Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters. I also thank Hetalia fans/deviantart for inspiration for the characters in this particular chapter.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Hakatori, Irishmaid, I Am Sweden, Fluffiet, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.

Warnings: Fasten your seatbelts guys, it's going to be rough - OCs, Grandpa Rome and other 'Ancients', loads of angst, kind of a songfic chapter.

Chapter 31 – Please Don't Leave Me

White, peaceful white... nothingness. The pain in his chest easing... A long white corridor, a door opening... so peaceful, so quiet... Austria... was that his name now? His brain felt muddled, but it was nice not to have to listen to anything... only quiet sobbing. Crying far away. Perhaps, he thought, if I ignore it... her... He shook his head and stepped into the room.

Please don't leave me

"...and then I said to Emperor Constantine... that doesn't go there!" a loud, brash voice yelled in an annoying Italian accent.

Something metallic hit something soft and the same voice yelled, "Hey!"

Austria opened his eyes. Yes, he was still Austria... but where on earth was he?

He looked around the room. It was large, the walls painted pale cream, cushions were heaped along the floor – residing on them were the strangest people he'd ever seen. But also strangely familiar. He felt as he should know their names, but no words would come.

Apparently, he didn't need to speak as the teller of the tale, grabbed him painfully by the shoulders. "Hey! Austria! What are you doing here?"

Austria looked up into handsome amber eyes – so familiar, they looked like Feliciano's and Romano's but were older, far far older, but nevertheless with the same cheerfulness (though Romano could never be described as cheerful). The owner wore an ancient red robe that barely covered his body, a large sword at his belt and a gold leaf crown on his head.

Please don't leave me...

Austria attempted to say something as he heard the voice soft in his head but was distracted when there were further shouts.

"Let go of him, Rome! You scared him..." A tall woman in a pale robe, her black hair dressed in long braids, a gold crown on her head, she stretched out a brown arm and waved at Austria to come over.

Austria shook his head. Where was he? Was this heaven? He finally found his voice and asked the latter question.

Rome laughed, "Hahaha!" and clapped his shoulder, "Si, si, come and meet Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt..." he yelled.

He pointed at the dark haired lady and the woman reclining beside her – dressed similarly, but the latter wearing a gold band around her dark head with a serpent ornament. They both waved but then snarled at Rome's next comment. "This is my harem!"

Austria frowned at this. He didn't think it was polite. Another woman at the far end of the room stood up. She had long auburn hair, vivid green eyes and carried a shield and bow, "Shut up, Grandpa Rome," she said, "We are not your harem."

"That's Britannia... she loves me really..." Rome said, his arm still around Austria's shoulder.

Austria tried to shrug away. Something was irritating him and it wasn't just this annoying Ancient Nation. He could still hear a soft pleading voice as if from far away.

I always said that I don't need you... Please please don't leave me...

"Honhonhon, I am all you need, Grandpa Rome... oh yes..." A very curvaceous woman wearing a long robe split to the thigh, her blond hair swept back in one long braid smiled coquettishly. Austria didn't need telling who she was.

"Erm Miss France?" he ventured. "I know your son... erm Francis..."

"Ah oui, but I am Gaul or ..." here she stood up and sashayed towards him and much to his horror placed a finger on his lips, "You can call me Marianne..." she said seductively.

"Bloody French..." Britannia said.

"Erm is there anyone who's in charge... I mean... erm..." Austria struggled to speak, what with Grandpa Rome with his arm around his shoulders holding him in place and Marianne stood in front of him, stroking his cheek.

"Hmmmm, fresh blood... ah oui..." the Ancient French Nation murmured.

"In charge? I'm in charge!" Rome shouted in Austria's left ear.

"You were never in charge. You're a fool," came another voice. The owner of said voice was a tall, blond man, dressed in a simple tunic, a grey cloak around his shoulders, his hair dressed simply with one braid hanging to the side. He had strong cheekbones and clear blue eyes. He smiled at Austria as Rome remonstrated loudly.

"Hello grandson... why are you here so early?"

Austria just gawped and stuttered, "Germany?"

"Nein... although I do bear more resemblance to him than my other grandchildren. I'm Germania. You won't remember me."

"Other grandchildren? You're my grandfather?" Austria continued to gawp.

"Ja, and all the Germanic Nations..."

"You mean..." Austria had suspected he and Germany were related, but here he gulped, "...that hooligan, Prussia?"

"Ja, a good boy. I'm very proud of him. He's kept going through so much. He should be here with us... but..."

"He's not bloody well coming here!" yelled Britannia.

"... as you can see he is not popular. But he's kept going longer than anyone ever expected."

"Hmmmm..." Austria had no words for that.

The idiotic Prussian Nation who was no longer really a Nation should have faded away long ago - it was to everyone's amazement that he just simply refused to leave the earthly plane. Austria had long since concluded that neither God nor Satan wanted or could cope with him. But if the fact that he was biologically related to the bane of his existence was bad, the next statement Grandpa Germania came out with was worse, much worse.

"And my other grandson, Switzerland..."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" Surely, he, Austria the once great Austrian Empire, was in hell. He had to be, it could be the only answer to what could only be described as an eternity of torment and torture. He was biologically related to his neighbour, his ex boyhood friend, the meanest Nation on earth (apart from him of course, but he didn't think that)?

Germania just raised an eyebrow – clearly, living with ex Nations who were thousands of years old prepared you for anything. "Austria should not be here," he whispered to Rome.

Grandpa Rome frowned.

Austria wiped his brow and sat down on a nearby cushion. He shoved Marianne/Gaul's wandering hands away. He could still hear distant sobbing and the odd catch of words. In fact, the sobbing had never left him, here in this strange place. But when he concentrated and listened, like tuning into a radio he could hear words, a soft, broken voice whispering:

Please don't leave me

I always said that I don't need you...

I'm sorry...

Austria jumped up then, "I shouldn't be here..." he said quietly.

The other Nations looked up at him. Marianne flounced back to Britannia who responded by hitting her, "You scared the poor thing," she said to the Frenchwoman.

Grandpa Rome stepped forward, a serious look on his handsome face and was about to say something when the door burst open and three entities slammed in.

For a moment, Austria's heart stopped – again. He thought he recognised the various yelling and shouting, that some of his fellow Nations had also died. 'It must have been a massacre,' he thought sadly, 'The Austrian police shot them all.' (Forgetting that none of the Nordic Nations had been in the bank.)

"I can drink more than you!"

"Get out of here, yer a lightweight!"

"Sod off, you're a fool."

"Am not. Anyway, my axe is bigger than yours."

"My bloody sword's bigger than your axe."

"You're an idiot and you should know better."

"D...D...Denmark? Sw...Sweden, N...Norway?" Austria asked, wide-eyed as three Vikings, clad in fur-skins, brandishing axes, swords and pikes, their winged helmets glinting, strode in. All three tried to get through the door together and got stuck. This resulted in another heated exchange.

Grandpa Rome, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as 'guide' whispered to Austria, his smile never leaving his face, "That's Odin, Thor and Loki..."

"Are they...who I think they are?" Austria asked.

Grandpa Rome may have been the conqueror of the Mediterranean (and quite a few hearts) but he was also behind in the brains department and he just frowned, puzzled. "Si..." he said.

"The old Norse Gods?" Austria whispered, disbelievingly.

Grandpa Rome laughed, "I don't know about gods, but they sure can drink and party..."

One of them shoved a huge pint pot of foaming beer into Austria's hand and yelled ear-splittingly, "Beers for everyone!"

The female Ancients all groaned and ignored him.

The door opened again but this time there wasn't the ear-splitting shouting or displays of wind that had preceded the Norse Gods, but a fragrant smell of flowers, soft meadows and rain.

Austria gawped again as three women came in. One was the most striking lady he had ever seen. Tall, with sun-kissed lithe limbs, dressed in deerskin, she wore feathers in her long burnished black braided hair. She carried a bow and arrow and smiled at the women behind her, pushing aside the three Nordic Gods – who all made way.

One of the 'Gods' yelled, "Yo Cheyenne, yer don't want a beer?"

But she ignored him and, to Austria's surprise – he never thought he'd see an ancient thousands year old God look embarrassed – the big blond Viking blushed as one of his brother gods nudged him and whispered, "We know you fancy her..."

"Native America," Grandpa Rome whispered. "She's beautiful..." he sighed and added, "One day, she will go out with me on a date."

The women following the Native American woman were probably less striking but intriguing. Austria recognised the first – her eyes – the colour of cornflowers, beige-blond hair was in plaits wound around her head and she wore a simple flowered peasant dress. She even carried a bottle of vodka with her. She looked so much a mixture of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus that Austria stared.

The girl at the rear was probably the least striking and forgettable, but what caught Austria's interest was not the almost identical peasant dress to Mother Russia that she wore, nor the basket she carried with Mother Russia's knitting, but the sword she carried at her waist and the clear blue eyes that stared back at him totally unabashed.

"Who's that?" Austria asked Rome. He wasn't going to call Rome, Grandpa, no matter how much the Roman Empire kept hinting that he should.

"The Rodina... Mother Russia. You know her son and daughters..."

"No, I mean the girl behind her."

"Livonia. She's cute isn't she? She loves me as well," Rome said confidently and dodged as the small Livonian threw a knife at his head.

Mother Russia turned and smiled at the smaller Nation and then patted her head, "We'll get him next time, dear."

"You said that last century," Livonia pouted.

Mother Russia, who was probably drunk, just nodded happily.

Austria wondered how on earth they all managed living an eternity together without turning on each other. He didn't have long to wait to find out as all hell broke loose.

"Cheyenne chick... you promised me you'd come with me to Valhalla for a pint!" one of the Norse Gods yelled across the room.

'Cheyenne chick' began to load an arrow in her bow.

Britannia yelled across the room, "Shut your mouth, Odin and bugger off back to your bloody land of snow and all that rubbish."

"Zay are just hot-blooded males... oh yes!" Marianne piped up.

"I'm not Odin. Bloody hell wench, you've known me for over a thousand years, can't you tell which one of us is which?" the Norse God yelled back at Britain's mother.

"Don't call me a wench!" Britannia yelled back.

"I'm Thor!" the Norse God yelled "... But I'm thatithfied..." he added and then laughed hysterically at his own joke, his beer slopping all over Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt.

Austria took several steps back as beer glasses were thrown, arrows flew, a spear embedded in the wall just inches above someone's head, all accompanied by swearing in lots of different languages – some unheard of for hundreds of years.

Germania carefully took hold of Austria and led him out of the way, "You shouldn't be here..." Germania said to the younger Nation.

Austria nodded, "I know... isn't there a more ... I don't know, a VIP area or a first class area?" he asked, as if he were at an airport departure lounge.

Germania shook his head, "I'm sorry, I mean it's not your time..."

Austria was about to reply when the screams around him seemed to reach a crescendo and there was a clash of metal on metal.

Then the door flew open and a blast of cold air blew in almost knocking Austria off his feet. Snowflakes started to dance in the air in front of him, and to his utter astonishment, everyone went suddenly quiet. Only one of the Vikings, attempting to dislodge his axe from the wall, was oblivious to the horrid aura of dread that seemed to pervade the air.

An elderly man dressed in an old Army greatcoat, carrying a very old sword, his grey hair covered in ice crystals walked into the room. A blizzard danced around him, the temperature dropped.

"Bugger," someone muttered.

"Party pooper," someone else whispered.

The 'old guy', as Rome called him, strode up to the embedded axe, pulled it out of the wall in one smooth movement and handed it back to its Viking owner with a grim, icy smile.

The axe owner, Odin, rubbed his blond head and, careful not to touch the man's hand, took his weapon.

"Who's that?" Austria whispered to Germania as everyone suddenly got up to leave - stepping carefully past the old man, some inching past him lest they touch his coat.

"He has many names - Winter... Vetr... Old Man Winter..." Germania whispered and then pulled Austria back a little and added, "Don't touch him, son."

All the while, Winter glared around him, his eyes the colour of dirty snow. The temperature of the room had dropped so suddenly, Austria felt goosebumps on his arms and he started to shiver. How could he shiver if he was dead?

"Bad-ass dude," Thor whispered in some kind of explanation as he went past.

Only Mother Russia hesitated, she stopped and turned around, and went up to the old man.

Winter's icy smile melted a little, the snowflakes around him stopped swirling and gathered at his feet in a sparkling mound. Winter and Mother Russia clasped hands for a moment until the ancient female Nation withdrew her hand – now a horrid white as the pain of frostbite started to nip her fingers – and smiled regretfully, turning away.

Snowflakes whirled around the old man again, a cold blast of air and... he was gone.

Austria blinked in confusion.

"He comes and goes, doesn't like the noise. I don't think he likes any of us. I suppose there's a snowstorm somewhere on Earth he has to attend to ... Better not to ask," Germania said quietly.

Austria wasn't really listening... well, not to Germania at any rate.

The woman's voice was still whispering – the same words 'Please don't leave me' over and over. But now they were getting fainter and fainter, like bad radio reception. He had to really shut out everything around him to hear her, and her voice was little more than a breath now.

"You need to go back," Germania said and then turned and shouted through the door, "Hey Rome, you big idiot, get in here."

Austria was about to say something but words would not come. He felt strange, as if his head didn't belong to him at all. And again, all time stood still, he could feel the blood rushing in his veins, in his temples - his heart beating ten to the dozen as if it would burst, as if he were running.

Grandpa Rome punched him on the chest, not once, not twice, but three times... bang... bang... bang...

Austria tried to remonstrate, tried to say something... he felt as if his heart would burst.

He heard many voices all shouting at him at once.

"Tell Francis I am so proud of him..."

"Tell Matthias and Berwald and Tino how proud they've made us... and Erik and Icy..."

"Tell Vanya and the girls they have made me proud... they have done so well..."

"Remember to tell Alfred I love him..."

"Please tell my beautiful Italies how wonderful they are"

"Tell Arthur not to put baking powder in scones... and tell Hamish and Bryn and Erin and..."

"Shut up, Britannia"

"I will not shut up, bloody French tart."

"Tell Latvia everything will be alright..."

Bang... bang ... bang... bang...

Hungary thought that she would never get over the sound of the defibrillation machine, the sound of the paddles against Austria's bare chest as the paramedics tried again and again to restart the old Nation's heart.

"Come on... don't leave me... please don't leave me..." she prayed, whispering over and over, kneeling at his side. She clutched one of his hands in hers, her skirts splayed out soaking up the blood, tears staining her cheeks.

Please don't leave me...

Author's Notes:

Someone mentioned about Fanfiction having a purge and taking down M rated stories. I haven't seen anything about this – but then I'm behind on stuff. If A Winter Night gets 'purged', rest assured I will re-upload as T rated, it's very tame anyway.

The descriptions of the 'Ancients' I got from various fan-made pictures I've seen on deviantart. I took liberties as to their names – i.e. Marianne/Gaul

The Nordic Gods – these are Nordic Gods called Odin, Thor and Loki but in my headcanon they are the fathers/grandfathers of the Nordic Nations.

Cheyenne was the name I gave Native America... I just liked it – obviously there are many Native American tribes and I could have called her Sioux, Blackfoot or whatever.

Germania as the grandfather of the Germanic Nations – Germany/Switzerland/Prussia/Germany.

Livonia – I took liberties here. Livonia is a kind of ex Nation like Prussia and occupied the land that was Estonia and Latvia. I couldn't find any pictures of her, so I used my imagination – and read a bit about the Livonian Order which was an autonomous kick-ass subsidiary of the Teutonic Order. I can imagine her being Mother Russia's little handmaid... perhaps with her own agenda...

Had to get General Winter in there somewhere – I think he's awesome.

And the little tender scene with Mother Russia – read into that what you will.

Defibrillator – one of those machines where the paddles are put on the chest to 'jump-start' the heart.

Just remember that most of this story is just my headcanons being regurgitated. You can comment/PM me with your own headcanon and I'll happily chat. However, I will respect your opinion if you respect mine. Let's not fall out over imaginary characters eh?

Unless you've already guessed the voice Austria keeps hearing is Hungary's. The lines and the chapter title are from Pink's 'Please Don't Leave Me' – it kept coming up on my ipod and I think it fitted their relationship and it was suitably angsty.

Feel free to comment/review/PM

Future Chapters: Hospital angst, Russia angst, The Return of the King... probably, all with a liberal dose of silliness and fluff – I promised fluff and you will get fluff... You'll have to wait to see if there's a happy ending. Don't forget, people that all my stories are linked with each other...

PS Having a little celebration – The Baltics Secrets has just reached 20,000 hits... completely overwhelmed (but, most of them are probably me – re-reading stuff to make sure I don't get something wrong in Day in the Life/Revelations)... anyway, big thank you to all my readers.