Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia or anything affiliated with it. The DeoDeo! personifications are mine, but the ideas behind them aren't. Please don't sue!

The whole world was watching.

The whole world was grieving with them.

America was there. He was the hero, after all. He needed to be there to commiserate with India for the loss of a fine, fine man.

He felt something warm slip down his face as Mahatma Gandhi's funeral train kicked up clouds of dust.

Wait. What were those kids doing? Why were they getting so close to the train! He had to stop them, or they would get crushed! He lunged forward, only to be hauled back by his collar, choking and gagging. He turned around and blinked.

The girl was blonde, and had a bridge of freckles over her nose. She was dressed in black—many were. However, this one looked familiar.

"Alfred, don't. They won't get killed. They know better," the girl whispered. "Do you remember me?"

America scrutinized her. Yes, she was familiar. But from where…wait…? America's mouth dropped open in shock. "Chrissy?"

The girl giggled. "About time! Just because you're supposedly a haven for all of us doesn't mean you can forget about me!" She gave him a hug, and he realized that she had been crying as well.

"Okay, Chrissy. Say hi to Rach for me! And, say…didn't you tell me you were going to introduce me to some of your other friends? One of them lives right here mostly, doesn't she?

Chrissy sighed darkly. "That might not be a good idea. Parvati…I think she was closer to him than the rest of us."

Alfred gulped.

Oops.

If one looked hard enough, one could see that there were two forms trying to keep as close to the body as possible.

One was a dark-skinned girl. Though she looked a wreck now, the laugh lines on her face showed that this was not a common occurrence. Her sari swished around her feet, kicking up dirt—not that she cared. Her Gandhiji was dead—what else mattered?

The other was a medium-skinned boy. He kept his head down, staring at the pebbles, always keeping a hand on the coffin. He wore a robe that looked a little too big for him, and his turban fell lazily over one eye.

For once, they walked together. Gandhi would have liked that. The strange little man had met with them several times. At the beginning, he could not convince the pair of them to even sit in the same room, but eventually he could get them to sit next to each other without pulling knives to each other's throats, which was the norm. They both thought highly of him—laughed at his jokes, shared his vision…and now he was gone, and they were left.

They knew they should be used to this. They had met many "children" of theirs, and had to watch them slip through their fingers. They thought they would have this one for a second longer, however. He was the one who had shown them that maybe, just maybe, they could get along, and their bitter rivalry could end forever.

The boy felt the girl grab his hand. Tears sprung to his eyes. It was okay to cry. Christina, Rachel, Siddhartha, and Fuujin were in the crowd, and they had all been crying as well.

Now Parvati and Aladdin had to finish this alone, and they didn't know if they could do it.