The Things I'd Rather Forget // Countryhumans AU

Epilogue: The End

Not every story ends happily, and every struggle has their costs.

...

Rhi and Hawaii were never found, not their bodies nor their minds, both lost to time. Forever.

America was... he was devastated, grieving for months. But... A certain someone and bucket loads of family helped him through it. And, as per America's request, a funeral of sorts was held, and they were given small headstones in a cemetery in DC. One America can always visit.

But, even so... New countryhumans- statehumans?- for Rhode Island and Hawaii were formed in America's mind. They don't remember anything that their predecessors do, but America holds out hope that, one day, they might.

But, even through all that hope, they probably never will.

But, beyond that, America has tried bit by bit to be more involved with his kids, making sure that every single one of them feels as though they are loved and can talk to him because... he'll be damned if he lets down another one of his kids again.

Speaking of... America's and Puerto Rico's relationship has improved little by little. America's not entirely sure if Puerto Rico will ever fully trust him again, but... he's working on it. Rico- and the rest of the states, too- have been given full permission to exit and re-enter the mindscape whenever they please. They just can't do it too often, or else America gets a headache.

And, a while back... America introduced Puerto Rico to a few of his Latin American relatives. He seems... much happier now, being around them, his biological family, even though they argue a whole lot. And although America's a little sad he can't provide Puerto Rico that happiness... he's okay with it.

As long as Puerto Rico's happy, right?

...

And as for Russia?

Well...

A car door slammed shut, the culprit of such slamming being America. America smiled, looking ahead at ole' Russia's door. It was summer, and America was in Moscow... at Russia's door.

Yes.

Walking up to the door, America knocked on it, happiness and giddiness fluttering through his heart. After hearing some shuffling from inside the house, the door opened to a somewhat formal Russia. His hair was messy and his bow was a little wonky, but he still jokingly bowed, "You've finally arrived."

America grinned at Russia, playfully bowing back and joking, "Why, yes, your very professional pianist is here."

Russia straightened himself up, smiling down at America. "What took you so long? I've been waiting for forever! I even bought and tuned a piano and everything."

America spoke, "Oh, just a few delayed flights here and there, nothing mu- wait." America then gave Russia a weird look, "You- you bought a piano? Just for this? Are you serious?"

Russia paused before saying, "Yes, 100%."

America snorted suddenly, "Ok, well... let's see it, huh?"

Russia smiled, giving America room to step inside, "Well then, come inside." With that, he turned around, supposedly making his way to wherever the piano was, ready for his promised performance. Smiling, America then stepped inside the house after Russia, looking around in amazement before suddenly pausing, freezing up completely.

He slowly turned around, looking at his car.

No, he wasn't looking at his car.

He was looking at you.

Us.

His eyes were unusually wide, his previously smiling face frozen into startling blankness. No, that isn't the correct word for it. Though his expression could be described as blank, it wasn't really. No, it was expectant. Crazily giddy, maybe. He stared at you- us- for a few moments, ublinking, before the edges of his lips curled upwards, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

But... it was odd, in a sense. It was a smile but... it wasn't right. It wasn't how a smile should be.

It was... crazy, if that's the right word for it.

A smile only a madman would have.

And, to the stillness of the empty road... no, to us, he spoke one word. Two words, whispered and lost amongst the wind.

"The end."

And with that, he turned back around, the door closing shut behind him.

And, after a few minutes, the sounds of fingers dancing on the keys of the piano started to play, heard through the walls of Russia's home and echoing into that empty street, the song old and familiar and calm, the notes drifting into the wind and getting lost to time, echoing further and further away.

I could tell you about each note, how they spoke a message of calm that protruded out onto that lonely street...

But I could also tell you how the fingers that played them were off, unnatural, jerky... each note calm but forced. Maybe if you listened close enough and had a good enough ear, you could hear it, the offness of the notes and the hands that played them.

Maybe then you'd finally start to realize...

That "America" wasn't really there...

At all.