Oceania dies in his arms.

England holds him until the very last second, clutching onto him, begging him to stay alive, reprimanding him on what bad manners are these, to die before your own mother -

But Oceania merely gazes to the sky, eyes unfocused as he slowly becomes more unhinged, his heartbeat slowing, his breathing becoming more laboured.

Around them, bullets are raining down, flesh is being ripped apart and buildings are exploding. Guns turn on people, people turn on ministries, ministries turn on each other. But everyone avoids the grieving mother, the dying son, lying in the middle of the debris of what was once their beautiful home. They exist on another plane to this anarchy, something elegant among chaos.

England's cheeks are stained with tears, sobbing as his arms cradle his baby, head nestled carefully against his arm, just like he was when he was born, so delicate, so dependent on him for warmth and love and everything he would ever need.

But now, England, for all his power, for all his love, he cannot do anything except watch the ground burn and the sky darken with smoke. And he strokes Oceania's cheeks, croons gently, trying to soothe him in his final moments, even though he knows that Oceania can't hear or see him, because his body is eating itself out from the inside.

But suddenly, Oceania's eyes focus onto England, and only a flash of recognition is seen before he is consumed again. England's arms shake, and he sobs even more, no power left in his body anymore - but Oceania took that away anyway. He no longer has the strength of an empire, gone with the creation of Airstrip One.

The world falls silent as the victors make their way towards him, their feet and gazes steady on the bent figure. America no longer exists, neither does France or Canada, but Alfred F Jones, Francis Bonnefoy and Matthew Williams still stand, having waited for the fall of an empire.

England looks up, and watches as the grey hairs fade, the wrinkles smooth themselves out - they are immortal again, just like him. America no longer exists, neither does France or Canada, but they remain, as does their lifeblood and the descendants of their people. They do not speak, observing England with sorrow and anticipation.

Finally, England rises from his grief, standing before them, and the empire lives again.


Just thought the ending was a bit ambiguous for my last, so for everyone who wanted a supposed 'happy' ending, here it is. I might do more snapshots into England's and Oceania's relationship.

I was also planning on having a relationship between England and Eurasia/Eastasia, like both of them want him because he's Oceania's stronghold but obviously Oceania isn't having any of that... But maybe not. Anyway review, follow, favourite, etc.