This Is Where We Fall (Hetalia Zombie Apocalypse AU)

"Lost and Found" -France, Canada & America-

Cries were the only thing heard within the place. It bounced off the wooden walls and surrounded the two men where they sat. Cries weren't an uncommon thing to hear in the apocalypse. No, it was quite normal for people to cry. It would be more uncommon to not hear people cry. However, this cry was certainly a rare one to hear during the new world. It wasn't a grieving, saddened cry. It was a cry coated in joy.

"P-Papa...P-Papa.. It's you.. It's really you." Matthew cried, burying his face into Francis's shoulder. Francis let out a shaky laugh between his tears as he held his son close to his chest.

"Oui, mon doux garçon." Francis said softly, gently stroking Matthew's hair with his shaking fingers. This hair so much like his own. This voice that was sobbing in his ears. This person holding onto him tightly as if he were afraid of what would happen if let go. The Frenchman never thought he'd see this boy again. "I'm here. I'm here."

Matthew felt more cries break forth from him as he heard the reassuring words he had only dreamed of hearing again. Every second passed he had to accept the hard to believe fact that Francis was, indeed, right here with him. His Papa. The man who cared for him since he was little. The man who was always there to provide comfort and love.

"I-I didn't think I would ever see you again!" The Canadian choked out, pulling away from the hug to look up at the other. "We couldn't contact you guys a-and everything was in ch-chaos. There was s-so much going on and those things.. th-those things are everywhere.. A-Al and I barely got out of th-that ship we sailed over to get here. We j-just barely made it. We-"

"Shh, shh. Hush, now. It's okay, it's okay. You both are okay now. You're okay. You're here with us, you're okay." Francis repeated those words soothingly, wiping the tears off of Matthew's face. The other nodded silently, his lips wobbling into a small smile. That was true. They were going to be okay now. They were no longer alone. "Papa is here. Nothing is going to hurt you. Everything will be all right."

Well, that statement could be determined. As he spoke this, Francis glanced over at the bloody American that was lying unconciously across from where Arthur lied. His shirt had been removed due to his injuries that needed to be tended to. According to Matthew, they tried raiding a small drugstore off the corner of a road nearby and ran into some other survivors. Of course Alfred, being Alfred, tried to crack jokes and all that 'I'm witty and can kick your ass' attitude to get what they needed. Apparently the other people didn't buy it and ended up drawing their weapons on them. Alfred was cut deeply on the side and beaten pretty badly and Matthew only with some bad bruises across the cheek and back. How the Canadian managed to drag the American away and to safety was still a blur in his eyes.

When Matthew explained what happened with Alfred, it was only time before he asked Francis about Arthur. Francis merely replied with a smile and said all will be fine. Will it? Uncertainty lingered around the Frenchman's thoughts towards his beloved Brit. No, he did not believe he was dead. The male hadn't turned into a biter. However, he wasn't breathing or showed any signs of life so death could still be probable. Nonetheless, Francis couldn't say the exact situation Arthur was in.

After a few minutes of comforting and tears, Matthew pulled away and let out a sigh.

"We should check on Alfred." He said quietly, glancing over at his brother. Of course, it had only been about ten minutes since he had checked over him but that was ten minutes too long. Ever since the start of it all, Matthew had been very keen on keeping Alfred safe. Before running into Francis, the Canadian and American only had each other. So, both were extremely cautious and protective of one another.

Francis scooted over to the resting American, looking over him. Bloodied bandages wrapped around his torso multiple times, the deep crimson darker around his side and shoulder. There was a dried trail of blood from his forehead that connected to a purple bruise on his cheek. The whole image of the American resembled a broken doll. The wounds on his body appeared like cracks on precious porcelain. His expression was a resting mask distraught and woe. This wasn't like how Alfred was perceived. He always presented himself very strongly and lively. This... was the exact opposite.