More sad stuff. And a cute little flashback to cut through the grief.

Warning: RusAme, fluff (sort of), sad stuff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

The Day That Angels Sing

"Are you okay, ami?" Francis was asking frantically.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. It's not broken." Arthur replied, still holding his bleeding nose. "Alfred! Alfred!" When no one answered, Arthur said, "Let me go find him. The stupid git will get lost in no time." But the grip Francis had on his upper arm was firm.

"Non, ami. You are hurt."

"I'm not made of fucking glass, frog! It's not like I've had my legs severed from the knees down!"

"I'll go find him, Arthur." Matthew said quickly and disappeared into the trees.

As Francis forced Arthur to sit down and tended to his nose, everyone else's attention turned to the girl lying motionless in the middle of the camp.

Surprisingly, it was Ivan who spoke first: "We should make a grave, da?"

Everyone nodded and Ivan took his shovel out from his coat and walked around the clearing a bit, holding the shovel on his shoulder. After a few moments of silence during which no one moved except for Ivan, the Russian stuck the blade of the shovel into the ground beneath the same blooming smoketree under which Ruby was buried.

"Here would do, da?"

"We should wait for Alfred-san." Kiku said. "He should get say."

"Da, I will do that."

"Alfred?" Matthew called out, making his way through the underbrush. "A-Alfred? Where are you?"

There was a retching sound followed by soft sobbing. Matthew quickly wove his way between the trees until he was standing before a hunched over Alfred.

Matthew sighed at the state his brother was in. "Oh Alfred,"

Alfred flinched, looking up. "M-Mattie?"

"Yes, Al, it's me."

"No!" he replied sharply, making the Canadian jump. "G-get away from me! P-please… I-I don't want to hurt anyone."

Matthew ignored the order and came to stand beside him, putting a hand on his back. "You won't hurt me."

"I hurt Artie!"

"He's fine," Matthew said, then laughed softly, despite all that had happened. "Trust me, he can take a hit. That hasn't been the worst thing he's been dealt."

But Alfred was far from amused. He pushed Matthew back from him as he turned his head and retched again, the vomit consisting now of only stomach bile.

Matthew rubbed his back and waited until Alfred had finished before saying, "Al, you can't just run off like that. What if we never found you? What if you got lost?"

Alfred coughed and stood, leaning against a tree, his chest heaving in fatigue and grief. "So what? You'd all be safer without me anyway…"

Matthew shook his head. "No, we'd all be lost without you. We are in your country, you know." Then he added as he took Alfred's bloodied hand. "And if you died, I would be devastated. You know that. Your states would go with you."

A few more tears slipped down Alfred's cheeks before he wiped them grudgingly with the back of his hand. "I can't do this anymore, Mattie. First Artie, then you, then Marge… you're all in danger and I can't protect you."

Matthew sighed and pulled his brother into a hug. He felt Alfred's chest heave, and the American hugged him back, tightly, possessively.

"Alfred, I love you, but you can't do everything. Let us take care of ourselves for once. You can't take responsibility for every bad thing that comes along. You need to take care of yourself for a bit, okay?"

Alfred sniffed and parted from Matthew, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay…"

Matthew gave him a weary smile and tugged Alfred by the arm back in the direction of the camp. "Good. Now come on. We need to bury Marge before those guys show up and ruin the funeral."

Alfred let out another shaky breath, but held back tears. "A-all right…"

They arrived back at camp and immediately, everyone's eyes went to them.

Alfred tried his best to look composed, but upon seeing the lifeless body of his daughter, he nearly broke down in tears again. "Let's move her."

Alfred stooped to pick her up, cradling her in his arms, trying not to look at her pale, bloody face as he took her over to the spot where Ivan had dug her grave. He stopped, looking down into the ground, biting his lip, thinking this was going to be the last time he would see Marge again, and that he was forced to leave her out in the middle of the wilderness under this smoketree that he could easily never locate once they left.

Sensing his hesitation, Ivan put out his arms, prompting Alfred to hand Marge over. Ivan then crouched to lay her cold form gently into the hollow, standing back up. "There. She will be at peace now, da?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, his voice raspy and his throat sore from crying.

Ivan swallowed, wanting to hold Alfred, but fearing that he would cause the American even more pain by revealing their closeness. As so, he just stood there and watched, feeling helpless—a feeling he'd felt so many times throughout his own history and absolutely loathed—as Alfred tried his best to hold back tears but did not succeed.

No one said anything for a long while. They all just stood there, staring down at Marge's delicate body in the grave. Sadiq was even standing, supported by Ludwig, his face pale and his expression shocked. That could have been him in there.

Alfred wanted to say something and knew he should, but he did not want to. If he said his goodbyes, then that would mean that it was over—that Marge's life had been snuffed out for good and then Alfred would have to bear the sight of seeing his daughter's precious body covered in earth, knowing he'd never see her smile again, knowing he'd never hear her voice again, hear her laugh. A knot twisted in his stomach and all Alfred wanted to do was drop to his knees and scream, not caring if anyone heard.

His knees buckled with shock, threatening to give out, but a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Alfred glanced beside him and saw Arthur looking at him with a sad strength behind his green eyes. Alfred let out a soft sob, a few more tears slipping down his face, and placed his hand over his brother's squeezing it. Arthur took Alfred's hand, presuming it made no difference now if he did, and held it at his side, squeezing softly back.

"Alfred!" Arthur called, running out of the cottage and through the garden.

"Big brother!" Alfred laughed, swinging from the branches of a blooming apple tree. "Look! Look! I finally climbed it!"

Arthur arrived at the tree and threw out his arms. "Alfred! What did I tell you about climbing trees? You could get hurt. Now come down this instant!"

Alfred scooted closer to the trunk and drew up his legs, shaking his head. "No! I just got up here. You should come up too, Artie! I can see the town from here!" He shielded his eyes from the setting sun with his hand, staring off into the distance with a triumphant and wondering smile.

Arthur sighed in frustration and said, "Alfred, if you don't get down right now, you will not come into town with me tomorrow."

Alfred pouted and whined, "Aw! But I like the sweet shop there…"

"Then you'll have to do without. Come down."

"No!" Alfred said determinedly, though he looked as if he was second-guessing his decision.

Arthur huffed and began, "One,"

"No…"

"Two,"

"Okay, okay! I'm coming…" Alfred huffed as he straddled the trunk, sliding down it a few feet before losing his hold on a branch and slipping off. He gave a frightened yelp as he fell, and Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat as he darted forward, arms outstretched.

There was a big 'Oof' and they both hit the ground backward. The dead weight of Alfred had knocked the breath completely out of Arthur, and the Briton refilled his lungs just in time to see his ward twisting around on top of him, looking him in eyes with an expression that was so shocked and bewildered that Arthur had to laugh. It was more out of relief, really.

At this, Alfred smiled and laughed too, the prepubscent boy clambering off his brother and sitting cross-legged beside him.

When Arthur calmed his laughing fit, he said, "Honestly, I don't know how I've kept you from seriously hurting yourself for all these years. And yet, I still don't know what to do with you." He rolled over and stuck his elbow in the dirt—whatever, he'd wash this shirt anyway later, it wasn't like Alfred did the laundry—propping his head up with his hand and looking at Alfred seriously. "You'll get yourself into trouble some day acting so foolhardy, you know that?"

They both stared at each other for a few more moments before they broke out laughing again. Then Alfred's face fell. "But, you'll be there to help me if I do, right?"

Arthur stopped laughing and smiled softly. "Of course, Alfred. I will always be there. That you can trust."

Alfred giggled and Arthur stood, brushing the dirt off of himself and offering his hand to Alfred. "Come on. Supper's getting cold."

Alfred smiled and eagerly got to his feet, brushing his soiled hands on his pants. Arthur didn't like it when his hands were dirty.

But Arthur also didn't like when Alfred's clothes were dirty. Though he doubted the young boy knew that, as he kept ruining his garments. Arthur sighed and shook his head, smiling, "No more going anywhere without me, okay?"

Alfred's face fell a little bit, but his cherubic smile quickly followed. "Okay," And the boy took his hand, squeezing softly and Arthur squeezed back, knowing it was a little game Alfred had created and liked to play.

Tears edged Arthur's eyes with the memory, but he willed them away. He would be strong for the both of them. He'd promised Alfred that.

Then, finally, Alfred sniffed and muttered, "I… I really don't know what to say."

"Say what you remember, Alfred." Arthur said, once again squeezing Alfred's hand in support.

"All right," Alfred's voice was wavering, but he took a deep breath and exhaled. A moment passed before he began, "She was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in my life. Even when I first met her, I knew she was mine, and I loved her immediately. Marge was so bright and full of life," at this, his voice broke, but he quickly regained it and continued, "Yet so fierce and independent. She reminded me of me. I knew then that she was special, I knew then that she was a state. She was perfect. Marge always loved the woods. It was her home, where she felt most comfortable. When I asked if she wanted to go to the city with me, she would refuse, even in the middle of winter when her only source of heat was from the fireplace in her cabin. Needless to say I always worried about her, being out here on her own. I knew she had Ruby, and many more dogs over the years, but that wasn't enough. I made it my responsibility to come check on her every once in a while." Alfred laughed sadly and a tear trailed its way down his cheek. "Damn, she hated that. But she was my baby. And I couldn't let her live isolated forever, though that was how she liked it. Her siblings, though she did not know them as much as I would have liked her to, looked after her from afar, no matter how annoying she said it was for them to fuss over her for no reason."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, before saying, "I remember when Mattie got her that gun." Nearby, Matthew gave a wet laugh. "I was scared to bits. But when I saw my little girl shooting and saw how happy it made her, I was glad for her. And I wish I could have shown her more support in her shooting when she was alive. I knew how much she wanted to make me proud, despite wanting to keep to herself." He took a deep breath. His legs were shaking now, and he squeezed Arthur's hand again to make sure this wasn't all just some sick dream. Arthur squeezed back and a sick feeling knotted in Alfred's stomach. "I wish I could have kept her longer, but I guess He'll take you whether you like it or not. I just wish it could have happened differently. Marge didn't deserve to die like this. No one does.

"But I'm also happy. At least I know now that she's safe. I don't have to look after her anymore. This'll be the day that angels sing, because they'll enjoy her there just as much as me and whoever else who knew her did. They'll love her up there."

Alfred was trying to force down sobs, squeezing Arthur's hand as hard as he could, making the Briton wince. But Arthur dare not let go lest he lose Alfred and break his promise.

Then Ivan said, "Is there anything else to be said?"

"Hai," Kiku stepped forward and kneeled before the grave, dipping his head to avoid looking at the body. He then ran his finger through the soft earth in a pattern, reciting a poem:

Autumn wind of eve,
blow away the clouds that mass
over the moon's pure light
and the mists that cloud our mind,
do thou sweep away as well.
Now we disappear,
well, what must we think of it?
From the sky we came.
Now we may go back again.
That's at least one point of view…(1)

Kiku continued to mutter as he drew shapes in the soil. When he was finished, he got up and bowed. When he walked away to join the crowd, he revealed the characters inscribed in the dirt:

空から私達が来た。今、私たちは再び戻ることができる。

No one asked what it meant—they all had an idea of what it meant anyway.

After a few moments passed, Ivan looked around and said, "Anyone else?"

Silence.

"очень хорошо," And he shoveled soil onto the grave.

Afterward, the crowd still lingered, but everyone eventually stepped forward to offer their farewells and left for their tents as it was getting late and the rebels had yet to appear. They were all too tired and saddened to move camp at the moment. Eventually, Feliciano came out, followed by Lovino, and, once he was told what had happened, cried for a very long time before gathering a bundle of wildflowers and putting them upon the grave. He would have fallen asleep there from exhaustion from crying so much that day, but Lovino helped him back into the tent.

Alfred was ultimately the last one there, having told Arthur to leave and get some rest, though the Briton did so reluctantly. Ivan came up behind him and said, "You cannot stay here forever, Alfred. She is better now, da?"

Alfred nodded sadly and wiped his eyes with his arm before turning around and letting Ivan lead him back to their tent. "Yeah, I guess she is." When they arrived, Ivan urged Alfred in, the American giving him a crestfallen look when he didn't follow. "You're not coming to bed?"

Ivan smiled at the way Alfred put it, but he shook his head. "Nyet. I will keep watch."

"Will you still come to bed, though?" Alfred really needed the comfort right now, and he hated to admit he was soothed by the idea of getting it from his former rival.

Ivan nodded. "I will,"

Alfred sniffed and slipped into his sleeping bag. Ivan lingered outside the tent until he heard his steady breathing which told the Russian that Alfred was asleep. Then he walked over to the edge of the camp where the bloody mess of the man Alfred had beaten to death earlier still lay. He picked it up and went away into the forest with it, disposing of it far away from the camp in a shallow grave and making sure to thoroughly wash his hands in the river before joining Alfred in the tent. The younger nation, though fast asleep, curled up to Ivan, fingers digging into the cold skin on the Russian's chest, clinging to Ivan as if he was the only thing he had left to hold onto.

Translations:

空から私達が来た。今、私たちは再び戻ることができる。-We came from the sky. Now we can go back again.

References:

1-A death poem composed by Hōjō Ujimasa before committing seppuku. I thought it was nice when I read it, but as for the history... yeah, it kind of makes it all the more depressing. Just ignore that part and enjoy the poem! (Was it geeky of me to look up how Sengoku Basara portrayed him? ... Nah!)

A Word From the Writer: Nu, it's so SAD! Our boys have now got a touch of reality (well, more like suckerpunch) which will turn the angst meter up big time. And yay for RusAme fluffy times. Does America look like a kitty cuddling up to Russia like that? Probably. XD

Btw, posting this early because I'm busy. You lucky dogs.