SHIT GETS REAL.

Warning: Angst (as always), paranoia, sad stuffs, RusAme fluff, innuendo, and some disturbing bodily harm at the end.

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

Something Lost, Something Broken

"Mattie?"

Alfred was getting worried now. Matthew hadn't spoken, hadn't even taken his eyes off the ground since the night before. He was terribly pale and he just stood there as if he couldn't hear or feel anything. Alfred put an arm around him and shook him.

"Mattie? Bro, come on, talk."

Matthew licked his lips. "We weren't even together yet."

"What?" Alfred asked, confused.

"We should have moved faster. We were only… intimate once, and I felt like he knew me forever. I miss his face. I miss everything about him."

Alfred frowned when he saw tears rolling down Matthew's face and he pulled him close. "Mattie, I'm sorry. Tonight we'll do something for him. We'll remember him."

Matthew was crying, but he didn't make a sound. His voice didn't even give away his grief. It was strange to Alfred. "No one noticed me until now, except Cuba. And then I lost him. Now I don't have Sadiq either. Once again everyone has someone for themselves, but I'm alone."

"Don't say that," Alfred told him. "You're never alone, Mattie. I'm here."

Yeah, but are you Cuba? Matthew wanted to ask him. Are you Sadiq? Can you love me like they could?

Francis came up to them and the last thing Matthew wanted was for more people to fuss over him.

"What's wrong, petit?" he asked, but Matthew turned and walked away.

Francis stared in bewilderment at Alfred. "Is he okay?"

"Just a little sad," Alfred answered. More like broken. He watched his brother go and stand beneath a tree, far away from them all, staring down the road, his back to them. "We should give him some space. He doesn't want to be held this time. I think he's just in shock. When he comes out of it, he'll be more reasonable."

"Sadiq was a good man," Francis said, tearing up himself. "He wanted the best for mon petit, I could tell. They would have been so happy together. It really isn't fair."

Could have, Alfred thought. Ivan and I could be 'could have.' Any one of us could be 'could have's. It only takes that much, and our lives are ruined.

Jeanne walked up to them. "Is everything well?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, his anxiety picking up. For all he knew this lady could be out to get him. Though it was hard to say seeing her six-month-old belly bulging beneath her sweater.

He would have said more if it wasn't for Ludwig saying, "We need to regroup and honor our dead. You can have your vehicles, we have our tents."

Jeanne blinked in surprise. "But won't you be cold?"

"We have sleeping bags that we share," Ludwig explained.

Jeanne nodded. "I understand. We'll give you your space. Do you guys need any food?"

Lovino was about to speak up in an obvious 'yes', but Ludwig shook his head. "No, we have plenty, thank you." He just wanted her to go away. He needed her friends to go away. Ludwig should have ordered to be dropped off on the side of the road. Dealing with these people was just something else to worry about, and he already had enough stuff on his plate to deal with.

"What's up?" Alfred asked, frowning suspiciously as he saw Ludwig, Ivan, and Arthur return, appearing worked up.

Ludwig waved it off. "Nothing. We have more important matters to tend to." He bid them all gather around before saying, "All right, look. These people may have gotten us out of a tight spot, but that doesn't mean we should take them at their word." His eyes trailed over to Ivan, who was looking a bit annoyed at this point. "I want everyone to be on their guard. Try not to tell them anything personal, especially not that we're countries or what we plan to do in the capital." Then he added, "And we have also lost one of our own. Now's not the time to split over fights. Now more than ever we need to stick together." He glanced at Matthew who had his eyes downcast, leaning on Francis. "We will put to rest what he left behind. Alfred, go get his things." Ludwig thought it wise Matthew not see his lover's belongings. It might bring up unpleasant thoughts.

Alfred nodded. "Okay," Although he appeared reluctant to leave his brother, he went off anyway.

"Ivan," Ludwig directed his gaze to the Russian next, seeing that he was currently not on good terms with him. "Take Matthew with you and let him choose a nice place to bury them."

"Da," Ivan said. "Matvey?"

Matthew didn't want to find a place to bury Sadiq's things—he wanted Sadiq back. Burying everything he brought that he considered important seemed like he was burying his memory. Matthew might as well let them shovel dirt over him, too. At this point he didn't care. He was numb, and the words everyone said to him came across as if they were some language he didn't care to understand. He didn't want their condolences. He didn't want to be comforted. Every time someone did that, it brought back the fact that Matthew was once again alone, standing at the edge of everything sane, with no safety net to catch him. And he was the only one falling.

But of course no one noticed the agony going on inside him. They would talk and laugh and love and forget Matthew just like they had before.

He had to hear his name a second time before he realized that he couldn't escape this. He had to face Sadiq's death one way or another. It was right to put him to rest, even if they didn't have a body.

Matthew choked back another round of tears thinking about Sadiq who was now a corpse somewhere most likely being fed off of by animals—his beautiful face that Matthew never got a chance to fully appreciate being chewed off as they spoke. He would have broken down if it wasn't for Ivan wrapping an arm around him

"Come," he said. His tone was sympathetic, and Matthew wanted to punch him. "Let's go find a special place, da?"

Matthew nodded, though he never really said anything outside of 'yes' and 'no' and sometimes he would just shake his head or nod. In the end he was so uncooperative and quiet that Ivan chose. It was a place between two tall pines. "They look strong," Ivan told him. "Like he was."

Matthew couldn't believe they were already referring to Sadiq in the past tense. He watched as Ivan dug the hole and with every discarded shovelful more tears blurred his vision. Stop, he thought. Just stop, please. Why do you have to torture me like this? First Francis, now him. I loved him you bastard, and you just took him away. What did I do? Why? Why? His legs shook and he was fully prepared to let them give out when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mattie," Alfred murmured, and just hearing his name grounded Matthew if not a little. The hand on his shoulder did not budge as Alfred gave Sadiq's belongings over to Ivan. The Russian nodded in thanks and took them out, one by one.

Every item was agony, even the trinkets. Sadiq's sash, his wallet, his lighter, a torn letter, a curious little cat locket. A Turkish book, his hat, his cloak, reading glasses that Matthew hadn't even known he had. As soon as the last of them was dropped into the grave, Ivan looked to him. "That bandana. His mask. Do you want to—?"

"No," Matthew almost barked and Ivan blinked in shock at his sharp tone, giving an understanding nod. He returned to his work, sticking the spade into the frosted earth and shoveling dirt over the pile of Sadiq's memories. Matthew forced himself to watch every bit of it, to accept the fact that Sadiq was no longer with him, but all the while it took every bit of what he had to keep from bursting into tears.

When Ivan was done, he walked over to Alfred. "Is finished."

"Mattie," Alfred said again, and Matthew was already wishing it was Sadiq's voice instead of his brother's saying his name. "Mattie, I'm—"

"Leave him, Alfred," Ivan interjected. He had come to realize that Matthew wanted no apologies and the Canadian was grateful for that.

Alfred peered up at his lover. "But—"

"Come," And Ivan led him away with an arm slung across his shoulders. Matthew watched them go.

Ivan is such a good partner, he thought enviously. Alfred is lucky to have him. Always so lucky when I get the shitheap. I finally found someone who could see me for who I am, who truly loved me, and then he's snatched away from me. Just like Cuba. Just like every fucking thing that has been good in my life. Gone!

Matthew then fell to his knees and felt secure enough to cry outright. Hot tears cut through the numbness on his face and mucus clogged his nose and throat. He was such a mess, but he didn't care. Sadiq was a mess, he was sure, wherever he was now.

"I miss you," Matthew cried. "I miss you so much, Sadiq. I'm sorry. I should have held on. Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The initial sorrow was over. It was frustration that overpowered him now. Matthew grabbed his hair, pulling hard, wanting to pull it all out. At least then the pain would distract him. It was only what he deserved for letting go. For being so weak.

He stayed there for what felt like the longest time and then he realized it was dark, and he could feel his tears frozen on his face. By now all the nations were bundled up in their tents, curled up to their loved ones, having long forgotten about him and his grief, as always. They didn't understand. No one ever did understand.

Matthew was freezing, but he didn't want to return to the camp. Not yet. He stared down at his arm and pulled off the bandana that was tied there—the mask he had given to Sadiq only days before he had died. He brought it up to his face, smelling him on the thin fabric. He gave another despairing sob.

"I love you," Matthew said before getting to his shaky feet. He turned to walk away, to leave it all behind, and something fell out of his pocket. He looked down and crouched to examine it further.

It was a knife, the blade sharpened earlier and glinting in the moonlight. He stared at it curiously before deciding.

"I love you," Matthew whispered and blood melted the snow below him.

Alfred lay next to him as a slient as he had ever been and just as still. His back was to him and his breaths were shallow.

"Alfred?" Ivan asked worriedly.

Alfred took his first deep breath for an hour. "Yeah, Vanya?"

"You're thinking about… them, are you not?"

Alfred chewed his lip and his eyes stung. "Yeah," Sadiq's death had brought back his nightmare about Penny and her death. Marge's wasn't so far behind after that. He had a duty to his children and that was to keep them safe at all costs. He had let them down. What kind of parent was he? How many more of his children had to die before he was punished enough?

Ivan's arm wrapping around him and pulling him close gave him comfort. "You should not feel responsible. Everyone has their time."

"They're my children," Alfred protested, sniffing. "I should feel responsible."

"I felt responsible for my sisters' deaths," Ivan admitted, feeling a dreary coldness steal over him. "But that did not bring them back."

"No," Alfred agreed, balling his hand into a fist. "But it reminds me of what I need to do." Alfred turned to face him. "I swear as long as I'm still living, I will destroy them. I will burn my capital to the ground if I have to."

Ivan laced his fingers with Alfred's. "And I swear that I will be by your side when you do."

Alfred smiled. "You're just saying that for sex."

"Nyet," Ivan said. "I say it because I love you."

Alfred cursed himself for tearing up again. God, I'm such a fucking girl. "I love you, too." And he kissed Ivan.

When they parted, Ivan shrugged. "Maybe I say partly for sex." He smirked.

Alfred laughed. "Of course, you dick." Their lips brushed and Alfred squeezed his hand.

Fuck, I'd do anything for you. Years before I would have done anything to have you gone. I was such an idiot. Why couldn't I see that—

There was a rustling outside, the sound of feet moving across the ground. A shadow passed over their tent before it bent and fumbled with the zipper. Alfred made to jump away from Ivan and search for his gun, but the Russian braced an arm around him and he couldn't get away.

Ivan groped around for a weapon and found Alfred's handgun. Thank fuck, it was still loaded. He put the safety off and aimed it at the dark form now pulling up the zipper to their tent.

I said too much, Ivan thought, his gut clenching in guilt. Ludwig was right, dammit, I shouldn't have given information so soon. Now they know about Alfred. They're coming for him, but I will—

I will…

A blond head ducked into the tent and fell to the ground, followed by his shivering form. He raised himself to his knees, blood smearing the tent and running down his arms. The eyes were wide and scared and crying. Ivan let the gun fall from his hand and he barely heard it hit the ground.

Matthew held out his wrists, blood pulsing from deep cuts. "Alfred," he said softly, tremulously. "Help me."

Translations:

petit-little one

A Word From the Writer: This is so depressing... but, hey, it was fun to write, so... shut up, don't judge me. Anywho, I made poor Canada cut himself. Oh, don't deny you all knew it was going to happen sometime. If he wasn't doing it before, he sure as hell would do it now. Now, I'll say that we are in the short stretch of the fic, so of course more and more nations are going to be dying (their deaths closer together in timing as the fic progresses), so you'll all have perpetually sad feels, which is what I want anyway. What I'm trying to imply is that Canada may not make it through the next chapter. I mean, exactly how deep did he cut? Just a little something to haunt the back of your mind for a week until I post again.

By the way, I have been writing multiple Hetalia fics (most are not even close to being completed, but I'm pushing 700,000 words on one document, not including this fic) and I kinda figured since it's gonna be a holiday next week (at least in 'Murica), that I could maybe post a cracky, voyeuristic, lemony UKUS one-shot (yes, it's UKUS, because England's a BEAST) next Thursday (if not then, later... just watch for it, it's not really planned). The title was what really made me write the story. When it came to my head, I just had to. So, look for It's Called 'Special' and I'll give a free cookie to anyone who figures out how it's related to Thanksgiving (hint: I'm just shitting you, there is no relation and I bake like England, haha).

Until we meet again~