AN: Told you guys I'd have this up before Halloween! Where ya worried? ;D Anyway, here you have it, my dears: the last installment of "The End of an Error". It so wasn't supposed to be this long, but I guess the extra length is just a gift to all of you for being such amazing readers. Now go! READ.

Everything changed after Alfred died. Though the world had attended his funeral, no one could really believe that their loudmouth young friend was gone. Most of the nations, even a couple who had seen it happen, tried to continue life as normal as they could, but the differences were painful to watch in some.

Matthew, though getting noticed more, was further withdrawn and soft spoken. Instead, he actually tried to be invisible.

Peter, without his hero, no longer wished to become a great nation. All his attention was focused on erasing the memory of Alfred's bloody form from his mind.

Francis hadn't molested anyone since they buried the body. He had made attempts on occasion, but the others could tell his heart wasn't in it. He just felt too guilty.

Arthur took the American's passing the worst. Over and over again the blond blamed himself, saying he should have paid better attention to his instincts, the signs, and especially his foreboding dream. Everyone told the Brit that it wasn't his fault; that Alfred was a troubled boy, but it was no use.

Every chance England got, he would go to Alfred's grave and sit, stroking the letters on the headstone as if to make sure they were real. It was on one such day that he got a surprise.

The old pirate was crying softly, talking to the marble slab, "It wasn't supposed to end this way, lad. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell anyone sooner? We could have helped you….we could have saved you."

"Arthur?"

"You and your bloody hero nonsense, never asking for help…."

"Arthur…"

"Why, Alfred? Just…why?"

"ARTHUR!"

The sobbing nation jumped, overcome by a familiar presence.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"It's me, silly!"

Arthur froze; face going ashen, "No…."

"Why 'no', Iggy?"

As he turned around, Arthur didn't want to believe his eyes. There, in front of him, just like that day in his hotel room, was a small, ghostly, version of colony sized Alfred.

And he was giggling.

As fast as his wobbly legs could move, the British man backed away from the tiny apparition, screaming.

"You aren't supposed to be here! You're dead! I watched it happen myself! You. Are. Dead."

Even the great United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland, with his entire "magical" prowess, didn't fully believe in ghosts. They said that these spirits sometimes came back due to unfinished business, but hadn't Alfred finished and said everything that needed to be done?

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE DEAD THINGS USUALLY STAY DEAD, ALFRED."

The child didn't move, instead he looked away and sniffled. At first Arthur thought that the small drops of water he heard hitting the ground were rain. But when he looked closer, the older man found that it was tears that were hitting the uncut grass.

Suddenly, Arthur felt like an ass. He hadn't meant to yell at the ghost-boy, but Alfred had scared him. Gently, he knelt down to console the crying child, but stopped when his hand went through the other's shoulder.

"A-Alfred, lad, please. Stop crying."

A tiny hiccup, "I'm sorry, Iggy."

The nation blinked, "Whatever for?"

"For making everyone sad. I didn't mean too. Big Me just hurt so bad…"

Arthur smiled softly, "I told you before, lad, Big You could have come to someone."

"Tried…" he wiped his little eyes.

The island sighed, "You daft child."

"Big Me or me me?"

"Both of you. Now tell me, why are you here," he gestured wildly, "like this?"

The ghost's blue eyes lit up with information, and he began to hop from one floating foot to another, "Because! Because!"

Arthur laughed, he hadn't seen his ex-colony this excited about anything in a long time, and figured he never would again. It was almost a refreshing sight.

"Because tells me nothing, boy. And stop fidgeting."

Alfred did as told, small mouth forming a surprised 'O' shape.

"Sorry, Big Brother! I'm here because I wanted to tell you everything's gonna be okay! Really!"

Arthur felt like crying himself now, of course this little bundle of energy before him would say such a thing. It was just like him.

"No, Alfy, it's not."

"Yeah huh!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"How? You're gone. Nothing is okay about that."

The child sighed, looking years older than his boyish face was supposed to. With great effort, he forced himself tangible enough to grasp the taller man's cheeks with his pudgy hands. Arthur stared as the grip became firmer and firmer, until solid hands were holding his face with strength he had almost forgotten about.

"Listen to me, Arthur," by now the entity was growing, morphing. Before long he was no longer a five year old with a squeaky voice. Instead, he was nineteen again, still baby-faced, but a man.

"A-Alfred…"

"Listen to me. It's going to be okay because you and the others are going to move on. I hear what you say every time you come to visit, and I have a few things to say in response. One, nothing is your fault. So shut up. Two it was supposed to end this way. Someone had to die, and because it wasn't you, it was me. Deal with it. Three, no, you couldn't have saved me. Two hundred and fifty years of mental problems don't go away with a couple trips to a shrink. But you might want to get Sealand to one soon. Just sayin'. And finally, four, if you shed one more stupid tear I swear to Ronald McDonald I will haunt you for the rest of eternity and make all your tea and scones fucking taste like coffee and burgers."

The living nation stared, "It's not that easy, Alfred. An empire isn't supposed to bury his colony. A big brother isn't supposed to bury his younger brother. I wasn't supposed to outlive you."

Alfred laughed that beautiful, rich, laughter that the older man had missed so much, "We're nations, dude, we're supposed to outlive everything. I pulled a loophole." He shrugged, "And, technically, ya didn't. America's still goin'."

"But you're not."

The spectacled boy groaned in frustration, "No. I'm not. But that's beside the point!"

"No, lad, it isn't. We made a grave error hurting you like this, and we can't just put that aside."

Alfred stomped his foot much like a child would, "Shit, bro, you're just not gonna make this easy for me, are you?"

Arthur couldn't help but let a small smile slip, "Just returning the favor."

"Oh shut up. Look, don't think of this as an ending," Alfred's words were becoming distant, and his body was starting to fade.

He was leaving again.

"Then what am I supposed to think of it a-…Where are you going?" Arthur reached for the other, but before he could make content, Alfred was gone, but not before a small breeze carried a final message to his old ears.

"Think of it as a beginning…"

The small man tried as hard as he could to not let any more tears fall (he knew Alfred's threat would be held true) and he stood there a moment. After a while he felt his face grow wet anyway. Looking up, Arthur made a sad realization as he smiled into the sky.

It really was raining now.

AN: *sniffles* It's really over, y'all. Can you believe it? It's rather bittersweet, no? I've never spent so long on a story before. TEoaE was my baby, man. But enough about that. What'd you think? Enough angst for one fic? Baha. I counted, you know. This marks the third time I've killed Al, and the second time I've had his ghost console a loved one. I can't thank you all enough for your reviews, alerts, faves, and any other form of support. Until next time, I bid thee goodbye~

Erika