asked. They were stuck staring straight ahead, right at America. And America stared straight back and right through him to the hallway and beyond.
His body swung slightly on the noose and his mouth hung slightly open. His lips were blue and England couldn't help but think about his other brother who had been suffocated, his lips that same shade of blue. The twins. Gone.
Tears burned at the back of his eyes and blurred his vision. He didn't bother to wipe them away as he watched Sweden get his brother down and lay him on the bed. He let them fall down his cheeks when they turned off the music that had been left on a loop and stain his face when they closed America's eyes.
Four dead. Three murdered and one who took his own life. He had to find the murderer. He had to kill him, because really he was responsible for this death just as much as the others. America had killed himself because his little brother had died so the murderer was at fault.
"Hey," said someone. "Look at this."
A group gathered around Spain who was holding the CD in his hand. England went over too, but not before taking one last look at America. So peaceful. He turned to look at Spain who was putting the CD back into the player.
The machine sucked in the disc and after a moment of searching they found the song that had been playing. Spain shushed the crowd and stepped back.
And a song began to play.
"What do you think it means?" asked the Spaniard.
They listened for a moment more. "I think," said Iceland from somewhere near the back. "That it was a confession."
"Think so?"
"Well, yeah. Think about it. America kills brother, kills witness, Germany gets suspicious so he kills him too and then, feeling guilty, he offs himself. The song must be a confession to us. To let us know that it's over."
The crowd murmured in agreement as the song continued. England listened as he thought.
Asia's crowded
Europe's too old
Africa is far to hot
And Canada's too cold
South America stole our name
Let's drop the big one
There'll be no on left to blame us.
It certainly sounded like a confession. Maybe. After all the whole song was about America destroying the world, but it just didn't seem right. America wouldn't kill. Well, not for no reason anyways. He especially wouldn't kill his treasured brother. No. He wasn't the killer. So was this a set-up? Or maybe it was just sad music for a sad man?
No one could know and now the only witness to the first death was dead. Anything he had neglected to mention was now gone. He was gone. America was gone.
Perhaps what Sealand had said was true, that anyone who witnessed a murder would die. But this hadn't been a murder. So maybe they were right. Could America have been the killer? Killed three or four people and then himself? It didn't sound quite right, but who could know? Maybe America was a killer and England had been too blind to see it.
Whatever the case he was dead now. There was no getting around that fact. And if he was the killer then maybe this could all end before it got any worse.
.oOo.
Prussia sighed as he sank down into the water. The bath was a touch too warm, but it felt good on his skin. He really needed to clean up and relax. Now that his brother's killer was dead.
He hadn't left the room since that day, but he didn't need to to hear the discussion that took place across the hall. America was dead, was the word, and he had been the murderer, so now maybe Prussia could sleep a little easier knowing that justice had been served.
His eyes closed. It really was peaceful here.
A sound made him open his eyes again and he sat up to look over the edge of the tub. And he saw him. Again.
He stood in the doorway to the bathroom with a blank look on his face and after looking around the room for a bit he made his way over to where Prussia was relaxing back into the water.
"What the hell man," said Prussia. "I'm trying to have a bath. It's great to see you and all, but can't this wait until I'm wearing clothes?"
The other nation didn't listen. Instead he came closer.
"I really hate to do this to you, Prussia," he said almost sadly.
"Wha-?" Prussia tried to ask, but he was cut short as the other nation put both hands on top of his head and, using all of his strength, pushed the albino's head under the water. At first he was stunned at what was happening, but Prussia quickly regained his senses and began to fight back, kicking and thrashing and scratching. But the hands held strong.
And held and held and held until eventually the thrashing stopped. He hesitantly pulled his hands away. Prussia's face floated up to the air, eyes closed and for a moment he was reminded of his first kill, but he shook the memory away. He put two fingers to Prussia's neck, flinching slightly as water entered the cuts on his hands.
No pulse.
And now a fifth was gone.
They all hate us anyhow…
So let's drop the big one now
Let's drop the big one… now
Hola! You didn't seriously think I would end the story like that did you? Heh, no of course not! What's the fun of killing only three people? Ish. Three-ish. Whatever.
Send in comments and guesses! A right guess gets you a cookie! I don't own Hetalia! Yay!