lost ~completed~

chapter 10

Arthur pressed the worn cloth to his nose. While it was ripped and stained with blood, the Brit loved it just the same. If he went past the metallic tang of blood he could still smell the familiar scent of hamburgers on the jackets fabric. Arthur held that jacket as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He shut his eyes tightly and let the Americans scent wreath around him. His laughter filled his ears and behind his dark eyelids Arthur could see his bright smile and shining blue eyes.

"Angleterre?" Francis said gently. His gently voice nudged him from his daydream. Reluctantly, Arthur opened his eyes. His visions of Alfred disappeared like mist in the suns rays. Emerald eyes met with cyan eyes causing him to wince. Francis' eyes were soft as he looked at the grieving Brit.

"We must go, Arthur. We don't want them to find us." Francis said. Arthur kept silent and just looked to the side to the forest. Somewhere back there was Alfred; lying bleeding and dead and alone on that field. If he ran fast enough, the Brit could reach him. He tried to move his feet but they were heavy as if they were stuck in concrete blocks.

Francis sighed and gently wrapped his now dirty fingers around Arthur's arm in a gentle, get firm, grasp.

Arthur trailed beside him the entire time. No one or sound had been uttered. He just stared ahead like a zombie; not quite dead but not quite living. Francis sighed. Those usually live green eyes that he had grown to love were now dull with a haunted look. Francis knew what exactly had been haunting him.

If only Francis had thought ahead to shield the Brits eyes when they ran past. Then he wouldn't have seen poor Alfred's torn and mutilated corpse. If only Francis hadn't let Alfred run ahead. The poor young country had only wanted to protect his friends and loved ones yet he had to pay his life to do so.

Suddenly, Francis felt very lucky to be alive. If Alfred hadn't run ahead and set off the mine, all of the countries might have been caught in the explosion. His heart wept to think that Alfred died for them when he might not have known he had ran straight into his death. Even worse, he could have known what he was running into and had acted normal anyway.

Looking back at Arthur, the Frenchman quickly scanned over him. His shoulders were slumped, his head staring straight ahead and his feet dragging sluggishly behind him; all of the Brits body language screamed defeat.

Francis might have under estimated Arthur's feelings for Alfred. He knew they both cared about each other but Alfred's constant teasing and Arthur's irritation for him made it uncertain to how much they cared for each other. He hadn't expected this kind of devotion from Arthur.

Arthur had never been good at showing his emotions. He could easily show irritation or anger but happiness and sadness were always boarded up by a wall. Sometimes a brick was removed and some of those forbidden emotions had leaked out but Arthur quickly rebuilt the wall to be even stronger than the last.

Francis could practically see the large towering wall of bricks looming high around Arthur; their strength guarding the Brit from any further pain and hiding his shattered heart and grief. It pained the Frenchman to think of his beloved Angleterre in so much pain. He wanted Arthur to be able to confide in him and let him in the wall; whether it be for Francis's own selfish desires for the Brit to love him as the Frenchman loved the Brit or if he truly wanted to help him Francis would argue to himself about that for decades.

Either way, Arthur couldn't stay in his zombie-like state forever. Francis needed to at least break a hole in the wall to let some of the emotion trapped inside get out. Arthur wouldn't survive long in his state. His feet were barely moving him through the woods. A gap was forming between the two and the other fleeing countries. Arthur hardly seemed to care if he got captured. He didn't seem to care about the World anymore. It was if the Brit had lost his will to live.