14

The gun clicked.

France pulled the trigger again, but the gun just clicked again and no matter how many times he tried the bang never came. England reached over and grabbed the gun. He flipped it open. It was empty, there were never any bullets in it.

There was a small sound and the two looked up. It was Canada. He was laughing. It started quietly, just a small giggle, but it quickly grew into a hysterical guffaw. He brought his hands away from his face and threw his head back and tears streamed down his face. From laughter or not England couldn't tell, but the terror inside him was growing rapidly.

Canada tried to say something, but through his laughing it was impossible to make out. He tried to calm down and managed to lower his laugh to a frightening giggle. "I knew you were thick," he said between fits of the giggles. "But this is just too precious."

"What are you talking about?" asked England warily.

"Y-you really think I would leave you down there with a loaded gun? Not on your life." He got to his feet and stepped towards them, his laughter and smile vanishing. "I think I may have overestimated you. This isn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be." He wandered over to a side table and pulled open the door. He cleared his throat and spun around, a gun in his hand.

England stumbled back a bit into France and the two of them stood up against the wall. Canada gave a short sharp laugh and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. "I really did think you'd figure something out, after all you are the home of Sherlock Holmes and other magical mystery novels, but I guess you loved America more than I thought. You know I really thought that if I pretended to be the dead one this could all disappear like me, but I guess even when he's dressed as me America still demands the attention."

"I-I don't understand," stammered England.

"Of course you don't," spat Canada. "Here's the thing, okay? I left the door unlocked, my knife lying next to you and an empty gun on the table. You come up to kill me, I have some fun making you hopeful and then it all backfires and you die. Got it? I'll have to admit though, I didn't expect you to release France as well, that kind of ruins the whole thing." He swung the gun a bit to the left so that it pointed directly at France. The Frenchman gasped and tried to move away, but with the wall behind him and England in front all he could do was sidle along the wall, but the gunpoint followed him.

"Mathieu, non," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Papa, I really am. But you shouldn't have gotten in the way of my fun."

Now England was getting confused. "But I thought you said you never wanted any of this to happen."

Canada shrugged and smiled. "The thing is… I lied."

There was a massive bang and France flew back into the wall. Then he slid down into a heap on the floor. England ran over and turned him on his back. There was a single perfect little hole where his eye used to be.

He looked up at Canada who was watching without any emotion. The gun was at his side, but he quickly brought it up to point at the Brit. England stood up slowly and glanced around for a way out, but there was nothing. Nowhere to go, nothing he could do. Canada scratched his eyebrow and took a deep breath.

"So, now it's your turn. And I have to say, I thought it would be a lot more enjoyable, but it turns out you're just as disappointing as any of those other idiots. Is there anything you want to say or are you good?"

"Just one thing," said England. "I want you to tell me what happened that night. When America died. Tell me everything."

.oOo.

Canada splashed water up onto his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked crazy. His hair was ragged from when he cut it that night to look like his brother, his lips were dry and he kept on licking them, and his eyes just looked hollow.

It was dark already and rain had been tormenting them all day. No one dared step outside and crashes of thunder and lightening gave it all an eeriness that the chilly air just couldn't shake. All in all it was the perfect night for a scary movie.

Canada sat on the couch in his brother's house watching as the American fumbled with the DVD in front of the static filled television. Japan sat silently in a recliner, waiting patiently for the movie to begin. Neither of them had really wanted to be there, but America wasn't someone you could say no to.

He closed his eyes on the memory. He couldn't think of that now. He had the bodies to dispose of. So his face still dripping wet he went back downstairs to where England was lying in the hall, a bullet through the back of his head. He shouldn't have tried to run away.

There he was. Japan, standing in the rain, in the dark, watching it all with a blank expression. No. He saw.

He stood up from his spot on the couch and took a step towards the window. And then Japan bolted. Canada ran after him, out the door and down the steps and out into the rain. But Japan was fast. All that training with Germany during the war had paid off. Canada had to stop to catch his breath and when he looked up Japan was already out of sight.

How much had he seen? The northern nation wondered, ignoring the rain that ran down his face and through his hair. Enough. He had seen Canada with a dead America and it was obvious what had happened.

He slung the bodies over his shoulders and went down the stairs into the basement. There was a broom cupboard down there and that's where he put them, closing the door and locking it tightly. Then he went back upstairs and locked the basement door as well, taking every precaution he could.

Within minutes he had both himself and his brother undressed and then dressed again in each other's clothes. He went to the kitchen and took out a pair of scissors. He cut his hair quickly and raggedly, but hopefully no one would notice. As a last thought he put on a pot of popcorn and then returned to the living room. With shaking fingers he traded glasses with his brother.

And then he picked up the phone. And dialed a number he knew by heart. And the phone rang. And then someone answered. "H'llo?"

He closed and locked the door and descended into the grey afternoon. His car sat ready for him to take it somewhere safe, but he didn't know where was safe anymore. His neighbors wouldn't worry, he knew, they were used to him disappearing for months at a time so there was no reason to fret about them. And he supposed it was the same with the rest of the world.

"England?" he wept.

He started the car and backed out the driveway. He wasn't worried anymore. After all…

"Matt's dead."

It's not like anyone would recognize him.

The End. For real this time.

As you can see, Matt won, I always vote for the bad guys. :) If you have any questions (which I'm sure you do, that was confusing as hell) just drop in a review and I'll try to straighten it out best I can. And also, over 60 reviews! You guys are the best, I'll try to get out another fic soon, I have quite a few in the works. I just can't decide between insanity and laboratory experiments.

HETALIA IS NOT MINE AND NEITHER IS THIS TACO!

Bye for now.