"No." England froze, shaking his head. "No, France isn't dead."
America frowned. "I'm sorry, England." he said, resting his hand on the Brit's shoulder.
"Shut up, America!" yelled England, slapping America's hand away. "You aren't sorry at all. If you had your way, France would have been the first to go!" He backed away, glaring dangerously.
Taking a step back, America rubbed his hand. "England..." his voice was barely the volume of a whisper. "You and France... You weren't..."
"He was my best and closest friend!" England shouted.
The two stood for a while, England glaring, America just stood there with a blank stare.
England took two steps back. "He's not dead." he insisted. He turned on his heel and rushed back the way he came.
"E-England!" America called out, dashing after him.
Hungary didn't even know why she had left France on his own. Now he was dead and it was probably all her fault.
She stopped in her tracks, The Game Master's announcement replaying over and over in her head. She doubled over, letting out a shuddering sob and covering her face with her hands.
"Annyirasajnálom!" she whimpered, pressing herself against the wall before sliding onto the oak floor. "Annyira sajnálom, Franciaország. Bocsáss meg, kérlek!"
A groan slipped in with her sobs as the pain in her chest increased. What was happening to her?
She heard footsteps approaching. Quickly. By the time she'd lifted her head to look, the footsteps had already passed.
"England!"
She turned her head to see America running down the hallway. Ah, so it was England's footsteps that she heard.
America, not noticing Hungary sitting on the floor, tripped over her foot and landed face first in front of her, his glasses skidding across the tile. Groaning in pain, America pushed himself up.
"America?" Hungary curled her legs under herself, moving forward to rest on all fours. "What's the matter with England?" she asked, picking up his glasses and handing them back to him.
America thanked her, placing them back on his face. "When he heard the announcement about France, he..."
Hungary nodded, the pain in her chest coming back with a sharp twist. She gasped, clutching her chest and almost toppling forward.
Reaching out to steady her, America gently rubbed her back. "What's the matter?" he asked.
Tears started pouring out of Hungary's eyes. "My chest." she squeaked. "I'm in so much pain all the time, America."
With a frown, America scooped up the weeping nation and got to his feet. "I'll take you to one of the bedrooms. There's a bunch of them back down there." he said, motioning back the way he came with his head. "You should rest for a while." He carried her through the halls in silence, managing to nudge the door open with his hip when they finally reached a bedroom. He gently set Hungary down on the bed, pulling the eiderdown over her. "I'll come back with England once I've calmed him down and maybe we can think of a way out of here." With that, he left.
Hungary watched his retreating from with a small smile on her lips. "Trying to be the hero again, huh?" she whispered, falling asleep.
England didn't stop running, even when it occurred to him that he had no idea where France was. He paused when he heard what sounded like someone crying. He listened closer. Romano. That sounded like Romano.
"It's alright, Roma." he heard Spain mutter, in a soothing voice.
England started moving again, stumbling towards the voices. He pushed open a door, practically falling inside.
He froze.
The first thing he saw when he entered the room was France.
France with a bullet hole right through the middle of his forehead.
His breath caught in his throat. "F-France..."
Romano looked up, turning away from Spain. "England, I... I'm sorry." he muttered, a little pathetically. "I didn't want to..."
England glared and Romano gasped. He didn't think he'd ever seen England's eyes glow quite that brightly before. He'd seen the dull shimmer they got when he was trying to use magic, but nothing like this.
"You." England growled. "You're the reason France is dead."
"He beg—"
"Shut up!" England's fists clenched. He looked back over at his fallen friend and muttered a few seemingly nonsensical words. The area around him seemed to glow, a terrible heat coming off the Brit in waves. "An eye for an eye!" he hissed, sharply turning his gaze towards Romano.
Romano felt himself being lifted off the ground and with a startled yell, he was flung backwards with great force, slamming against the wall. He could actually feel his ribs shatter on contact.
"ROMANO!" Spain dashed forwards, managing to catch his former henchman safely. "Romano, are you alright?"
Romano shook, lurching forwards and coughing violently, a thick spray of blood falling from his lips.
Spain's expression darkened. He gently set Romano down, grabbing the closest thing to him, which so happened to be a rather heavy wooden chair, and swinging it into the Brit's face.
With a pained cry, England fell to the floor, hand nursing his bruised and splintered cheek. The chair must have broken, leaving Spain with just the leg which, while lighter than the whole chair, could still do a decent amount of damage.
Spain pondered how long it would take for England to die of internal haemorrhaging. He took a few steps closer to the blond nation, giving him a swift kick in the ribs for good measure. "An eye for an eye, you bastard." he growled out, raising the chair leg above his head and bringing it down onto England with all his strength.
All England could do was lay there and plead with the Spaniard to stop, please just stop, but Spain continued the brutal attack no matter what he said.
Eventually, England stopped crying.
Panting, Spain dropped the chair leg.
England has reached Platinum Tier.
"S-Spain..." the quiet, raspy voice brought Spain out of his rage induced trance. "Romano!" He turned and knelt down, carefully lifting the dying nation back into his arms. "Sssh, it's okay, Roma. I got you." He soothed, reaching up to stroke Romano's fringe out of his eyes.
Romano's breaths came out in laboured, wheezy pants. When his ribs had shattered, one and pierced his lung. "Spain... I c-can't breathe..."
Spain's eyes filled with tears. "You'll be fine. Just... concentrate on staying alive."
With a gentle shake of his head, Romano leaned into his former guardian. "I'm going to die, Spain." he gasped out, another splatter of blood ejecting itself from his throat.
"No!" Spain pulled Romano closer to him. "You're not going to die! I won't let you!" he sobbed.
Romano gave a weak smile. "Why are you crying... bastard?" he struggled. A few more forced breaths and Romano began shaking a little more violently. "T-Te amo, España" he whispered.
Spain bit his lip, tilting his head down to press their noses together. "Ti amo troppo, Italia Romano." he replied, pressing his lips against Romano's.
The elder Italian began coughing again, spitting blood over Spain's shirt. He gave a strangled sob, burying his face in the Spaniard's chest. A few more ragged breaths escaped him before he stilled, falling limp in Spain's arms.
Italy Romano has reached Platinum Tier.
Italy choked on air, tears filling his wide eyes. "Fratello..." he whispered. "Germany... my fratello is dead..."
Not knowing what to say, Germany put an arm around him. "I'm so sorry, Italy." he said.
Shrugging off the German's arm, Italy took a step backwards, his hands coming up to cover his mouth as he stared at the ground, tears now falling freely. His breathing became slightly erratic and his eyes darting around in a panicked manner.
"I-Italy," Germany grabbed hold of his shoulders, holding him in place. "Calm down, Italy. Breathe." he instructed.
Italy shook his head, trying to get out of Germany's iron hold. "My big brother..." he kept repeating as more and more tears cascaded down his face.
"Italy, look at me." Demanded Germany, catching hold of Italy's chin, making him look him in the eye. "I need you to calm down, or you'll make yourself sick."
When Italy made no attempt to calm himself, Germany lifted him onto his hip with unexpected ease and held him close, rocking him back and forth and rubbing his back like a child. "Calm down, Italy." he whispered. He took a deep breath, not believing what he was about to do, but he'd do anything to calm Italy down.
"I can't be home tonight. I'll make it back, it's alright. No one could ever love me half as good as you" he sang, softly.
Italy's breaths slowly evened out, his initial panic starting to wear off. He still sobbed heavily, but at least he wasn't gasping for breath anymore.
"You can't be strong tonight, love makes you sad, it's alright. No one could ever worry half as good as you" Germany continued, still stroking Italy's back and gently swaying back and forth.
Burying his face in the crook of Germany's neck, Italy continued weeping. "I-I lost him, Germany. I lost my b-brother!" he wailed.
With a sigh, Germany realised all he could do was hold Italy and rub his back while he cried. "I know." He whispered.
Spain pulled Romano's lifeless body as tightly to himself as he could, loud sobs tearing from his throat. He buried his nose in the Italian's soft hair, pressing a few kisses to his forehead.
At that moment, America rounded the corner, his eyes falling on England's barely recognisable body, then to the Spaniard nursing Romano's limp form. "W-What happened?"
With a glare, Spain felt his rage return. "You want to know what happened?" he growled. "England killed my Roma... So I fucking killed England!" He was shaking all over, tears still falling from his eyes.
America took a step back. "You..." His eyes narrowed into a glare. "You killed England?" he asked, also feeling a wave of rage washing over him.
"An eye for an eye!" yelled Spain.
America scoffed, his eyes darkening into a hate filled glare as he pulled out his gun. "Damn straight." he hissed, firing off three rounds, all aimed at Spain's head.
Spain, still clutching Romano, fell backwards into a pool of his own blood, bringing Romano's form down on top of him.
Spain has reached Platinum Tier.
America slowly put his gun away, still glaring. He collapsed to his knees, reaching out to stroke England's blood-soaked hair. "I'm sorry." he whispered. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you."
He didn't hear the footsteps creeping up behind him, all he heard was the sound of his own teeth clashing together as something heavy fell onto his head and everything faded to black.
Hungary sprang up, the pain in her chest becoming worse, although strangely, she could bear it.
Where was she?
She was stuck in some bizarre house with an agonising ache in her chest and she was alone. Why was she alone? She had family didn't she?
Well, she had Prussia. But where was he? He was with Canada.
Her closest childhood friend, the man that was like a brother to her, was with Canada. The forgotten nation.
Prussia never spent much time with her anymore. Not since he found his Birdie!
No one had time for Hungary any more.
End Note: I will never be able to write a decent death scene. Or an IC Germany. Speaking of OOC Germany, the song he sang to Italy was When Angels Fly Away by Cold. Good song. Also, I was a sobbing mess all the way through Romano's death scene.
Translations:
Annyira sajnálom – I'm so sorry (Hungarian)
Annyira sajnálom, Franciaország. Bocsáss meg, kérlek – I'm so sorry, France. Forgive me, please (Hungarian)
Te amo, España – I love you, Spain (Spanish)
Ti amo troppo, Italia Romano – I love you too, Italy Romano (Italian)
Sneak peaks
"What were you thinking of, Germany?"
"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm too awesome to die."
"It's just not fair."
"I'm not going to let you kill him!"
"I guess I wasn't awesome enough after all."