A bitchslap of nostalgia.

Warning: Sad stuff, some Prumano, mention of drinking

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

Departed

"Hey!"

Feliciano was standing in a large empty space, hospital white. There were no corners, there was no end or beginning, and shadows were nonexistent.

Now someone was calling to him, an echoing voice that seemed to shimmer when it met his ears. "Hey! Over here, dumbass!" it shouted, and Feliciano spun around.

Lovino was standing there across an unfathomable distance, close and far away all at once. He was dressed in his usual uniform, though it was as white as his surroundings, making it seem as though most of his body was gone. His skin seemed to glow, and his dark eyes projected themselves across the space; it was as if Feliciano was so close that he was staring right through them and them through him.

But he did not have the chance to fully appreciate Lovino's presence before his eyes blurred his brother's image with tears. "Lovi!" he cried and made to run to him.

"No, stay there," Lovino said, and Feliciano stopped in his tracks, blinking the tears from his eyes. Then the older's face broke into a smile the likes of which Feliciano had only witnessed a handful of times in his life. "Fratello, what happened? You look like shit."

Feliciano sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "Y-you l-left me," he accused shakily.

Lovino's smile disappeared and he sighed, "Feliciano, I'm so sorry. But you have the potato head to take care of you now."

Feliciano started to sob anew. "Th-that doesn't mean I d-don't miss you!"

Lovino gave a sad smile. "I miss you too, Feli. But you know the rules. I can't come back, but I can visit. And I brought friends."

Feliciano hiccupped and wiped his face on his sleeve before peering up with wide, blinking eyes. "Friends?"

Lovino nodded and said, "Okay, guys, if you want to say some sappy shit, you better do it now. You know we only have so much time."

Gradually, darker forms began to fade into view; first one, then three, then seven, then—

Feliciano's legs began to turn to jelly. "All… all of you."

"Not quite! Kesese!" Gilbert's laugh rang through the empty air and his vermillion eyes flashed like beacons as he sprung up behind Lovino and wrapped his arms around him, clinging.

Lovino scowled and attempted to wrench free of the vice grip. "Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't pound your fucking face in, bastard!"

"Relax, mi tomate lindo. You know he means well." Toni's voice reached Feliciano before his image came into view beside Lovino's, placing a hand as tan has Feliciano remembered on his brother's shoulder. The Spaniard smiled, and his eyes were as bright as green stars as he redirected them to Feliciano. "Hola, Feli, it's been a while. How are you doing?"

"How do you think he's doing?" Vash snapped from his place further back. Lily's large eyes bore through Feliciano like a shaft of light from her place standing dutifully at her brother's side. "He's in a fucking apocalypse!"

"Please don't swear, bruder."

"Hello, Feli, dear!" Elizaveta trilled, waving, her white skirts swirling around her. Then she nudged Roderich, who had not given the same greeting. "Roddy, don't be rude. Say hi."

Roderich pushed his glasses up his nose with a pianist finger and said sourly, "Guten tag, Italy. Make sure you behave."

"Roderich!"

There was suddenly a sound Feliciano was met with that he couldn't construe, and then Yekaterina emerged, her breasts giving one more huge bounce before she came to a stop. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she clasped both her hands on her ample chest as she said, "Italy, oh you sweet, sweet thing. Please give my brother a message!"

"Ja," came another voice, and Natalya shouldered her way to the front, looking more beautiful than ever. "Tell him to get his ass away from that American slut!"

"No, Natty," Yekaterina said before turning back to Feliciano. "Please, just tell him from the both of us that we love him—"

"He's MINE!"

"Nat!" Yekaterina squeaked, shrinking back from her sister's growing dark aura. "Th-that we love him and we wish him the best."

Suddenly, Soo came running up out of nowhere, sides heaving. "Ugh!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe Japan claimed China's breasts. Italy~! Has Japan said how they feel? Does he feel them all the—oof!"

Kim stared down at Soo, having faceplanted, proving that, yes, there was a floor in this place. "You should not get so excited. You could hurt yourself."

"Oh my God, Italy!" Mei squealed. "You are looking so cute~! Oh, and tell Japan that I miss him and hope he does a good job!"

"What about China?" Soo asked as he got to his feet, practically foaming at the mouth at the mention of the ancient nation.

"Oh, right," Mei said as an afterthought. "Him, too." Then she smiled at Chun, who was standing expressionless beside her. "Anything you want to say, Hong Kong?"

"Tell the British jerk to—"

"Ooh, someone's salty~! Hello, darling!" Feliks sang as he skipped to the front and blew Feliciano a kiss then proceeded to stretch out and examine his colorless garments. "Oh, I hate these clothes. So white! You didn't, like, happen to bring anything blue, hon? Or maybe a fuchsia…"

Toris appeared beside him, hunched over in an air of hopelessness at his friend. "You know that if we do get different clothes we can't bring them back with us, Feliks, right?"

"Ah, don't be such a stick in the mud, Liet! Anything you want to say to that Russian asshole? 'Cause there are, like, a gagillion things I could—"

Raivis seemed to curl into himself and hissed a 'shh!' "We don't know where he'll end up. If it's here, then he's going to beat us up for an eternity for saying bad things about him!" Toris shivered at that, and Eduard just melted back into the crowd like he didn't exist.

"Italy, Italy!" Tino shouted, waving his hands. "Hi! Oh, wow, it's been so long, haha!"

"And I'm better than ever!" Mathis laughed with a fist pump. "Oh yeah, death is nothing!"

Lukas rolled his eyes and said, "Tell them we're fine and just the same as ever." Emil, looking awkward among the large crowd, nodded, even as he tried to wrestle his finger away from Mr. Puffin's snapping beak.

Berwald, as expressionless as Feliciano remembered, wrapped an arm around Tino and hooked him in an iron embrace to his side. "'nd F'nl'nd 's st'll my w'fe."

"Su…" Tino muttered in protest, face flaming up.

Berwald shrugged. "'t's tr'e."

"Hola, Italy," Carlos greeted as he materialized out of the white nothingness. He appeared slimmer than he had been in his later years, as young and lean as his revolutionary days.

Feliciano, needless to say, was shocked. "C-Cuba?" Damn, Matthew didn't have a bad eye…

"Give a message to Mattie for us, will ya?" Sadiq said, smile wide beneath his mask. "Tell 'im that I'm fine—"

"We're fine," Carlos corrected with a slightly jealous edge.

"Yeah, yeah," Sadiq waved a dismissive hand and continued, "Tell 'im that me and ol' dreads here are fine and not to worry about us. And tell 'im that he should never change for anyone." Here his haughty smile softened. "We do love sweets, after all."

Heracles rolled his eyes beside him, snuggling a cat whose fur looked to be made of down to his chest. "Right. Pervert."

Sadiq smirked. "Sounds like someone's jealous~"

Gupta sighed. "Here we go again…"

"Oy, Italy!" came a voice, and Feliciano's eyes darted to Jack. The Italian could have lived on the power of the man's beaming smile. "You go on and tell big bro that he's doing a goddamn good job!"

"Jack," Sam urged hopelessly. "Don't say that. He's listening," he implored, pointing rigidly upward. He shook his head and met Feliciano's eyes with a warm smile of his own. "Send my regards as well. We're getting along splendidly, and he needn't worry about us." Sam's sheep gave a 'baa' of approval, its wool appearing as cottony and pure as a cloud.

Jack gave a stiff salute. "Good luck, mate. Know you'll kick those bastard's as—"

"Jack!"

"Ah, leave him be, lad." Feliciano's eye caught a shock of red hair before four sets of green eyes sliced through the white. And then the British brothers and Ireland were standing before him, all tousle-haired and content. Lennox was shaking his head at Jack, a wisp of a smile on his face. "It's a tad too late to change him, seeing as we're dead and all."

Bryce nodded to Feliciano, smiling, the similarities between him and his living brother almost uncanny. "Italy."

"Tell the git that we miss him," Ian relayed. "Tell him that it's beautiful up here, just like we sang about."

"Yeah," Lennox added. "And Sean has all the booze he wants."

Sean scoffed. "I would be swimming in it if someone didn't drink it like a camel."

Lennox shrugged and gave a shiteating smile. "What can I say? It's heavenly."

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Apart from nurturing old bad habits, we're better than ever. We wish Arthur good luck in his endeavors—"

"And we'll kick his skinny arse if he gives up!" Lennox added, then continued in a firmer tone, "Tell him that what happened to us is not his fault and that any of us would've done the same for him."

"Send our love, as well," Ian threw in. "And tell him that I'm singing with him with me old squeeze box!"

Bryce gave him a shove. "Tch, you're such a lout. Don't tell him that."

A few feet away, Marge stood smiling and waving. "Italy, hey! Tell Dad he doesn't need to worry about me and I love him!" Beside her, Ruby, her fur made scarlet against the stark white, gave a sharp bark. Feliciano's eyes followed the hand patting the dog's head, and they trailed upward to meet a face he had never seen. Dark hair, bells intertwined, and piercing blue eyes. She merely nodded in acknowledgement, her gaze dark and rueful.

They were all there—Monaco, Luxembourg, Mexico, the micro-nations—and they all shouted out their messages, their voices mingling with such sonorous quality as befit a choir.

Then a woman, so feathery light that she took form as if from a mist, joined the others. She was very pretty, with long curling locks the color of doeskin with equally wide blue doe eyes to match. She wore white just as everyone else did, but her garb was notably different. Layers of pearly material wrapped around her body and she wore laurel in her hair. Feliciano squinted at her, but as much as he racked his brain for answers he couldn't identify her. When she locked eyes with him, recognition immediately washed over her face and her cheeks alit with color. "Hello, Veneziano. I knew your grandfather well."

Feliciano knew then, and his jaw dropped. "M-Mama Greece?"

Mother Greece nodded and swept her hand out wide. "The very same. We may be long gone, but our spirits still live."

"We…?" Feliciano parroted, scrunching up his nose, and it was only then that he noticed all of the human shapes seeping through the stark veil of white. A man with long, wavy brown hair and green eyes. Two more women, one nut brown with amaranth eyes and another milky with wild blonde hair. A man with a silver mane and wet periwinkle irises. A faerie queen with curling wheat locks, vines intertwined, flowers and all. It was true that Feliciano had seen only a few of them and so long ago that he barely remembered, but he had heard their descendents describe them enough to match names with faces.

Iberia. Mother Egypt and Gallia. Scandinavia or Kievan Rus'. Britannia and more. The Ancients. They were all there and glowing, in their prime. Empires whose legacies were in their childrens' hands.

Feliciano was so awestruck that he didn't notice the rest of the younger nations turning to white behind the prominent aura of their predecessors. Then they were all standing before him, titans of their time and in death. They all smiled down at him, as if they'd known Feliciano forever.

"Veneziano."

Feliciano tore his eyes away and spun around, his cheeks becoming wet and sticky with the weight of his nostalgia. "G-Grandpa R-Rome."

It was. He looked just as Feliciano remembered, all bed-ruffled hair and wide smiles. Germania stood gloomily behind him, but that hardly mattered. Feliciano knew Lovino had told him not to get close, but his legs were already moving before he could think to stop them. And Rome welcomed him with open arms, his infectious laugh ringing in Feliciano's ears as he wrapped the younger in the warmth of his embrace.

"My little Italia," Rome cooed and held him tight as Feliciano spilled the contents of his tear ducts onto his white robes. "My strong, beautiful boy."

A scoff met their ears nearby, and Lovino was standing with his arms crossed. "Che, you forgot 'idiotic.'"

"Oh, Roma, don't be that way," Rome chided before sweeping out an arm so fast and strong that Lovino couldn't escape even if he'd tried. He was crushed up against his brother, trapped in a hug so intimate he blushed. Feliciano laughed a little through his tears. Lovino appeared like his vulnerable, younger self. The man's face only grew darker when Rome pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Ah, my boys. We're all together again, haha." He drew back and playful green eyes met teary amber. "How are you, Feli?"

All at once, Feliciano's voice seemed to shrivel. He was so breathless by Rome's presence that at first all he could do was open and close his mouth and stare. When he finally did find his voice, it was barely a whisper. "S-scared."

Rome blinked for a moment, as if the emotion mentioned had not affected him in some time and so had lost its meaning. Then he smiled in disbelief and said, "Feli, you are so strong! Why are you scared?"

Lovino grumbled something about a 'fucking apocalypse' and Rome being a 'dumbass', but Rome ignored him as Feliciano squeaked, "Strong?"

Rome nodded. "Yes, Feliciano, how could you not be? You have the blood of one of the most powerful former empires in the world running through your veins!"

Feliciano shook his head. "B-but I-I get scared and I-I run and hide a l-lot—"

"Feli, listen to me," Rome instructed, placing both of his large, ironlike hands on his skinny shoulders and leaning in. "Don't listen to what anyone else says and don't doubt yourself. You have so much in you that no one has seen, and when you do show your true colors they won't know what hit them."

Feliciano opened his mouth to object, but Rome merely smiled and kissed his forehead. "I love you, okay? Make Nonno proud."

"Yeah," Lovino added dryly, slapping Feliciano on the back. "Wouldn't want to ruin your 'perfection.'"

Rome laughed and tugged Lovino to him, crushing him to his side. "Now, now, Lovi, you know I love you too. Now let Nonno give you a big kiss. Come here~"

Lovino struggled in his grasp, whipping his head from side to side and windmilling his arms until he escaped Rome's hold and pursuing lips. "Che, fat chance, old man!" And he promptly turned on his heel and raced away.

"You know I will catch you eventually, my little Roma~!" He winked at Feliciano and said, "You're never alone, Feli. I'll be watching," before disappearing into the pulsing whiteness. Feliciano just stood there, staring after them, and the Ancients returned to his attention when they dipped their heads in unison.

"One is not enough to restore peace," they said in a resounding, collective voice. "The world was not built by just one."

Feliciano watched them dip their heads again and depart as one, so in sync were they after centuries spent together in life and in the timeless sanctuary of the afterlife. The white swallowed their forms, and just like that Feliciano was alone. He stood there, looking around for a way out, fearing that he could be stuck, when his eyes settled on a very familiar yet strikingly foreign face.

"H-Holy Rome?"

He was taller and older than Feliciano remembered—he must have grown after he'd left. His eyes did not have the weary dark smudges underneath as they had in life and gone were the features of his youth. But his steely blue eyes did not fail to bore into Feliciano's being, just how they did so very long ago.

"Holy Rome," Feliciano said, his voice feathery. He blinked at the wetness that was gathering in his eyes. He wanted to run to him, to throw his arms around him and hold him tightly, to tell him that he missed him, but he knew just by the intensity of Holy Rome's gaze that such contact would shatter the fragility of their reunion.

"Stars belong in the sky," Holy Rome informed, and his voice sounded so mature that Feliciano held his breath just to take in all that he had missed while the man was still alive. "You can hold them up. Together."

Feliciano was trying to figure out what the cryptic message meant when his whole body was shunted backward, away from the purity of the untoucable world and Holy Rome's blue eyes, screaming as the light faded to a pinprick in the unfathomable distance. A coldness swept over him, and all of his worries and regrets and fears returned with the impact of his fall.

"Falling stars." The words rushed out with the air forced from his lungs, and a moment later his eyelids snapped open and he was staring at the wrinkled pattern of his sleeping bag. It took his brain a full minute to register that he needed to breathe, and then he gulped oxygen down, his body tingling as if he'd been flying through a windstorm. His mind was spinning and when it finally stopped and everything that had happened came together, Feliciano sat bolt upright, going lightheaded for half a minute before he gathered his voice and shouted, "Guys!"

They all came running, so breathless did he sound. Ludwig was at his side in half a minute, eyes darting over him, confirming that he was well.

"Feli—" he began, but Feliciano promptly launched into a hurried and excited relay of his dream.

Everyone listened, and at first their expressions were skeptical, but with every mention of a dead nation Feliciano had seen or heard their faces became softer, disbelieving. They wanted to think that Feliciano's dream hadn't just been a dream—that he had actually communicated with the dead nations and that the messages he delivered were genuine, an extension of those lost to them. The dead nations' sudden visit to Feliciano came so unexpectedly at a time when they truly didn't know if what they were doing would make or break them, that their emotions returned to them full force, having laid dormant for so long that they practically flooded their systems. It was ridiculous now to submit to such petty and hindering activities such as crying, but there they were, not as strong as they'd thought, scrubbing furiously at their stinging eyes and sniffling miserably at their misfortune. None of them would admit that they would rather be the ones sending messages of encouragement than the ones being gradually crushed by the increasing weight on their shoulders, but now they had reason to bear that weight. There were others that wanted them to succeed. They weren't alone, just apart from those still supporting them. They weren't doing this for nothing, and they hadn't realized how much they'd needed that clarified until Feliciano finished his story.

Silence pervaded the room for a few minutes; their throats were too raw to pass words. Ludwig crouched beside Feliciano, trying his best to focus on the dipping creases in the Italian's sleeping bag instead of Gilbert, who he so desperately wanted to see. He ground the heel of his palm into his most irritated eye, but doing so only spread the wetness that had gathered there.

"Holy Rome said something about us holding up the stars?" he inquired, alarmed at his gravelly voice.

Feliciano nodded. "Si. Falling stars."

Ludwig snapped his head up to meet Feliciano's gaze which had become startled with the rapidity of the movement. "Falling stars?" He had heard that before…

Somehow, hearing Ludwig say it made Feliciano shiver and immediately regret his reply. He wanted to open up to Ludwig about the ominous whispers he'd been hearing of late, but something told him that doing so would put the German's life in jeopardy, and after losing his brother he didn't think he could handle Ludwig's death. "He said we have to do it together," he quickly deflected, but he could still see the silent brooding in Ludwig's eyes.

"It is late," Yao observed with a glance to his watch and a wet clearing of his throat. "12:57. We should sleep."

"Where's Red?" Alfred asked no one in particular. "You think she's working overtime?"

His answer came in the form of Andre, who had been leaning against the door frame for far longer than they had known. "She should be here shortly. I think Shawn said she was kept overtime for some meeting."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Arthur said, wanting more than anything to retreat to his sleeping bag and away from the fact that he was one breath away from breaking down. He hadn't let anyone see him like that before and for good reason, and he was determined to have it remain that way. "Yao's right. We should get some rest or we'll be dead on our feet."

We already are, Francis thought, observing the now perpetual smudges beneath Arthur's eyes, the unfocused nature of his gaze, the slump in his otherwise strictly-postured shoulders. He exited the room with Arthur and barely noticed the others settling down around them. He was too consumed with watching the Briton tug off his shirt like it weighed a thousand pounds to pay them much mind.

When they finally did settle down as well, Francis laced his fingers with equally weak ones. "They're safe, cher. Up there."

Arthur's eyes stung and his throat felt like it was closing up in his effort to swallow his grief. "Shut it, frog." He held tight to the fingers weaved with his own and buried his face in Francis's neck. Francis pretended he didn't feel wetness there.

Translations:

Nonno-Grandpa

A Word From the Writer: Aw, so sad. *tear* Anyway, thought I should just include other nations since I kinda haven't this whole time. Yup, here's the confirmation. They're all dead, but, hey, a visit! I just threw the Ancients in there as well. Now, something I want to clear up about Scandinavia/Kievan Rus': he was first Scandinavia and then he moved south and became Kievan Rus' (that means he is the Nordics' daddy as well as Russia's... they're distant relatives, ftw!). I got my information from r-ninja on DeviantART, so... yeah, if you're confused or anything go there. She wrote up all the stuff you need to know about the Ancients.

And I know I previously wrote Scotland with an accent, but it seemed kind of silly to me to lump him and his brothers in with all the other nations and write them with an accent and not everyone else. That and I'm lazy. So... oh, look, Sean! Wtf, happened to you? *hahakindaforgothimcough* (Ireland, btw. No, I refuse to write Sean as a female. Sorry, but... the more Hetalia boys the better for me. And I kinda have this one desire to see all of the brothers together... having angsty, bitchy sex. Hehe... my mind lives in the gutter, don't judge me!).

Anyway, Holy Rome! I wrote him all grown up... and apparently very nice looking. Did I mention my mind lives in the gutter? XD