Hello, everyone! This is it. We made it, we all did it together, haha (or, rather, you all cheered me on as I draggedmy near-lifeless corpse over the finish line)! This is the VERY LAST installment of The Waning, which has been running (and I have been taking the mickey with) since October 2013. I would just like to say that, as evidenced in my ANs on the earlier chapters, I really did not expect this story to run as long as it did, nor for it to become... this. Overall I like what this fic rather organically became, though, and I really had a lot of fun writing it (...sporadically around this time of the year). I hope you have enjoyed reading it just as much, even if my update schedule was completely infuriating. I'm very sorry for that. But. I did finish it. I did actually fucking finish it.

Thank you, for the final time, to: Hshdjdjudd, Prism Queen AA-9, cosmicConundrum, Tamitan, NihonBara, Castilily, Mythomagic101, Diurnal Days, RandomReader01, Kimashi Lejhidz, Hello, HarmonyLucis, Darkabyssoflove, pinkdoughnuts, ScorchingFlamesBurn, TalesofColor, JoriWinter, AEngland and hikikomori-kuma!

As there are no closing ANs, I would like to extend a further thanks to any and all previous reviewers on the other twenty-nine chapters – and also to anybody who didn't necessarily review but who has kept with it regardless. Both your lovely comments and your quiet enjoyment (? XD) of this fic really mean a lot to me both as a writer and a perpetual gross USUK weeb (seven years this month, incidentally). Thank you all so so so much for reading my story! 3

...Next Halloween I'm going to have to actually think of something new. T.T

The Waning

Epilogue

"Great party, Prez."

Alfred drawled it from the doorway, making him jump.

"Christ, Alfred, don't scare me like that," Arthur snapped, turning to him.

"I didn't mean to." Alfred shrugged, stepping over the threshold into the cool crisp night. "Besides, it is Halloween. You're supposed to be scared."

"Not by an idiot in orange costume satin," Arthur said witheringly. "What the hell are you meant to be, anyway?"

"Chainsaw murderer, duh." Alfred pointed to his hockey mask, then held up his limp cardboard saw. "From Texas."

"Charming."

"More original than you. A vampire – how inspired."

"I didn't have time to create an inspired costume," Arthur said tetchily, straightening his cheap blue cape. "I was organising the bloody party, remember?"

"Hey, you are Student Council President. Comes with the territory, I'm afraid." Alfred grinned. "Sucks to be you. Pun intended."

Arthur rolled his eyes in disgust as Alfred flopped down onto the bench next to him. They sat in silence for a while, the unmistakable beat of Thriller pounding out from the gym, blazes of green and purple light spilling out past the pumpkins plastered on the windows.

"Candy?" Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful, offering it.

"No thank you." Arthur scrunched his nose in disgust. "It's covered in fluff."

"It's not gonna kill ya." Alfred carefully selected a purple jelly spider, plucked off a bit of orange thread and bit it in half. "How come you're skulking around out here by yourself, anyway? I thought you'd want to enjoy it after all your hard work."

"I just needed some fresh air. I spent the entire afternoon putting up decorations. To be honest, I'm rather sick of looking at them." Arthur glanced at him. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I came to look for you, of course."

"But you have other friends here – Kiku and Gilbert and Søren... And you came with Matthew, didn't you?"

"Oh, please. Arty, you've been my best friend since the first day of school – and anyway, I haven't seen much of you lately, I mean, you're always so busy with this student council stuff–"

"Oh, and what about you?" Arthur interrupted coolly. "I don't see you after school anymore, not since you became the star quarterback. Which is just typical of you, by the way."

"I can't skip practice or I'll get kicked off the team!"

"Well, I can't shirk my duties – even if those duties are organising a goddamned Halloween party."

Alfred grimaced. "Okay, so we both suck. Is that fair?"

Arthur exhaled through his nose. "...I suppose so."

"So is it totally crazy that I want to spend some time with you tonight?"

A pause. "...No."

"Then let's not waste another minute!" Alfred sprang up, putting out his hand. "The night is still young and there's a bowl of candy corn with our name on it, no fluff!"

"I detest candy corn. You know that."

"Fine – we'll get you a big ol' toffee apple to sink your fangs into. Maybe then you'll stop complaining." Alfred wriggled his fingers. "You coming or what?"

Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes and putting out his wrist rather limply. "Fine."

Alfred took no prisoners, of course, and seized him by the hand, wrenching him up; overzealous, in fact, hauling him too much too quickly and sending him stumbling.

"Ah, crap, sorry!" He caught him, righting his person. "Arty, I'm sorry–"

"It's alright, Alfred." Arthur pulled himself free, straightening his cape again.

"But I didn't mean to–"

"I said it's fine. If I had a penny for every time you've knocked me over, accidentally hit me in the face or otherwise mandhandled me, I could retire at eighteen."

"...Guess so." Alfred gave a lopsided shrug, looking at him. His enthusiasm for returning to the party had suddenly drained out of him. He realised that he hadn't been alone with him for... well, he couldn't even remember.

"Arthur..." He trailed off. Arthur looked up, met his gaze.

"Yes?"

Alfred took a breath – and then exhaled. "Nothing."

Arthur frowned. "It can't be nothing."

"Well..." Alfred let his gaze slide away. "I guess it doesn't matter. I'm... just happy we're here, both of us."

"O-oh." Arthur was quiet for a moment. "So... so am I."

He came a little closer and Alfred felt his heart begin to pound as he descended into panic.

"A-Arthur," he said thickly, "I really, uh... you know?" He clenched his sweaty palms, not looking at him. "I mean, well, what I mean is... I really, um..." He trailed off again hopelessly, aware of Arthur watching him. He couldn't get the words out, not here, not like this. He felt like a total idiot.

Arthur paused a moment longer, then the the crease in his brow softened and he gave a little sigh. He seemed to understand.

"Shall we go in?" he said quietly. He stepped past him. "The next song is starting."

He seemed disappointed, now a little subdued, and Alfred didn't blame him; he felt the same, not to mention frustrated at himself. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the ooze of sticky sweets between his fingers as he followed, biting at his bottom lip. This wasn't the first time that he'd bottled it, they both knew it – and Arthur wasn't going to be the one to say it, they both knew that, too.

"Arty," he said. "Hey." He caught his elbow at the door. "Here."

He took his other hand from his pocket, holding up a gummy ring. The green gem was misaligned, bleeding into the lemon yellow of the band, but Alfred didn't care and Arthur didn't seem to, either, standing in stunned silence as the younger boy seized his hand and crammed the oily sweet onto his third finger.

"Heh." Alfred stepped back, admiring his handiwork. "Now you have to dance with me all night."

Arthur was stum for a long moment, examining this affectionate vandalism of his person – taking a second to delicately pluck off a strand of orange thread.

"Well," he said, putting out his hand for Alfred's, "then we had better get started, hadn't we?"

When the dance was over, they all bowed to their partners and gathered together, applauding the orchestra. Alfred drew Arthur close to him, kissing his hand, and Arthur rolled his eyes and acted as though he didn't like it the way he always did even though they both knew he would never get tired of Alfred worshipping him. The wry affectionate grin afterwards was testimony enough to that.

Alfred called a break with a wave of his hand and the crowd on the dancefloor dispersed, scattering towards the tables around the edge of the grand ballroom. It was bedecked splendidly with drapes of glittering black lace, delicately-carved pumpkins glowing at every surface, the chandeliers gleaming with rubies. The servants in their smart blue uniforms, tonight paired with black lace masks, passed goblets between the four royal courts in attendance.

"You've done a splendid job, Yao," Arthur said warmly. "As usual."

Their royal Jack gave a small bow of thanks. "It was my pleasure, Your Highness. The other kingdoms do so look forward to your annual Halloween ball, after all."

"And you make sure we don't disappoint them," Alfred said with a grin. He lifted a spoon and pinged it off the side of his cut crystal glass, calling for hush. When he received it, the other royals and their courtiers turning towards the head of the table, he raised his glass.

"The Queen and I would like to thank you all for attending our Halloween ball," he said, "and to extend our gratitude to Yao Wang for once again orchestrating a wonderful celebration."

Glasses were raised and there was a smattering of appreciative applause, not to mention a few cheers and a whistle.

"On behalf of the Kingdom of Spades," Alfred went on over the noise, "we wish all of you a very Happy Halloween!"

This was met with another chorus of approval, drinks sloshing against glasses. Alfred put his arm around Arthur, pulling him close as they watched their guests enjoy themselves. This year in particular had an excellent turn-out, with good weather enabling even those from the furthest kingdoms to travel; the Clubs in particular were often hindered by snow but they were all here tonight, King Ivan enjoying himself with his sisters, Queen Elizaveta dancing with husband Roderich without a care. Near them was the beautiful Diamond courtier Belle (beneath the watchful eye of her brother) and in the corner was the quiet Hearts trio, Kiku enjoying some tea in place of wine, Feliciano very happy indeed on Ludwig's lap. (His brother Lovino didn't look very happy, by comparison, but he wasn't exactly complaining about Antonio personally bringing him whatever he wanted from the buffet.)

"Everybody's having a great time," Alfred said cheerily. "As usual."

"Mmm." Arthur squeezed his arm affectionately as he glanced about. "Where's Matthew?"

"I dunno. Last I saw, he was talking to Francis."

"Well, Francis is over there with Belle–oh." Arthur frowned; Belle was dancing with Ned. "Ah."

"Wow." Alfred was amused. "I thought he had better taste."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd say the same to you," Arthur said wryly.

"About the Queen? He wouldn't dare. Besides, I have amazing taste." Alfred leaned in close, breathing next to his ear. "And you taste amazing."

"Ugh, stop it," Arthur said, pushing him away; but he was smirking. "Or I'll have your head."

"I'd much rather you gave me head."

"Alfred." Arthur pinched his nose. "We're in public – at our own party. Behave yourself."

"Exactly." Alfred shook his head free. "It's our party – at our palace – so let's sneak off." He wound his arms around Arthur's waist.

"God, you're insatiable." Arthur wrestled halfheartedly with him. "Can't you wait?"

"How can a good king resist his beautiful queen?"

"Beautiful? That's the first I've heard of it, you horny little bugger."

"Haha. Guess you have selective hearing, then."

"I wish I had selective hearing where you're concerned," Arthur said fondly. "I'd have a much quieter life."

Alfred smiled, taking his hand firmly, giving him a tug. "Come on, while no-one's watching."

"Fine, if it will shut you up..."

They slipped out through the curtains, leaving the swell of the music behind them. The corridor beyond was dark and cool and quiet.

"Let's go to the rose garden," Arthur said. "It's a lovely night."

"Alright."

Now that they were alone, much of the urgency that had so filled Alfred in the ballroom had settled; he didn't have to rush or covet, Arthur was all his, they had all the time they wanted. He could wait. Their matching blue clothes swished and whispered, heavy velvet and crisp silk and breathy chiffon, brocade and brass and buckles. He could feel Arthur's ring against his palm, the tiny emerald hard and sharp, and he wanted to fill up the whole world with words like i love you, i'd die for you, i'll bend and break the earth for you–

"Such a charmed life we lead, don't you think?"

Alfred felt the tug on his hand – Arthur had stopped, looking through the arches of the walkway to the glowing grounds of their palace below. There was a low whisper of evening mist and the glitter of an early frost on the flowers and the fountain. The moon hung like a perfect circle of ice in the night. Alfred could feel him leaning away, pulling on him, and held on tighter to his hand.

"Arty..."

"I don't know what we did to deserve it," Arthur went on. "I don't think I've ever been unhappy in my life. I can't imagine how misery feels."

"Then that's all that matters," Alfred said. "That's all I care about, Arthur." He wound his arms around him from behind, less suggestive this time, resting his chin on his shoulder. Arthur leaned back against him with a contented sigh.

"As long as you're happy," Alfred said against his ear.

"I am." A pause, a rub of the back of Alfred's hand. "Are you, love?"

"Of course I am." Alfred nuzzled at him. "I'm with you."

Arthur twisted to face him, putting his arms around his neck.

"You're such a sap," he said fondly. "It's sickening."

"Only with you," Alfred breathed, pressing his forehead to his. "...Arthur, I–"

"Did the party become too much for you?" Francis drawled. "I cannot say I blame you."

"Oh, sod off," Arthur said glibly, leaning away from Alfred. "That's rich coming from you."

The King of Diamonds grinned. He had Matthew at his side, dishevelled, barely knowing where to look.

"I do not deny it." He looked at Alfred. "I hope you do not mind my borrowing of your brother."

"He's the Prince of Spades," Alfred said with a shrug, "so I suppose he can do as he likes."

"And you are the king."

"Right – and I'm with my queen, as you can see, so get lost."

Francis only laughed. "My apologies. I did not mean to interrupt." He turned to Matthew, kissing his hand. "I will see you on the dancefloor, mon cher."

Matthew nodded, looking at Alfred as Francis swept away. Arthur glanced between the twins for a moment before sliding himself out of Alfred's arms.

"I'll go on ahead," he said, touching Alfred's elbow. "Meet me in the rose garden."

He was gone before Alfred could give argument, leaving him alone with his brother. Matthew was twisting his fingers together distractedly, quiet.

"I don't mind, you know," Alfred said. "If that's what you're worried about."

Matthew's shoulders sagged. "I only... it's just because... he's the King of Diamonds, I thought perhaps–"

"Do you love him?"

"Do I...?" Matthew seemed startled. "W-well... yes, I guess I do–"

"Then that's all that matters to me." Alfred put a hand to his shoulder. "Matt, you're my brother. I want you to be happy."

Matthew smiled. "I know. That's all I want for you too, Al."

"Good." Alfred hugged him, feeling his twin squeeze him back. "...As long as you didn't do it in our bed."

"Heh." Matthew grinned as Alfred pulled away. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"You better not." Alfred punched him on the arm as he turned away. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me..."

"Arthur?"

"Of course."

Matthew shook his head. "You're never away from him for more than five minutes. He's not going to disappear, Alfred."

"I know," Alfred said, "but I guess I just don't like to take the chance."

He caught him up outside, stepping out into the cool night, his breath frosting, his glasses steaming up. He drew his bomber jacket tighter about himself, snuggling his chin into the fur as he crunched over the gravel.

"England," he said.

England, leaning against the wall of the hangar, glanced up at him, his face aglow by the halo of a match. He lit his cigarette and lifted his head, pausing a moment to inhale.

"Good evening," he said, smoke coiling about his words. He was done up against the chill in his thick issue greatcoat, the buttons gleaming, polished to perfection.

America came and settled next to him, pressing his back against the corrugated steel. "Can I bum one?"

"Oh, what a surprise. America's torn through all his rations in two days. Again."

"I haven't. They're in my bunk. I'll pay you back."

"When hell freezes over." England offered him the packet. "Here."

"Thanks, darlin'."

Sarcastic. England rolled his eyes at him as he lit up, putting them very firmly back in his inside pocket. America sucked the smoke over his frayed nerves, enjoying it even though England's rations were a cheaper brand. He liked it best when he asked and England put two in his mouth and lit them and then gave him one, still damp. Indirect. He'd been too late tonight.

"You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know," England said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm not going to disappear."

"I know," America replied, "but I don't want you to be alone."

"That's really not—"

"Necessary? Yeah, I guess." America examined his cigarette. "But I made a promise."

"...You really do love me, don't you?" England's voice was calm, unwavering.

"You've got no idea." So was his.

"I do. I remember." England looked at him. "But even if I didn't..."

America took his cigarette from his mouth, leaving it smouldering. "You... remember?"

"Yes." England looked aside again. "But I don't want that... to be us. Do you understand me?"

"It isn't us, England. Not anymore. Not since..."

"Yes. That's another thing. Tell me..." England looked skyward, inhaling. "This isn't it, is it? This isn't the only world you created."

Silence. America, by contrast, tossed his gaze to the ground, scuffing at the gravel with his boot.

"America."

"I don't know," America hissed. "I guess not. I don't know how many realities I created. I just wanted you to be happy no what happened. I didn't trust myself to get it right, at least not with just one shot. I'm the one who fucked it up in the first place. You were fine before you met me."

"I don't think that's true. Besides..."

America looked up again. England was turning the emerald ring this way and that in the moonlight.

"I can't accept that this was all about me," he said. "What about you? You are the selfish type, after all."

"I'm happy as long as I'm with you," America said quietly. "Maybe that sounds hard to believe, especially in this reality, when I... well–"

"You mean the Revolution?" England smiled at him. "It doesn't matter much now, does it? If it is all about me, if you really did create this world – and an infinite number of others – just so I would be happy... then dwelling on the past seems pointless."

America was dubious. "This... isn't like you, England."

A grin. England had a sense of humour at the strangest of times.

"I know, I'm usually far pettier." He went into his pocket again, pulling out the other ring – America's silver band. "But the thing is... that I want you to be happy. Perhaps that sounds hard to swallow, too, coming from me, but it's the truth."

America's heart skipped. "But... I thought you didn't want to believe it, I thought–"

"I don't want to. I still don't – but it doesn't matter. We're here now. We're together. To complain that it isn't perfect, that we're balls-deep in a war, is pathetic. In any world that you may or may not have created, I would say that that... is all we want, isn't it?"

America was quiet for a long moment, then dropped his cigarette and crunched it out beneath his heel. He reached for the emerald ring, taking it from England's fingers, feeling it cold and solid and real beneath his touch. He took England's hand and slipped it onto his third finger, admiring it amidst the smoke.

"England," he sighed, "I'm not a good person. I've done bad stuff and I'll do it again, I've hurt you and I'll do it again, but... but I love you, I love you a-and I..."

"Sshh." England reached up and took his face. "It's alright, don't cry." He wiped at his cheeks with his cuff, America clutching tightly, suddenly, at his elbows. His closeness was overwhelming.

"I just... please, England... don't go, I–"

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." England took the other ring and neatly twisted it onto America's finger. "You see? Until death – and we are immortal." He looked up at him with a smile, patient and kind and rare. "I can't let you burden it by yourself any longer. If it really is the truth... then I am the one that did this to you."

"England..."

"And, well..." England brushed his hair away from his face, lingering at his cheek. "I love you too, more than anything. You know that."

"Yes." America exhaled deeply, calmness seeping all throughout him at his touch. "Yes, I do know. I've always known that."

England squeezed his cheek affectionately. "Good. Don't forget, no matter what."

No matter what happens, do not let go.

His cigarette was sighing scarlet still. He pulled back and sank against the cold corrugated hangar once more. America zipped up his bomber jacket and snuggled up next to him, shoving his chilled hands into his pockets. He tilted his head back and looked up at the clear black sky, wishing he hadn't wasted his own cigarette.

"It's Halloween," England said suddenly, not looking at him. "Did you forget?"

"Huh. I guess I did."

"It's not like you."

"I know. I've been so busy lately. Besides, it's not like you can get candy corn here."

"You're lucky to get a bloody teabag here," England grumbled. "Anyway, it just makes me think..."

"Dangerous."

"Shut your gob, you little prick." England nudged him. "Halloween, the night of wandering souls, where realms merge. I wonder..." He put his cigarette to his lips. "Do they find what they're looking for?"

America looked at him. "I'm sure they do," he said softly. "In the end."

He touched England's shoulder, gentle, suggestive, just enough to make him turn his head; and then he pressed downwards, taking his mouth with his own. He was bitter with smoke, solid in bundled-up wool, he smelt of the war, like hell on earth. America wrapped his arms tightly around him as he kissed him, feeling him do the same, those old familiar hands scrunching at worn leather. He could reduce every reality to this and he'd be content.

There must have been something of that in his mouth, a guilty admission behind his teeth, caged in by the kiss. England pulled back, breathless.

"This... is the first time we've..." He pressed his forehead to America's, panting. "A-and yet... I feel as though we've done it a thousand times before."

America shrugged. "I guess that's the truth. I'm selfish as hell. That's all I fucking care about."

England's wry smile was enough to say he didn't believe him. He knew him better than that. "And how many worlds do you hold in your heart? How many stars and universes and Edens?"

"As many as it takes." America's eyes drifted to his ring, cool and shining in the night. "...For you to be happy."

"Because I deserve it?"

"Because I want you to be."

England smiled, tired and relieved.

"I am happy," he said. "...Thank you, Alfred."