Alternate ending, if you don't want America dead, leave now. If you do, please enjoy~

It was as if a black cloud hung over the room of nations, creating a dreary feel that was unusual for this particular group of people, who were usually so light, and joy filled. On a regular day, everyone would be joking with one another, and bickering good naturedly (most of the time). Sure, the personifications had their differences; it's what made them their own person—well, nation—with their own quirks, and special abilities that set them out from the rest, one nation never being just like another, but at the end of the day, they were all just a big family. An incredibly big, obnoxious, dysfunctional family.

They had taken it too far, way, way too far. It was a general agreement that they caused the casualty, leaving a gap in their hearts, given for some it was a small hole, while for others it was an impossibly large chasm. It wasn't everyone who had overdone the teasing, but only a select few, who were harboring such regret within, it crippled them.

Canada had been able to pull himself together enough to make funeral arrangements, wishing for them to be arranged by someone who knew the deceased in his prime, the happiest time in his life, when Canada could say for sure that he was truly happy. Vietnam had offered to take care of everything, but Canada had declined her offer, telling her that it was something he had to do for his brother, but leaving out that she never knew his brother as well as he did.

The American flag had been draped over the gleaming wooden casket at the front of the room, all the wrinkles had been smoothed out, just the way America would have wanted it. A single figure stood in front of the casket, his unruly blonde hair even more disheveled than usual, the bags under his eyes were tribute to the fact that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep ever since the last World Conference.

England gazed longingly at the smooth wood, he would have given anything to just peak into its contents, but the brand new, shining nails holding the casket closed prevented him from doing just that. All of the nations had seen the gruesome scene on 1st Avenue, directly in front of the U.N building, none of them suspected they'd ever be able to get the image out of their heads.

The former pirates fingers rested on the edge of the casket, he knew that he could easily rip the nails from their place, separating him from his friend, his brother, the person he may have one day called his lover, but he wasn't sure he could take it. The nails were there for a reason after all, no one was supposed to see the young boy inside, his injuries fixed to a certain extent, but not so much that he looked as flawless as before.

England frowned, flawless? The American had looked so terrible; England couldn't comprehend why he hadn't done anything before, only added fuel to the burning fire. It had been so obvious that there was something seriously wrong, but England guessed he had only seen what he wanted to, and not what was actually right in front of him. In his last moments, England had finally opened his eyes, truly looking at America for the first time in what must've been weeks.

His skin had been pale and clammy, his cheeks sunken, contributing to the frail and sick look he had obtained. His hair had dulled, no longer the color of sunshine, more like a dull wheat color. England didn't know if it was because he was avoiding the outdoors that he used to enjoy to no extent, or if it was just his depression, reflecting on his appearance. They seemed like the same reason, really.

England couldn't shake the picture of America teetering on the edge of the building out of his mind, everything reminding him of the once cheerful boy.

What had he done?

America used to drag him out to the most random of places, The Yankee Stadium, The Atlanta Aquarium, the orange orchards in Florida, Hollywood at night, so many famous places, and while explaining the history of each site, America always wore a big smile on his face, excitement dancing through his eyes.

In Florida, America had run through the trees, laughing a real laugh and calling for England to keep up as he dashed through the orchard, no worries in the world it had seemed.

England decided that was how he would always remember America, with a big smile on his face.

A disturbance in the air pressure around England showed that someone was next to him. His eyes flickered over to them, and with a pang in his heart he identified the figure as Canada. The boy looked so much like his brother; it hurt for him to see the North American nation with such a look of sorrow upon his face.

Contrary to England's prior belief, after America's death the world kept spinning. Canada had taken over his brother's job, stepping in until further notice as the personification of the country people associated with freedom. The United States of America had thrived; the depression rate went down, as did the unemployment. The economic problems were fixed in a blink of an eye, much to many a nation's pleasure.

"It seems the world really is better off without Alfred F. Jones." mused England internally, with sick, twisted humor. Although personally, as Arthur Kirkland, he couldn't imagine himself ever moving on, never recovering from the loss that shook his own personal world to its core.

England's hand rested on the American flag, relishing its soft texture under his shaking fingers. Canada had themed the entire funeral around the flag, and the room appeared more as if it celebrating the Fourth of July rather than a place of mourning.

A Polaroid picture stared up at England from its place behind a sheet of glass on a table beside the large casket, it's edges yellow with water stains dotting along the edges, as America never did take great care of his photographs. The black and white picture showed the late America, with his arms wrapped around his brother and an annoyed looking Briton, pulling them into the picture, over Canada's shoulder, France was running his fingers through the boy he treated as his son's hair with one hand, the other pressed up against England's face, attempting to push him out of America's grip and the picture.

England felt the corners of his lips turn up in a sad smile, reminiscing on the past fondly.

Canada followed England's gaze to the photo, staying silent for a few moments before speaking softly. "He really liked that picture, you know."

England nodded offhandedly, refusing to tear his gaze from the photo; Canada took this as a sign to keep talking.

"I saw him crying while looking at it a while back. I didn't do anything. I just left." Canada spoke as if he wasn't expecting a response, more just talking to himself then anything.

There was a stack of papers next to the picture, beside them a pile of envelops. England creased his eyebrows in confusion, but before he could question them, Canada answered his unspoken question.

"To write him letters. They'll be buried with him." He motioned to the large basket under the table, already filled to the brim with envelops. On the outside, the same thing was written on each one, with different handwriting and a different name.

Alfred F. Jones

England could pick out some of the signatures, Elizabeta Héderváry, Feliks Łukasiewicz, Lili Zwingli, Toris Laurinaitis, Tino Väinämöinen, Lukas Bondevik, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and Feliciano Vargas. Those were only the ones that England could see, they're countless more under them.

A flash of white caught his eye, as Canada had raised his own envelop, tossing it into the basket, instead of it reading America's human name, it said My Dear Brother.

England bit his lip, moving his body over to the table, taking one of the pens in his hand and bending over to write his own letter.

For a while, he struggled on what to write. After a bit of thought though, the words seemed to flow out of him.

Dear Alfred,

I know it's too late to apologize, but I am anyways. I'd like to express how truly regretful I am.

How many times these last few days have I questioned myself? God, I don't know. I have no idea why I did it; I assume the insults were just an attempt at making me feel better about myself. I've never hated myself more than I do now, so that sort of backfired, didn't it?

If I could go back and erase everything that was said, I would. In a second, without a second thought.

It's all my fault and I understand if you never forgive me, wherever you are. I don't deserve it in the slightest. I already miss you, and your brother is absolutely devastated, we all are.

I know we never told you just how much to meant to us. And once again I apologize.

You did mean a lot to us, Alfred, you're our family. Us nations stick together, through thick and thin, though we did a really horrid job at showing our affection for you, huh?

It's so different without you here. It's like a weight is pressing down on my heart at all times, and it hurts. I can't make the pain go away no matter what I do. The Earth keeps revolving around the sun, and I can't comprehend how, without you here.

I don't think I ever noticed how much I needed you. You were basically my anchor, keeping me sane. God knows what would have happened if I was just stuck in a room with that frog and angry German all day. I'd probably go insane. Even if I yelled at you, you did entertain me and make me smile.

Right now, I'm just so frustrated. I wish you hadn't jumped. I wish we hadn't said those terrible things. I want to turn back the clock, but I can't. I can't explain exactly how I'm feeling, and I'm really terrible at expressing things. I just want to scream, and cry, and let everything out.

But I can't, I have to be strong. You wouldn't be happy if I broke down, right Alfred? Am I correct when I say that? I know the old you wouldn't have wanted that, but what about now; do you truly want us to all be hurting?

You said the world would be a better place without you. You're wrong. Nothing will ever replace you.

You told me you loved me. Did you mean as a brother, or as a man? I guess the former would be considered strange, wouldn't it, because we kissed.

I don't love you like that, but maybe if you had given me time, I could have.

That's all we all needed. Time. We could have fixed everything if you had given that to us, but I guess it would have been selfish of us to ask, with what we had put you through.

This isn't goodbye, we'll meet again someday, I'm sure.

Alfred, I hope you're happy now.

Love,

Arthur Kirkland

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

The nations of the world stood on Mount Vernon, Virginia.

They watched with watery eyes as the letters were dusted over the casket, already resting in the ground.

It's where America wanted to be buried, next to George Washington, his close friend, and the father of his country.

His tombstone sat at the head of his grave, right beside George's, with a flag coming out the top and flowers lain all around.

There was a picture carved into the granite, two of them, actually. One was of an Eagle, and the other is of a soldier on a horse, whose front hooves were raised in the air.

For good reason, as America had died in battle, a battle with himself.

The tombstone read;

Here lies Alfred F. Jones

Forever in the hearts of those around the globe

God bless America

LAST CHAPTER. I MEAN IT GAIZ.

So yeah, this is the ending where Norway didn't save America.

The song for the last chapter was Perfect by Simple Plan, and this one was a mix of a lot of songs o.o. I recommend going back and reading the first two chapters with that song playing, it really sets the mood if you ask me. Oo, Untitled, too. Which is also by Simple Plan.

The letter thing is something cute that I'd like done at my funeral, along with someone hiring funeral crashers and Rick Roll'ing the whole place.

This chapter isn't as long as the first one, but I wrote this in three hours, so yeah, and I don't want to upload it to late because you guys might not see it : Or something.

I'm considering writing an angsty Spamano fic, and I've got a poll up on my profile, so y'all should all go vote, because right now it's like, tied, and junk.

This is my most popular fic, with like, er, 30 favorites, I think. Last I checked it was 29 but that was a few days ago and I can't remember getting any emails about it so I dunno.

And this fic won me a lot of people that put me on their favorites :3 I love you guys, and you guys that reviewed. Reviews are what motivate me to write, and I get really sad when I get so little reviews on things I worked really hard on. Like the other day I uploaded the first chapter of a multichap fic and it has not gotten a lot of... publicity, you could say, which upsets me, though I understand because I'm using a human OC.

So yeah, THANK YOU GUYS for like, everything. It means a lot to me. I loved all your reviews.

Long ass A/N is long (sort of), mi dispiace.

OH and I got my Romano wig recently, so I'm a very happy camper.

With love,

~Ayai

You know, even though I already thanked you all for reviewing, it wouldn't hurt to review again, would it? :3

It'd be nice if you had the time~