Title: Life Starts Now

Fandom: Axis Powers: Hetalia

Author: Me, I should hope.

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, adventure, slice of life, AU

Pairing: PruCan, USUK, GerTalia, LietPol, Bela-Rus, Ukr/Can hinted at, FrUK hinted, PrUK bromace, FrPru bromace, SuFin

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Fluff. Slash. Language.

Summary: When Matthew Williams is murdered, Gilbert Beilschmidt wonders what it is about the kid that interests him so much when there's been so much death around him. He comes to learn the meaning of what it means to be alive through the Ghost of a murdered innocent. Prussia/Ghost!Canada

A/N: OH MY GOD. I AM ALIVE. Updated as of 16/June/11. Notes at end.

Prologue: Life Starts Now

"Hello, my child… What troubles you?"

"Good morning, father. I have a confession to make."

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Nah, here'll do. What I've done isn't a sin. I believe God sent it to me to test me. But my reactions to the trial are what I have to confess."

"Go on."

"I fell in love, you see. I know the Church condemns homosexuality, but how could He allow us to fall for our own sex if He didn't want us to? Cry 'demon' all you like, but we have to be able to fall in love in the first place if we're going to be tempted… Is that wrong?"

"…The bible is a world view, my child, not a rule book. So you're gay?"

"Yes. But I think that falling in love is what killed me. I'm dead, father, and I've been dead since the Stasi took my family from me."

"I don't understand."

"I didn't expect you to. But know this; love might kill us, might tear us down till we're nothing but a faded memory in the diary of a girl half our age, but it is a worthy death we die, and a peaceful one, so long as the ones we love are there to greet us as we pass through the gates and into Death's waiting arms."

"That was… eloquent."

"Take care of yourself, father. There are dangerous things in the world, more than you know."

"I will. Peace be upon you."

"I already have my peace."

I wonder – will anyone notice? I mean – it's not like – it's not like they knew I was there – most of the time – in the background – which what it was all about – the background.

I hope Al gets his thumb out of his ass and asks Arthur out – I mean – they're just so – they're besotted.

Ha!

Look at me – dying – and I'm pairing my brother off.

Francis would be proud.

Will he – will he remember me? I'll miss him – can't keep it in his pants – but I'll miss him anyway.

Do they know – that I'm dead – that I'm here – the lake.

There must be blood – the alley can't be clean – he can't have been that clean – evidence is there, surely.

But – will they think to look – will anyone go there to find it – to find me.

Ha, is this what death is – what it really means?

I – I'm scared – really scared. I don't – I don't want to go.

Help – please – help someone please.

He was used, oh so used, to being accused of varying levels of insanity, and even more varying levels of lies, but he really, honestly, couldn't care less. He knew what he saw, what invaded his senses and shoved his consciousness to one side in order to take over. He knew there were Ghosts left in the world, Those Who Had Remained Behind in order to complete their Unfinished Business, which was usually driving him up the wall.

But no matter, no matter, he'd lived for fifteen years knowing what he knew, and he knew how to deal with it.

Well.

He would if he could get his head around this one. Surely, surely, he would have had a phone call, surely there'd be someone knocking at his door demanding his alibi for whatever-time-whatever-place, because everybody knew Arthur Kirkland had criminal records in England, Spain and Latvia, and that wasn't counting the school trip to France. It didn't matter that he was completely bloody innocent. All that mattered was he was, to the cops, the last person to see him alive, and that he had a criminal record. What a load of –

"What happened to you?" he whispered to the sub-zero air at the bottom of his bed, the cold fingertips on his ankle – but they were always cold, and he never thought he might miss them.

I don't know. I'm scared, Arthur, I'm so scared.

It wasn't unusual that the Ghosts didn't remember what had happened to them, he knew that finding that out was usually what made them Cross Over. There was blood staining his wet sheets; he knew neither the blood nor the water were real, but they were real enough to him that he knew it hadn't been a pleasant death.

The fingers on his ankle crawled up his leg and stomach, laid their palm flat over his heart and he saw darkness, moonlight on steel, blood in water, lilies, the briefest flash of red and white. An alley, a sign swinging in the breeze, trees and a conspicuous rock by water's edge. He saw his house and a motorbike, a mechanic's garage and the Academy. Pain and fear and love and peace flashed fast through his body. Hate and anger and happiness flooded him in their wake.

"Oh no," he whispered, his own fingers stretching out to sink into the cold air, latching onto the sensations the Ghost had given him, sorted them and catalogued what they meant. "You didn't."

I don't remember. But I think maybe. Possibly. Probably.

"I'm going to get into so much trouble," he groaned, screwing his eyes shut and dropping his shoulders. "But I'll find out what happened to you, I promise. I'll get you home."

Clairvoyance.

"Yes."

That hand on his heart shifted so suddenly he couldn't react in time. It closed around his throat, squeezing his windpipe even as he was bodily hauled from his bed and pinned him to the floor, one leg tangled in his sheets and the hard wood flooring cold against his bare back. As spots appeared in his eyes, he imagined he could hear the phone ringing until it ticked over to voicemail. The accent was slight, choked by tears, but definitely East Coast American.

"Artie? C'mon, pick up. It's Mattie. Cops just called. He's dead, Artie. Mattie's dead. Art, please."

A split-second passed in which his world blacked out, and when it righted itself again, he was alone and cold in a warm room, hacking his lungs out over a pair of polished black copper's boots.

"Arthur Kirkland?" He groaned a vague assent, rubbing his neck with one hand, his eyes with the other. "You're under arrest for the suspected murder of Matthew Williams. You do not have to say anything – "

Arthur turned to the side and spat what tasted like blood and fresh water out of a dry mouth.

Bollocks to it all. He's just been arrested in his boxers. Again.

++End Chapter++

NOTES::

The conversation with the priest with the bible being a world view is half of a genuine conversation I had a few months ago. I didn't tell him I was gay, I just pointed out that the view was stupid. Apparently I made a logical argument. He was a cool priest.

In East Germany when under Soviet rule, the Stasi were the secret police. Watch the German-language film The Lives of Others to get a good idea of what it was like.

Peace be upon you, otherwise known as the Assassin's Creed's Safety and Peace, brother.

I am a fan of Capitalising Everything. I blame the Harry Potter fanseries, The Shoebox Project. Teenage boys capitalise everything. I picked that trait up.

England does have a bad reputation in Latvia. A guy on a stag do beat up a Latvian copper and then claimed being locked up was a breach of his human rights. To quote my BFF; "dick head."

Matt's speech is aligned to the right because of a suggestion from my BFF who listened to my bitching about how to represent Matt's speech and told me to align it from the right to make it look like it was coming from 'the other side'. I love her so much. EDIT:: Or not, as the case may be, 'cause apparently ff.n doesn't do right allignment. Damn it all. Centre allignment it is then. Tell me what you'd rather have guys, centre or left.

Alfred's accent is East Coast because that was the bit first colonised. I don't think I should have to explain it, but better safe than sorry.

I love writing Arthur more than anything.

I don't think there's anything else to say other than; sorry for making you guys wait so long for an update, even if it's just a replacement. One word; school.