A/N: Started writing this before I procrastinated too much and because it's raining...again. We couldn't just have it end after the worst rainstorm in 500 years, could we? NOOOO we have to have MORE rain. And I'm kinda salty right now because of S.A.D. and stuff. Also I have to go work again today so I probably won't be active. ;-;

Gore warning. 

Note: The English family is not Ame's family in this au. They are just his 'family'. For plot purposes.

3rd Person's POV

"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE FREAK!!!"

Little 7 year old America choked back a sob as he ran from his schoolyard bullies. Shoes slapped against the pavement with dull thuds, and he spared a glance behind him to judge their distance.

Oh Pangaea!

They were catching up!!!

Earlier that day, America had made the mistake of 'sassing' back at the bullies when they tripped him in the hallway on the way out of school.

Apparently, such a misdemeanor was punishable by death in their jacked up perspective.

And so America had found himself running for what seemed to be his life with three pissed off fifth graders hot on his heels.

A hand grasped the edge of his shirt and he yelped, putting on a burst of speed and darting into the nearest backyard of a house.

America stopped suddenly, realization dawning across his terrified face.

The house he had stopped at was the abandoned mansion on Ravenseye Street.

Rumor has it that it was the hideout of a deranged serial killer who would kidnap and kill people inside. Legend goes that the man never was caught, and the vengeful ghosts still prowl the darkened hallways of the mansion, moaning and screaming in rage, and desperate to feast upo-

"THERE'S THE LITTLE TWERP!! GET HIM!!!!"

America gulped, looking back one more time before running up the crumbling steps and opening the door.

The inside was dusty, and there were spiderwebs in every nick and cranny of the mansion's entry hall. The light was dim and feeble as it filtered through the dust-caked windows. Twin lamps with candlesticks and burnt wicks stood on either side of the door, albeit a good couple feet away, give or take. Directly in front of America was a broad staircase with a ratty old reddish carpet, one that probably looked much finer in its youth. The banister was smooth and old, chipped in some places. At the top of the stairs it branched off, each stairway progressing to a different wing of the house. A dusty chandelier hung over the room, directly above a faded carpet.

(Image not mine)

America took a step forward, pausing when an eerie creak resonated around the room, emanating from the floorboard under his feet. He gazed about the room in wonder and awe.

This place looked awesome!!!

The door crashed open, and America jumped, his situation coming upon him in a rush. He turned and sprinted up the stairway, turning left and running into an empty room, looking for a hiding spot to-

Too late.

A meaty hand grabbed his neck and slammed him against a cracked and peeling wall. America's breath rushed out in a huff, and he gasped for air.

"You think you're sooooo clever, don't you?" Said the ringleader of the gang, eyes narrowing into beady slits as he judged the young boy struggling for air.

The bully raised a fist, which America saw out of tear-filled eyes. "Get ready for a world of hurt you-"

An unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind. "The only 'world of hurt' around here is the one you just walked into, 'friend'." The voice paused, then gave a low, eerie chuckle. "Unless you are talking about that lame cliched line you just used."

A fist slammed into the boy's head, and he relinquished his hold on the small American, who slumped to the floor and tried to catch his breath while dark spots clouded and danced in his vision.

The boy spun around angrily. "Why you-"

He stopped in fear and confusion.

Nobody was there.

A scream echoed from the hall, one of the bullies who chased America into the mansion. The ringleader sprinted out of the room, calling out their name.

"Hey, are you alright kid?"

A cold hand touched America's back as he caught his breath. America looked up to see a pale, blueish-white, semi-transparent figure. They were squatting, and looked to be around 18 or so. A fluffy hat sat atop their head, and a slight smile was on their face. The eyes were softened from their previous glare, but inside they were filled with empty loneliness.

"My name's Russia...what's yours?"

Russia spoke softly, but still doubted the boy would answer. He looked absolutely scared out of his wits right now. He would probably scream and run away.

Like they all did.

Russia wasn't quite sure why he had spoken his name, or tried to be friendly. When he first became a ghost, he was desperate for a friend other than the centuries-old ghosts who moped around the mansion and talked about the 'good ole' days'.

But Russia's attempts at befriending the occasional strangers who wandered in the mansion were usually met with cries of 'freak!' or 'monster!' or 'demon!'. 

He had stopped trying a long time ago.

So why was he attempting again now?

It's not like the kid would an-

"A-America."

Russia blinked in surprise, barely having time to process the name before two arms wrapped around him. 

Or, tried to.

America ran straight through.

Russia turned and inwardly cringed, expecting the kid to scream or panic.

But the kid just looked mad.

"Let me hug you dangit!!!"

Russia grinned. He concentrated and altered his composition, turning less bluey-white and more natural colored. There was still a silvery outline, but it was good enough.

America ran into him again, this time wrapping his arms against the ghost, knocking him over and onto the ground. The little boy giggled.

"Thank you mister Russia!!!"

Russia grinned.

He finally had a friend.

Time Passes

The two became practically inseparable. 

Every day after school America would run up to the old mansion and hang out with his ghost-buddy Russia. Together they would wreak havoc on the town, pranking and scaring people with large, elaborate plans.

Or they would stay at the house, and give Russia time to let his energy return from such outings. They would tease and joke around with the ancient ghosts around the place, or explore the huge mansion together.

Russia told America how he died.

About fifteen years before they met, on Halloween night, Russia was out in the old mansion with his friends. They were previously cruising around town in their car when it started to rain. Russia's girlfriend and the other friends with him told him to pull over at the old mansion, saying that if they were going to have to go in for the night, it might as well be at the haunted mansion.

They had walked in, and seen a glow in one of the rooms.

Naturally, being the crackhead teenagers they were, they decided to go check it out.

When they walked into the room, they were met with the horrifying sight, of a serial killer, looking at a map and preparing for their next strike.

The killer and the teens were both startled, but the teens turned to run away before the killer could grab any of his weapons.

In the panic, Russia was tripped and shoved aside.

He fell to the ground, twisting his ankle.

His girlfriend looked behind fearfully, giving a helpless look to Russia before running out of sight.

Russia felt betrayal.

He was abandoned by the people he had loved and trusted.

He called out to them, refusing to believe that the rumbling he heard was the starting of the car's engine.

He had called out, again and again.

But he soon was silenced.

When he woke up, he was startled to discover that he was 'alive'. 

Until he realized that he wasn't.

He had become a ghost because of his anger, sadness, and fear that compelled him to hang on to the world.

For better or for worse.

Months passed, and one day he had spotted his old girlfriend from the window of the house.

He had gathered up enough energy to leave the house where he died briefly, so he made his way over.

When she saw him.

She screamed.

Russia panicked, and hid himself from sight abruptly. He lingered behind to watch.

He wished he hadn't.

Another guy came out of a nearby shop, comforting and quieting the hysterical girl, leading her away and kissing her cheek.

She had...moved on.

...

They all forgot.

They all left.

He was...

...

...alone.

But when America came, Russia finally had a friend.

To confide in.

To trust.

To play with.

To...

...

...to love.

For as time passed, and America grew older and older, until he was around Russia's age when he died, Russia found himself catching feelings for the chipper American. 

He realized that when America graduated, he would leave for college.

Make new friends.

Party.

Live life.

Find love.

And as time would progress, he would discard his childhood 'fantasies' of having a ghost for a best friend.

And.

...

...Russia would be alone.

...

...again...

...

BUT

Russia was not just going to let America go any time soon.

For he had a plan.

One for them to be.

Together.

Forever.

Present day

"Hiya Russ!" A cheery voice called from the entryway of the mansion.

The Russian ghost perked up immediately, flying quickly down the stairs and crashing into America with a big hug that knocked the two boys over.

"Ame!!! I missed you!!!" 

"Russ, I was gone for 1 day dude. I can't be here all the time, even though I want to." America chuckled.

'Soon you will be...' thought Russia. Today was the day he was going to put his plan into action, and though he was reluctant to do it at first, the thought of being abandoned yet again spurred him to do whatever it took to keep America here.

To make his America a ghost.

Even though that meant he would have to kill him.

And he couldn't even explain it to America, for what makes a ghost is the large mix of conflicting emotions someone has when they die. If America knew what Russ was doing, he might just accept it, or he might just be against it. But if it was unawares, he would be confused, hurt, sad, angry, and much more. And while Russia hated the thought of inflicting such feelings on his cru- his friend...

...

...y'know.

Why not.

Nobody but him knew what he was thinking anyway, so why not just admit it.

His crush on America.

America laughed, and rolled off of the ghost, grabbing his hand and dashing up the dusty carpeted stairs.

He didn't notice the knife Russia snatched from the kitchen as they ran around the house.

America sprinted through the familiar hallways, rounding a corner and coming into a large, spacious room.

A library.

Faint, dust-filled sunbeams lazily shone through the circular window, lighting upon the vast rows of dusty bookshelves and time-weathered tables. America gasped.

"I didn't know there was a library!! This house is just full with surprises!!"

(Image not mine)

Russia quietly locked the door to the library.

America let go of Russia, and ran up to a bookshelf. The room smelled musty, and of that old book smell you sense when you flip the pages of an old book rapidly. America laughed in delight, and brushed his finger against the titles of the books.

"Wow! There's hundreds! Maybe thousands!!!" He said delightedly.

Russia smiled sadly. He raised the knife.

...

...

...And brought it down swiftly on America's now moving body, where it glanced off and carved a deep slice on his arm.

America gasped in shock and pain, gripping his injured arm, covering the growing patch of crimson blood, and whirling around to meet Russia's apologetic face.

"Wh-what the hell-" He stuttered out in pain, beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

Russia raised the blood-spattered knife, steeling himself for the fatal strike.

America ducked under his arm, pushing past him and sprinting into the labyrinth of shelves, bitter tears of pain and confusion blurring his sight and streaming down his face.

Russia sighed. This wasn't going to be easy...

He floated off, phasing through the bookshelves in search of America.

...

America ducked into a corner. He was so confused. Why was Russia trying to kill him?!? They were friends for years, Russia always told him how glad he was when America first showed up at the house, and how lonely he was, so why was he trying to kill his only friend now?? 

Did America do something wrong?

He bit back a sob.

The heavy atmosphere of the room weighed down upon him, doing nothing to ease his racing heart. Neither did the random squeaks and creaks from the house as it 'settled down' as most older houses do. A drip of sweat made a line down his forehead, mixing with the tears and falling to the floor in an inaudible splat.

America blinked back the cloudy tears that marred his vision.

First his family practically disowns him, and now his only friend in the world is trying to kill him?!?

Today was just not his day!!

He steadied his breath, and listened quietly.

Was, was that a sob?

He narrowed his eyes and listened again.

It was. Someone was crying.

Russia's distraught voice echoed around the library.

"I-I'm s-s-So sssooOOrrRyy AmmEEEeeeee..." He wailed. "I ggGGooOoTtt hhHHhUUnnnGGrrryyy...I ddiiddNN'T mmMMeeAAAnnNN TooOooo..." A sniffle. And then a broken wail once again. "YYoOOOOUuuUU HHhhAAAaaTTEEee MMMEEEEEEE!!!!!"

America felt bad. He knew Russ gathered energy around the house, and while he wasn't sure quite exactly how it worked, he figured that the other ghosts had beat him to the 'food' for a bit.

Oh. Maybe it was because of all the time he spent with America rather than searching the house.

...Maybe it was the energy he used when leaving the house, or solidifying his form for America. 

Was, was it his fault that Russ was weakening? 

America felt awful. No wonder Russia tried to kill him. America must've been a terrible friend, and the blood must've fed Russia to think clearly now.

It must be safe to go out now.

The least he could do was apologize.

America breathed a few times to calm his pounding heart. He walked from the corner he had hid in, and followed the sounds of Russia crying, his hands shaking with the absence of the adrenaline which had fueled his desperate flight.

There he was.

Russia was curled up in a ball underneath a table, sobbing his heart out. When he heard America's footsteps, he lifted his head up miserably.

America spoke. "Russ, I'm sorry. You've missed out on 'feeding' when you hung out with me, right? And you must've used too much energy when you played with me. Oh mAn." America's voice cracked, and he buried his head in his hands. "I'm such an awful friend!!! I'm sOrRRy!!!"

America sobbed into his hands, the stress of the past few days being released in his flood of tears. All of the hatred, the abuse, the bullying, it all came out.

Arms encircled the crying American. Russia hugged him tightly. 

"I'm sorry too."

America smiled softly, hugging his crush tighter.

But the next words made his heart jump into his throat, and his blood freeze.

"Shh, don't worry. This will only hurt a bit..."

America's eyes widened. He started to move, but it was too late.

The knife gored him in the back, slicing down slightly in what America knew was a fatal blow.

"I'm really really sorry Meri. I love you a lot. You'll see why I did this soon..."

America gasped and sank to the floor, bringing Russia with him. He could feel the hot blood oozing out of the gaping wound on his back. The room teetered dizzily in his vision, the only clear thing was Russia's sad smile as he held the dying American.

"I-I f-frick-cken h-hate y-you ssso m-m-much." America gasped out weakly.

Russia shushed him. "Shh, it'll all be over soon...don't worry..." He rocked his American gently, as his blood pooled out onto the floor, slipping into the cracks between floorboards, and staining the wood quite literally, blood red.

America felt his eyelids droop, threatening to shut out the world from his sight forever. He felt so confused. Fear, loathing, hate, sadness, guilt, betrayal, and hurt coursed through his panicked brain, confusing him and doing nothing to ease his broken heart.

The darkness that swirled around the edges of his vision, clouded closer. The feeble light from the window being blocked out as his body shut down.

He dimly sensed Russia hugging him.

And whispering into his ear.

"See you soon..."

Before the buzzing in his ears, and darkness in his vision faded to silence.

Nothingness.

...

Russia hugged American, watching painfully the emotions that swirled in his dying eyes.

The body went limp.

Russia waited...

...

...

...

And waited...

...

...

...

Nothing...

...

...

...

The first icy claws of fear gripped his stomach.

Why wasn't it working?!?!?

WHERE WAS AMERICA.

Oh no. 

Did, did he...

Did he just kill him for good???

"No. No! NoNoNoNoNoNoNONONO!!!!!!! This can't be happening!! C'mon, you're supposed to fade and become a ghost!!! FADE GOSH DARNIT FADE!!!!!! He can't be.........gone."

Russia slowly let go of the body. He put his head into his hands, and cried, sobs racking his body in violent spasms.

"I'm s-such a d-desperate id-diot..."

"H-heh. Y-you can s-say that ag-gain..."

"Америка!!!!!!!!!!"

:)

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

A/N: 3020 words. That was REALLY fun to write. Especially the death part. Anyway...

Part 2?

Gerpol Flame date?

An0n, N0na, N0ri, and Ari Crack Chapter?

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