A/N: I just want to take some time out to thank you all for your support of this story. I hope it continues to hold your interest!
Italy bowed his head and began a soft prayer in its original Latin, making the sign of the cross over the body of another one of his fallen comrades. The rest of the countries respectfully looked down, some crossing themselves as well. They listened quietly as Italy continued in the ancient tongue, some understanding, some not, all marveling at the beauty and melancholy of the sound.
A single country leaned against the far wall behind the crowd, head turned away from the spectacle, eyes staring straight ahead. He tried to ignore the soft prayers and the murmurs of agreement from the rest, as though not acknowledging it would stop it from happening.
He's not dead… he told himself resolutely, closing his eyes and allowing the wall to take all of his weight, He can't be dead…
Italy closed the prayer and looked up.
The rest did so, too… except for the single nation who leaned heavily on the wall behind them. Italy watched him, knowing all too well what was happening to the poor country's soul. He turned away quietly, his hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket to rub the binding of the old black-bound journal.
After a few moments of silence, countries began making their way out of the room, many stealing one last glance over their shoulders at the young nation lying on the bed. He was the second to die, right after Japan...
For nations to die… especially one so young… it didn't seem right… it didn't seem fair…
As Italy left, he took a final look over at the nation leaning against the wall and felt a wave of sorrow wash over him. I'm sorry…
The suffering country's eyes remained firmly shut, his breath slightly shuddered, but his face held no emotion. His body was perfectly still… if he moved, he might have to open his eyes… and if by chance his eyes landed on him…
"England," a soft voice said.
The suffering nation stiffened.
He opened his eyes slightly to see a young nation standing before him. The country was slightly taller than he, blond hair, thin-framed glasses… a feeling of hope surged unbidden though England's body. He wasn't dead. He knew it. He knew it. Here he was right now… they were wrong.
"A-America?" England whispered. The young nation smiled sadly in response.
No…
No…
That wasn't right. This young man's hair was longer, his eyes were darker…
This wasn't America.
England shut his eyes and turned away.
"I'm sorry," Canada said softly, "I know he meant a lot to you… he meant a lot to many of us…"
"He… he didn't mean..." England muttered, voice shaking slightly, "He…I… he's not dead…"
"England…"
"No," England muttered, cutting him off, "No…he isn't dead… he can't be dead…"
"England, please try to…"
"No."
Canada sighed, "I miss him, too… but you can't lie to yourself…"
"I'M NOT LYING!" England suddenly roared, trying to scare Canada into silence. He wanted the young nation to just be quiet, to leave him be. He didn't want to know… he did not care to know… he couldn't bear to know…
However, Canada wasn't fazed at all by the shout. If anything, his gaze became harder and his voice a little firmer, "England."
The older nation wouldn't listen, his mouth set in a frown and his eyes determinedly shut tight.
"England," Canada tried again, a little more forcefully.
England still didn't acknowledge him.
Canada took him by the shoulders and shook, "England, listen to me, I know that this is hard for you, but you can't just ignore it. He won't come back, even if you live the rest of your life in denial."
"I…" England began.
"This is asking a lot from you, but you have to do it, we don't have the time to grieve here…" Canada looked down, "We don't have the… we don't have the power to grieve here…"
England was silent.
"You have to stay strong… I know we've already lost two of us… but you can't give up…" Canada continued, eyes not leaving the floor. The room fell silent.
Slowly, two thin arms wrapped around Canada's back and pulled him closer. Canada quietly returned the gesture, rubbing comforting circles on his former brother's back. The older nation leaned heavily on the younger, resting his head on Canada's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, neither trusting himself enough to speak.
This was all they could really ask for… just a few stolen moments of sorrow in a place where no one was safe.