Ciao everybody! How are you all?

Thanks for the answers about the 4th of July! Fireworks everywhere... You Americans really like explosions, don't you? X)

(I noticed that somewhere between chapter 28 and 29 I lost track of Gatto... oh well, let's just do as if nothing happened, hm? Maybe one day I will correct it, but now I'm too lazy for that)

Warning: Long rant at end of chapter!
Anyway, here is the Epilogue.

Sit back, und ENJOY.

EPILOGUE

A year had passed from that night.

One whole year.

People had been overjoyed, almost not believing that it had truly ended. Not a single trace could be found of the Nightmares anymore, as if they had never existed. As if they had imagined it all. As if it all had been a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

But he knew it had been real. Everyone knew it.

People had started living in the cities again, rebuilding homes for themselves or helping others. Money had all lost its value for the moment, they simply traded goods for gold or by offering their help for something. Antonio somehow had a whole load of the precious metal, as well as many jewels and other precious stuff. But that wasn't always needed. Actually, many didn't even want or needed to be 'paid', because everyone was helping each other out spontaneously. The Apocalypse had somehow changed the people's attitude, and everybody was simply feeling grateful they had survived.

Even some transports had started functioning again after a couple of weeks. Pilots started flying small planes again, transporting people from one continent or state to the other so they could return home. Surviving ships had captains again, as well as crews and passengers. Of course, fuel was not easy to find, and the amount they had was preferably used for the planes and ships. So on the land, people would use bicycles, trains, horses or even some old carriages.

Slowly but steadily, things started working again. Electricity started flowing in the cities once more, as well as water, and crops were being grown in farms… Houses were rebuilt, whole cities stood straight again, the streets were cleared of the rubble and even some subways started functioning again.

After…after that night, after the collective shock of that night, they had all stayed there and helped the people rebuilding their lives. But after a couple of weeks, as the planes and ships started functioning and working again, many had expressed their wish of returning to their homes. Some because they were homesick and nostalgic of the familiar landscapes they had grown with, others because they still had relatives or friends somewhere they needed to find, let them be parents, cousins, nephews or even brothers. But the odyssey they had went through had bonded them farther than anything, and they all had promised they would meet again after precisely one year in one specific place. Nobody had dared to talk about… about him. Not in front of him or Romano, anyway. No one had taken his death in a good way, no one had thought his death had been just, no one had been struck as heavily as he and the older Italian. Nobody dared to touch the argument, an unspoken taboo had been laid upon his name, as well as any other term that might be connected to him.

Anyway, Alfred and Matthew didn't need to go all that far. They were in America, after all. He still didn't understand how the twins could have two different nationalities, Alfred being American and Matthew Canadian, but he didn't ask. After all, Lukas and Emil had that too, the one being Norwegian and the other Icelandic. Bizarre.

Kiku and Yao had to go on quite the long trip, and they couldn't decide whether to go to Japan or to China first. They decided to go the Nipponese island first, and then to China to find Yao's other two lost brothers and one sister. Apparently, not a single one was actually related to the Chinese, or even to Kiku. But they had all somehow ended up together and become united as a family, Yao considering himself the older and wiser brother.

Everyone else had to go to Europe, so they had all jumped onto the same ship.

When they had arrived in Spain, Antonio had left the group, saying he had some friends to find and help. But after that, he would leave and join Romano, wherever he would go. Obviously, this resulted into one of Romano's angry cursing fits, saying the Spaniard was a (fucking) creeper if he wanted to (fucking) follow him around. The Spaniard had simply laughed.

They then all had hopped onto a train, and arrived in France, where Francis and Arthur stopped. In the north of the country the Brit would most probably find a boat heading for his home.

The newly restored train line stopped somewhere near the border with Germany, and they all had got onto carriages. On one of them went Bella, along with the Scandinavian group: Mathias, Tino, Berwald, Lukas and Emil. Bella would stop in Belgium and then go looking for her brother, whom she was certain to find somewhere in the Netherlands. Then the rest would head for Denmark, where Mathias would stop and where Berwald, Tino, Lukas and Emil would take a boat for their respective countries. Emil had to go the farthest, but would be accompanied by the Norwegian.

The others had headed for the east, except Romano who had taken a horse and gone south, towards Italy. Someone had offered to accompany him, but he had simply started cursing and swearing, affirming he didn't need a (fucking) babysitter just to go to (fucking) Italy.

So he was left on the other carriage, together with Gilbert, Natalya, Katyusha and Ivan. Everyone had been wary towards the Russian at first, remembering all too well what he had done and said. But it turned out that Ivan was actually a nice person. Sometimes creepy, yes, but altogether… nice. The Russian had apologized multiple times, and worked harder than anyone else while helping the people rebuild their homes, back in America. The ex-Nightmare was obviously carrying more guilt than anyone else there, but he didn't show it. He would wake up screaming sometimes during the nights, but for the rest he didn't show much.

Ivan's smile still unsettled him though, making him relive moments he didn't want to remember, but he didn't say anything. He didn't tell anyone that that smile and those violet eyes haunted his dreams still. Many seemed to have already forgiven him, even the hot-headed albino, after understanding that it was the infection's fault that the Russian had become completely crazy. Natalya and Katyusha had told them what had happened on the night of the Disaster, so they had learnt that Ivan, Katyusha and Alfred had worked for the nuclear plant that had been the cause of everything. Nobody knew whose fault it had been that the electric system had shut down, along with the cooling system. Nobody knew if there even was a culprit to blame for it all. The thing was, it had happened. Alfred had gone to America to visit his brother, and Katyusha, alone, had tried stopping the imminent Disaster from happening. She couldn't possibly succeed, but she had tried anyway, and she would have been locked in the plant if Ivan hadn't showed up and dragged her away. Ivan so had saved Katyusha, however ha had ended up being locked himself in the building.

"That night I had already become a Nightmare, even if I didn't know it." The Russian had said, tugging nervously at his tattered scarf and avoiding the stares of the others.

They had arrived in Berlin, and separated. Katyusha, Natalya and Ivan would carry on, stopping in Ukraine, Belarus and then finally arriving in Russia.

He and Gilbert had stayed in the German capital, where they had lived before the Disaster.

More months had passed, and they had helped the population rebuilding everything. It had been hard and difficult work, but everyone was giving a hand, and soon the city had been liveable again.

Gilbert one day even had come home with the broadest grin he had ever seen. He had asked why he was so happy, but then he had seen it for himself, as Gilbert had held up two brown bottles. The albino had found beer. Only two, but that was more than they had seen in years. Gilbert had chugged down the golden liquid of his share in seconds, gulping loudly, smacking his lips and then letting out a satisfied burp.

He had shaken his head, the ghost of a smile on his face. There was Gilbert again, acting like old times. No, actually, it was doomed to be even worse, because he had found two new big buddies, Antonio and Francis, who were just as immature. The trio was sure to give him a lot of headaches once they got together again. He had glanced at his beer. He had slowly drunk it, savouring the smooth taste and ignoring his brother's pleading eyes, begging him for a sip.

The months had slowly crept by, and even if he and Gilbert never even once had spoken his name, somehow the story of what had happened that night spread throughout Europe, possibly the world.

The story presented itself in various different versions, the actual facts obviously exaggerated, missing or changed as they passed throughout the people. For example, no one really knew what those flying shards had been. There were many theories, going from magic, to spirits, to aliens, science-fiction technology or even angels. Sometimes the tale would be shaped as a legend, a myth, a poem, a song, or even as a bedtime story for children. But everyone knew and spoke that name. His name.

The legendary saviour of them all. The martyr. The hero. The man without any fear who had saved them all.

But he knew the truth. He hadn't been anything like that. He had been a hero, yes, but he had also been a sweet, a bit dumb, pasta loving Italian boy.

People started making monuments in his honour. First by placing simple bronze or brass plates beneath an old obelisk or something as simple as that, that already existed before.

But then they started making stone, marble or bronze statues for him. Not one of them showed the Italian himself, but most representations showed a world, embraced by a faceless man or positioned so that his face would not be visible. After all, who could ever know the legendary Fel-… his features?

Somehow, people had come to know that he and Gilbert had known him. And they would not stop asking. Writers, painters, journalists, sculptors… everyone wanted to hear their story, the true version of his story. Luckily while they were working, helping the Berliners, he and his brother would wear a cap so they could not be recognized too easily. But as soon as they had to head home, people would swarm around them, asking them tons of different questions. But even Gilbert had been smart enough to keep his mouth shut every time that happened.

And in this case, Gilbert had been stronger and 'more awesome' than him, he had to admit it.

He had not been able to bear hearing them anymore.

He had fled from the city.

Gilbert had tried stopping him, but he obviously had not listened. He had jumped on the first train he had seen and gone away.

This had proven to be quite the stupid action. Since he hadn't checked the train's destination, he had found himself lost somewhere in Austria. Then in his haste and carelessness he had jumped onto the wrong train again and found himself in Switzerland this time. This wasn't like him, he would never get lost anywhere, let alone in the European countries he knew so well. However, he had then found the train heading for the place he was looking for, and finally got to his destination.

Italy.

His steps on the stone floors echoed through the tall walls of the small alleys as he walked. The sun hadn't even come up yet, the people were still asleep, the sky was a mix of violet, orange and pink. A couple of lonely stars still twinkled, and they seemed to be winking at him.

The city had miraculously survived the Apocalypse. Even during or after the Apocalypse it had not sunk into oblivion. Not even that many buildings had been destroyed, as if the Nightmares had had some kind of respect for it. The people had most probably fled from the city on boats, so actually the Nightmares hadn't had even that much to look for or to destroy.

It must not have been too different from how he had remembered it. Well, the number of tourists had probably considerably thinned, but still.

He stopped on one of the hundreds of bridges and took a deep breath, smelling the salty air coming from the sea.

Venice.

Fel-… He had been right. It truly was a wonderful city. Every house had its story, every bridge, every church, every street and tower and boat. It was so different from anything he had ever seen.

He slowly resumed walking again. He caressed his chest absentmindedly, where his jacket had a hidden pocket. A smooth bulge was there, of the small metal box he had put the daisy in.

Somehow, the flower had refused to wilt even after a whole year. It hadn't even lost a single petal since that day. It was the only thing he had left of him. He didn't have a photograph, a picture, a drawing… nothing else but the flower. He kept it close to himself at all times, it reminded him so much of him. Even the curled up petal looked like the bizarre curl he had had. He would hold it in his hands whenever he didn't have to work on something. But at night the daisy had posed a problem: the flower's petals and stem would occasionally shine faintly in the dark with…with that light. It was faint, but it was the same light that had brought him away. He didn't want to see it, not in the dark, not while he was alone in his bed. Memories would show up in his mind again, and not the ones he wanted to cherish. Gilbert had luckily found an old metallic lighter case and given it to him, so he could put the flower away. He would still have it with him at all times in that pocket, but at least he did not have to look at that white light again.

He got on the deserted San Marco plaza, and saw it was exactly how he had read it in the manual. He would always inform himself of the place he was going to first, and this time had obviously not been an exception.

The strange 'L' shape of the plaza, the San Marco cathedral with its shiny white domes, the Ducal Palace, the gondolas, the columns with the lion and the angel, the bell tower. That tower had an interesting story, as well as all the other buildings of course. One day, somewhere during the twentieth century, it had abruptly collapsed on itself, after more than four centuries and with no apparent reason at all. Curiously so, there had been only one victim: a cat. He smiled. He would probably have cried immediately if he had told him that, exclaiming "Oh no, poor kitty cat!" or something along those lines. Anyway, the Venetians loved their plaza so much they had rebuilt the tower in the exact same place, resulting in a perfect copy of the collapsed one.

No one had dared to add or take something away from the plaza for centuries. The Venetians loved it this way. Only Napoleon had dared taking a bronze statue of four horses away from the cathedral. However after the emperor's death the pissed off Italians had immediately taken it back, placing it in its original position again, probably after giving the Parisians a good scold.

So the plaza had remained unaltered for centuries. Nothing had changed, nor had ever been wanted to be changed.

That was, apparently, until then.

His eyes widened in shock as his gaze locked onto the new monument standing in the plaza. A big, four meter tall bronze statue onto a dark marble pedestal had been positioned almost in the centre of the wide space.

If Ludwig had dared stepping any closer, he would surely have been able to read what had been written on the pedestal with elegant golden letters. But all he saw was the statue's face.

His face.

Feliciano.

A smiling Feliciano.

Ludwig blinked several times, thinking he was probably dreaming. His vision blurred for a second, and he felt his eyes sting. He blinked the blurriness away furiously. He probably had a bug in his eye or something.

He could not believe this. He had kind of come to accept the fact that he didn't even have a picture of the Italian, and had always focused on remembering his face. He had been determined not to ever forget his features. Seeing the statue's face, a perfect copy of the real Feliciano, so suddenly, without any kind of warning… had surprised him, to say the least.

As he slowly stepped closer with awe, he saw that every tiny particular of the statue was exactly right. His laugh was exactly the same, his eyes the same shape, as were all the other features of his face. His…his hair even had a bizarre, wayward curl sticking out from his left side. He saw the boots, the trousers and the shirt he had died in. Then there was even the staff at his feet, with a flag tied to it. He smiled without realizing it, remembering how Feliciano had wanted several times to knot a white cloth to the staff so it would be a white surrendering flag. The bronze cloth however had stripes on it, meaning it was a real flag. Most probably the Italian flag. The Statue was positioned so that Feliciano was taking a step forward, and his arm was stretched out to the observer, holding something in his fingers. It was a small bronze daisy.

Ludwig let out a dry sob, but he would not cry. Oh no. He had stopped crying long ago. He bowed his head, and saw the golden letters at the statue's feet.

- Feliciano Veneziano Vargas -

Loved son,

grandson,

brother

and friend.

Hero of the Nightmare Apocalypse.

Let his sacrifice never be forgotten.

7th of March, 1991 - 25th of April, 20XX

Buonanotte, fiorellino.

Then there were many names engraved under that.

- Beilschmidt, Gilbert - Germany

- Beilschmidt, Ludwig - Germany

- Bondevik, Lukas - Norway

- Bonnefoy, Francis - France

- Braginski, Ivan - Russia

- Fernandez Carriedo, Antonio - Spain

- Honda, Kiku - Japan

- Jansen, Bella - Belgium

- Jones, Alfred - U.S.A.

- Kirkland, Arthur - United Kingdom

- Khøler, Mathias - Denmark

- Oxenstierna, Berwald - Sweden

- Steilsson, Emil - Iceland

- Vänämoimën, Tino - Finland

- Vargas, Romano - Italy

- Wang, Yao - China

- Williams, Matthew - Canada

He was still staring at the names, mouth slightly opened, when he felt a presence near him.

"I knew you would end up here eventually, Potato. But seriously, a whole year? I honestly expected you'd be here sooner."

Ludwig didn't even need to look up to know whom that grumbling voice belonged to. But he turned nonetheless. Romano was standing beside him, back straight and arms folded on his chest. He wasn't looking at him, his eyes were locked on Feliciano's bronze features. He hadn't changed much in a year. His signature scowl was still on his face, but it somehow looked… less fierce than usual.

"At least you kept your promise. And I made sure that he would as well." The Italian grumbled.

Ludwig noticed something that made his heart skip a beat.

The statue's bronze eyes were looking right at him.

A voice echoed in his mind, coming from a distant memory.

"We'll see each other in Venice again…right?"

"…You did this?" He whispered, his voice barely audible.

"…Right?"

Romano snorted. "Who else?"

Of course. Who could have possibly described Feliciano so perfectly to the sculptor? Maybe the sculptor had even had a reference…Romano himself. After all, the two brothers really did look alike. But to think that Romano would do something like this for him… it was not a coincidence that the statue's eyes were looking at him. The older Italian had somehow managed to arrange that for him… well maybe not for him exactly. He knew Romano had never really liked him, he probably had done it for Feliciano. Under all those layers of toughness and rudeness, Romano really was a loving brother.

There was one thing he didn't understand, though. "Why all the names?"

Romano did not answer immediately. "…I thought it could be a good example. You know, of teamwork and all of that sappy bullshit, even if we all were from different countries. Actually, that was Antonio's idea, so blame that moron instead if you want to. Before you ask, Ivan didn't even want to be mentioned, seeing he was…" he paused. "…the main cause of it all. Not of the Disaster, but of…you know. But I didn't care. Feliciano saved his Russian icicled ass as well. I didn't know about the sisters, but they kindly fucking asked me not to put their names. They are ladies, so I didn't."

Ludwig slowly nodded, looking at the names still. The Russian had been so different after that night… he guessed he had always been like that. The infection could mess up a lot of screws in someone's head. He had felt it himself for less than an hour, and it hadn't even been the Nightmare kind of infection.

"Hey Kraut! Follow me."

The Italian interrupted his thoughts, and when he looked at him, he was already out of the plaza, in the shadows of an alley.

Romano bared his teeth. "The fuck are you standing there for? You got potatoes in your ears or something? Follow me, for fuck's sake!"

Ludwig swiftly obeyed, not having the faintest idea of what the other was planning. Before leaving the plaza however, he looked back at the statue. It was still there, and it was still smiling.

He hurriedly turned away an followed the bad-tempered man through the city.

"…Where are we going?"

They had taken two horses and headed for the mainland. Ludwig worriedly looked behind his shoulder, seeing Venice shrink away further and further with every step of the animal. It was almost dawn, and the sky was slowly turning light blue, mixed with a yellow and pink line of the horizon of the sea.

"Shut up and follow me, 'kay? I'm not doing this for you, let that be clear. I'm doing it for him."

Well, Ludwig already knew that.

They took a turn from the main street and started walking in the grass, where no path could be seen. He dearly hoped the Italian had a fairly good idea of their surroundings, because he certainly would get lost here. The plain grass was soon followed by a green forest. The morning wind was waking up, and brushing past them it made the trees around them whisper. After half an hour or so, they were suddenly on the side of a hill, and they started walking to the top, not saying a word.

At some point, Romano abruptly stopped the horse, tugging its reins.

"Get off the damn horse. We're walking now."

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow, but then followed the order. They tied the horses' reins to a tree branch and started walking to the top of the hill. It wasn't really that high, but the morning grass was a bit slippery of the dew, so they soon were out of breath. With every step the trees would become less and less, leaving space to bushes, and then only grass. Ludwig saw the top of the hill now. Was that a tree up there?

Finally, they were on top of the hill. Ludwig closed his eyes for a few seconds, heavily breathing in the chilly morning air. Climbing the hill had been more tiring than he had thought. He then took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

There was indeed a tree there. An olive tree, to be exact. It looked old, the main trunk being so dark it almost looked black, and the oldest and thickest branches looking like thick, knotted ropes. The tree wasn't really tall, because the long branches stretched far, but mostly in a horizontal direction. During a hot day it would probably create a wonderful wide shadow. The silvery leaves seemed almost metallic in the strange light before dawn, and they trembled a little, almost shivering in the cold morning breeze that was playing with them.

All around their feet were daisies. So many you almost couldn't see the grass.

But the thing that caught Ludwig's eye was another thing. A rectangular stone plate, positioned almost between the knobbly dark roots of the tree.

Ludwig blinked. He had understood what it was, but… it didn't make sense. "What…"

"Look, I know there wasn't a fucking body, okay? I just thought it was necessary for…for us, dammit." Romano grumbled, leaning onto the thick tree trunk. "Something that wouldn't be in the middle of a fucking plaza. And after all, we… he always liked this place. You can see Venice from here. Our grandpa - whenever he wasn't around drinking or flirting or getting overexcited because of a roman statue - would take us here for picnics. Probably no one knows about this place."

Ludwig took some uncertain steps towards the tombstone. Because that's what it was. He slowly walked around it and felt his head swimming. As if he were dreaming. He got on one knee before it, and gingerly put a hand on top of the tomb. It was a simple white marble plate, there were no fancy engravings or even a picture. Only and a handful of dark letters, that composed two simple lines:

- Feliciano Veneziano Vargas -

7th of March, 1991 - 25th of April 20XX

"Romano…" He murmured, feeling something that felt like a tight knot in his throat. He glanced at the many daisies around the stone and the tree. Too many to be all wild. Someone must have planted them there… and he kind of had an idea of who that certain someone was. He knew it must not have been easy for the Italian to do this, and it probably must have been even more difficult to show it to him, of all people.

"Don't say a word or you'll ruin the moment. Now slowly, slowly look to your right." Romano said, a small warning tone in his voice.

Ludwig frowned, but then looked to his right. If he hadn't been prepared, he would probably have had a heart attack.

It had been hidden from his view before because of the olive tree, but now that he was in front of the tombstone he could see it. A statue. Another statue of a smiling Feliciano. A marble one this time, and it wasn't as big as the statue in the plaza.

He gingerly stood up again and walked in front of the statue. It was again a perfect replica of the Italian, but now even the height of him was right. It was somewhere around 1.75 m., and the small pedestal contributed to make it a bit taller, but altogether it was still smaller than the German. It wasn't smiling as broadly as the bronze statue in the plaza. A small but happy smile played on the statue's features, it was almost melancholic, while looking at Venice.

Ludwig felt his heart as if it were constricted by a cruel hand. "Feliciano…" He uttered. He closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head, teeth bared and fists clenched by his sides.

"Do…do you still have the flower?" Romano asked, slowly nearing him, the sound of his steps muffled by the all daisies around them. His voice wasn't as rude as before, he had spoken that single question softly, almost in a gentle way. Ludwig honestly had not thought it could be possible.

He nodded. Of course he still had the flower.

He slowly put a hand in the hidden pocket of his jacket, and took the lighter case out. His hand trembled as he held it in fingers. The case was warm, not only because it had stayed in the pocket, but also…because of the little energy warming it up from inside. The metallic case was never cold or even cool to the touch. It was always a bit warm. He guessed it was that light, that remaining energy, that had prevented the flower to wilt even after a whole year.

"Do you think…Do you think it's okay if I leave it here for him?" He asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, slowly turning the case between his fingers. Deep inside, he didn't really want to separate from the flower. After all, it was the only thing he had left of him. But it somehow seemed right to give it back to him.

"Of course. He'll love it." Romano said, for once in his life not scowling at the German.

Ludwig caressed the smooth surface of the case with a thumb, and then opened it. He turned the case upside down, and the flower softly landed in his palm. The daisy was warm, and Ludwig saw yet again a faint silvery pulse go through the stem of the flower. That same damned light. Romano's eyebrows shot up briefly, seeing that the daisy looked exactly the same, not having changed throughout a whole year, but he said nothing.

Ludwig took a deep shaky breath, and put it in the statue's right hand. The flower fit perfectly. It almost seemed as if it had always meant to be there. He felt less sad of separating with the flower, knowing it could rest there, in its perfect place. Feliciano's hand.

"Dry your tears, Potato. He's not coming back. Not this time." Romano stated dryly.

To his surprise, Ludwig was crying again. He furiously wiped the tears away, he took a deep breath and straightened his spine.

"Thanks for showing me this place, Romano. I really appreciate it." He said formally, his voice slightly shaking. But he wasn't lying. Romano didn't know how much this meant to him… or maybe, actually, he did. He knew it more than anyone else, probably.

"…Hmf."

"I'll come back soon. With flowers."

"They better not be roses or I swear I'll rip your throat open."

Ludwig managed to smile a little, however one more tear also managed to escape his eyes. "Of course. Of course."

There was a short pause, during which the two stared at the statue without saying a word. Then, Romano broke the silence. "Today is the day of the Rock Gang Reunion, remember?"

The German blinked, still looking at the statue. He had honestly kind of forgotten about it. "…Oh, yes. That's right."

Romano rolled his eyes. "You really do have potatoes instead of a brain in there. Move it, they'll be in Venice at eight, and it's seven already. See? It's almost dawn." He started walking away from the olive tree, back down the hill, towards the horses.

Ludwig shot one last glance at the smiling statue. He lightly caressed Feliciano's marble hand, whispered a quick "I'll be back soon. I promise." and then left, following Romano down the hill.

The sun finally showed up from the horizon.

The sunrays shone brightly on Venice's roofs and boats, it made the water shimmer like liquid gold. And they also shone on a certain hill on the mainland, where a certain marble statue was positioned, under an old olive tree and surrounded by daisies.

Resting in the marble hand, the daisy's petals trembled, almost shivering in the morning breeze.

A bright pulse of light ran through the whole flower. Then, a pause, the flower returned normal.

Another pulse. The flower started shining all over. The warm energy fizzled and crackled, cracking the marble hand. The crack spread out towards an arm, a shoulder, a torso, a face and to the rest of a body.

The flower shone even brighter, causing more cracks to appear. Then, the light seeped into the marble, making all the cracks shine from inside.

Then, it all stopped. The daisy stopped shining, ad rested, wilted and black, into the cracked marble palm. The breeze moved the brittle remains of the flower, and they disintegrated into ash that got carried away to the sea.

Nothing happened for a couple of seconds.

Then, suddenly, marble chinks started crumbling. Something inside the statue started moving. Fingers twitched, the stone becoming dust and falling around a pair of feet.

A head moved, a torso twisted, shoulders tensed up and jerked, legs shook, trying to free themselves from the marble cage faster. A step was taken, leaving marble chunks behind. Then another, and so both feet were off the pedestal, on the grass, surrounded by daisies.

A head shook, stone dust falling around the pair of feet. A pair of eyes fluttered open, and were filled by the rising sun's rays hitting Venice's roofs. The being observed the landscape in front of him, and then its right hand that still felt warm. Why was he actually looking at it? The hand looked perfectly normal, the skin smooth and soft, except for a faint scar that ran across the back of it

The being then scanned its surroundings. He saw two heads walking downhill not too far behind him.

One dark brown with a wayward curl to the right, the other with meticulously slicked back blond hair.

He gasped, and started running downhill as fast as his feet could carry him.

Some teardrops left his eyes, but if it was because of the cold wind prickling his eyes or the many emotions swelling up in his chest, he didn't know.

He had almost caught up to them. He shouted their names at the top of his lungs, right before tackling them down from behind.

"ROMANOOO! LUDWIIIIG!"

The sun finally detached itself from the sea and started the new day.

Sunrays found their way through tree leaves and grass, and shone at the foot of a hill. They shone onto three people that were rolling in the grass, laughing and crying at the same time, shouting incoherent sentences of amazement and joy.

And those same sunrays shone on light brown, almost copper hair. The strange thing was, sticking out of the left side of the head there was a wayward curl, that bobbed up and down with every sob and laugh.

Feliciano laughed like he had never laughed before. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed while crying. He laughed while embracing his best friend and his brother. He laughed until his chest hurt. He laughed until he couldn't breathe anymore. He never wanted to stop. He wanted to laugh for the rest of his life!

This wasn't a nightmare anymore, because the time of the nightmares was over. This was a dream. A dream come true.

He was back. He was really back. He didn't know how, or why, but he was back. And for good, this time.

He embraced Romano and Ludwig yet again, never wanting to let go.

And laughed.

THE END

So there you have it. Nightmare Apocalypse has officially ended. Here. *offers tissues* if my predictions are right, you will need them... ;)

I'm so sad it is over! This story makes a part of me now, and finishing it hurts my heart! But now I have other stories to look forward to, so once again I'll remind you all of the poll on my profile.

I promised I would make pasta for everyone once this was finished, so here you are! *Gives pasta to everybody* Pastaaa!

I would like to thank you ALL for reading this story up until the end. It was so much fun for me to write, knowing people enjoyed it! I thank all of you readers, all of you reviewers, followers and 'favouriters'! Also all those reviewers who didn't log in and I couldn't answer personally, thank you! (Few examples: Reader, Guest, Random person, Notgoingtologin, etc. etc.) Again, THANK YOU. I LOVE YOU ALL. :3

...I don't know what else I could say. Honestly. Except maybe again that I LOVE YOU ALL and that I hope you will see me for my next stories! (Seeing as most people voted for the mafia fanfic, I'll have to do some research on the subject... wth! XD)
Thanks again! Ciao, everybody! Until next time!