La Saint Valentin

Au Revoir

⚠️Okay guys, don't rage quit on me here. Stay the course. I will never let this ship sink.⚠️

*****

There was an uproar in the streets. Francis' face was pale in the firelight as it danced wildly in the windows of the flats across from their's, eating up the trellis and devouring everything within. Contrary to the heat radiating from the dying architecture, snow was falling from the dark sky above, likewise Paris too, was falling. In one night, the heart of France had been torn asunder.
"Francis, we can't stay here." Arthur begged, grabbing hold of his lover's arm. "The fire will spread."
"Angleterre."
The soulless sound of the Frenchman's voice was something he would never forget. The way those blue eyes reflected the lick of flame, and the look of calm horror seething beyond it would haunt his nightmares. "We are going." He insisted firmly, tugging futility at his wrist. "Come away from there. Let's go."
"Non." Francis whispered, "Je t'aime, mais ceci est au revoir."
       "Like hell!" He snarled, "We can go to Belgium's house or Germany's. We can regroup, gather our allies. We can still-"
       "Zey've already taken every city along the Sienne. Biscay is full of warships. Ze channel is probably blocked too. Arthur..."
       He watched Francis' pale fingers rise to his chest, tears spilling down his cheeks in a sudden, silent rush. He knew that look, understood what the man was thinking.
      "You've come back from worse!" He shouted, his fear provoking his temper. "So what if they've got the advantage! I'm sure armies are being rallied as we speak. Come with me."
      "Don't fuss, mon cher." The older nation murmured, taking his hand gently and at last allowing him to guide him toward the door. "I'll go, but I can't leave."
      He didn't take the time to argue or to question his partner's words. All that mattered to him at that moment was the quickly catching veranda beyond the sliding glass doors. "Do you have weapons?"
     "Non."
"Bloody hell." Out the door they went, into battle with not a damn thing to fight with. Francis tripped and staggered behind him but he didn't stop to coddle him. His fucking city was burning! Why wasn't the man putting up a fight? For gods sake even Francis could be fierce when need be. So why was he quietly sobbing instead? "Come on, Frog." He breathed, ducking out the front door and slipping into a shadowed alleyway. "Paris needs you."
At that the man quelled his weeping and in contrast grew dreadfully quiet. Arthur didn't slow down and Francis followed behind as they dodged and dipped through the streets and secret ways. It took them a long and dreadful time to reach city limits with fire and death just behind them.
     Planes flew overhead and Arthur pulled a panting Francis against him. The man leaned weakly on him, coughing and gasping. "Those were German planes." He stated, hoping to encourage his distraught lover. "See? You'll be alright. Alfred won't miss a chance to be a hero. He and Mattie will come and everything will be fine."
      "Arthur-"
      "I bet my navy is raising hell in the channel too and I know that there were American ships not far off. Whoever these wankers are, we will send them running."
      "Half my country- already..." The Frenchman bit out around the back of his hand. "So many dead..."
       "Damn it Francis! Get it together!" Taking the fool by the arms he shook him hard. "Why are you just-"
       Blood. He could hardly see it but he knew it by the consistency, the smell. It was on his hands, but why? Pulling away, he took a step back, horrified. "Francis?"
       "Il ne sera pas arrêter." The man whispered, wiping his lips where the thick substance lingered.
        There weren't any wounds that he could see. "Where are you hurt?" He questioned, tone harsh in his panic. "What happened?"
        "Angleterre." Catching his wrists, Francis met his eyes. "France va tomber."
       France is going to fall. The words damaged him in all the ways he'd foreseen, but even with all his anxious imaginings he'd never have concocted the full effect. He could not have prepared. Denial welled up inside him and a great pit of anger opened in it's middle. No.
       "Absolutely not." He snarled, "That's absurd. You're allies are here. There's no reason that, that should happen."
       Coughing hard into his palms the Frenchman revealed the blood left within them. "Please don't make zis harder." He pleaded, "It hurts."
       "It can't happen!" Arthur shouted above the whirring of helicopters. "You can't die when you're sure to be rescued! It doesn't make any bloody sense!"
       "Does it need to?!" Francis snapped back, sinking to his knees.
        Arthur went with him, body trembling and mind frantic for an answers. "I don't understand."
        "Mon cher-"
        "I mean, even if it's true, Prussia's still around so there's no reason why you won't be. And Japan survived atomic warfare. Yeah, he was bloody sick for a while, but if that's the case with you I can take care of you. There's no chance that you can't withstand a little fire and-"
        "Arthur."
        "Just marry me! Then I'll keep you afloat." He searched his jacket for paper and pen even knowing it wasn't there. "It won't be official but I'm sure it'll do in a pinch. We can just...just..." Sobs replaced his ramblings as Francis wrapped his arms around his neck.
       Suddenly there was a presence behind them and they were both hoisted to their feet and urged toward the German border. Francis stumbled and Arthur supported him, turning to find Ludwig standing there looking grim.
"Let's get jou two somevhere safe, ja?" The German stated, "Ve have a camp not far. Jou can rest there. Italy vill take jou."
"Big brother France!" Italy wept, appearing from behind Germany. "Ve~ how can they do this to you!"
"Now's not za time, Italy." Ludwig chided gently, "Just take zem and be quick."
Arthur hefted France upright. "You're going to take back Paris, right? I'll come to help once I get France to the camp."
Germany looked away. "Zat is not necessary. Jou should stay with him."
       "Nonsense-"
       "Ve don't need jour help, England."
       "Why the hell not?"
       "Zey have za Prime Minister." The German interrupted sharply. "And are pushing him to sign a dissolution. If he doesn't comply zey are zreatening nuclear varfare."
"That doesn't make any sense! Who the bloody fuck wants France destroyed so badly?!"
Francis shifted in his grasp and stepped forward on his own. "Germany," he breathed shakily, "I'm sorry."
"For vhat?"
There was no time for explanations as enemy aircraft zoomed by, dropping a line of bombs on the city below them. Francis cried out as he watched them explode and Germany pushed Italy toward them.
"Take zem!" He roared. "Now! And don't any of jou come back here!"
"But Germany," Italy whimpered, catching his sleeve, "What about y-"
Ludwig shook the touch off and ran toward the chaos. "Do as I say!" He called back before disappearing into the dark.
Francis swayed and Italy grew stone-faced. "Come on." He breathed, dipping beneath one of France's arms. "This is not where he should die."
Die.
That one word had never meant much to him before, a concept long pondered but never felt. Such was not the case now. Quietly, he supported his lover's other side and together with the Italian, hurried him toward the relative safety of the German encampment.
All the way Francis remained quiet, making no fuss over the blood running from his nose and ears. Arthur continued to run his mind ragged trying to comprehend what was going on. Somewhere deep down he felt it was all a dream, and yet he'd felt the heat of the flames and felt the ache in his feet as they trudged onward. There was even that all too real twisting in his chest as he battled grief.
By the time they'd gotten him into a tent the Frenchman was delirious and frighteningly light. His skin was translucent, the dried blood marring it the only solid color. They tried to lay him on a cot but he protested vehemently, clinging to Arthur's clothes with all his remaining strength.
"It's fine." He breathed, "He wants to be held."
Italy stepped away as they sank together onto the grass floor. "I'm so sorry, Arthur." The brunette murmured as he left. "I'll be out here if you need anything."
The tent flap fell closed and with it went his restraint. Tears as hot as the fires wrecking Paris spilled over his cheeks and sobs as heartbreaking a bullet hit him. Francis' fingers wearily touched his neck, his face, trying to soothe him but soon enough that hand fell away, too weak to continue.
"Arthur..." The Frenchman beckoned on a shallow breath.
Pulling the man into his chest, Arthur could do nothing else but weep brokenly into his hair, waiting for him to evanesce in his arms. "Stay with me." He pleaded. "You bloody frog, you can't do this."
"Arthur."
"Don't!" Francis' bones felt hollow now and there was not enough left of him to properly embrace. "Please!"
"Arthur!"
"Please, stay!"
And then the man fell to nothing. Dispersed completely. Not even the stains of his blood remained. Doubling in on himself and fisting his hands in his hair he bellowed at the ground as madness crawled into his soul.
        Why!? Why like this?
"Merde! Arthur Kirkland!" The world around him shook suddenly and the scenery wavered. "Wake up!"

***

Now I should be able to behave myself. I've gotten my smut and my angst. Onward to comfort! 🚀