Broken Hearts and History
UkFr/FrUk : Arthur(England) x Francis(France)
Cannonverse
3rd person point of view
Paragraph free form
Warnings: Depression, Mental break, Mentions of War/Violence,
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Translations for French will be listed at the end, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction so hopefully you enjoy it!
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Clock in, Clock out, Breath in, Breath out, Reload, Take aim, Pull back, Try again.
Francis shuddered at the feeling of a rifle in his hands, eye on the enemy, head flooded with thought as he seemed not in control of his own movements. The moon was high but it burned and blistered like the sun, a loud ringing calling out around him at all sides, uniform torn and ripped. The sounds of death and terror around him hung in the static like the scent of blood that soaked the air like a death born fog rolling in on the sharp bite of enemy bullets. He was met with the business end of a bayonet, cutting his chest like red stained butter cut by a scorching knife, his thoughts frozen in ice while the heat of battle enveloped his very being.
He pulled himself up, boiling tears running down his face as he ran forward and stabbed the bayonet of his rifle through the human soldier's chest, pulling the trigger and watching as he dropped to the ground. The Frenchman's blood and tears fell like red wine from the bottle, drowning out the battlefield as he watched the life drain from the eyes of a young man born for war.
Francis jolted awake in a cold sweat, tears running down his face as he sobbed and choked on air as he woke from a dream born of memories, the faces of those that fell by his hand burned into his mind.
The Frenchman could never forget those faces, stolen from youth by wars born of fights between beings they did not know even existed. He had been losing so much sleep, barely able to function, but he never let it show, he couldn't let anyone find out. Things were bad enough as they were, and if others found out, he knew he would never hear the end of it.
Sighing softly, Francis ran his fingers through his hair and pulled himself out of bed. He walked to the bathroom, fingertips dancing across the polished white granite counter that was cool to the touch, his feet gently thumping across black and white tiles and cream colored walls lit with artificial light that almost drowned out the small red roses on the edges of the wall paper. He started to fill the bath, steam slowly filling the air as the blond stripped off his night clothes. He shuddered at the feeling of steam, hot and heavy like the fog of a battle field long ago, hitting his skin with the cold air.
He shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh,
"Ressaisissez-vous Francis..." he mumbled to himself, stripping down and stepping into the bath. The warm water enveloped him in a warm and comforting feeling that worked it's way into his deepest core as he sunk down to his lips in the water, the edge of the clear warm liquid just tickling under his nose.
Francis closed his eyes, trying to relax as he laid in the water, but found it all to hard to shake the sight from his dream, that young man's blood, spilling onto the ground, life draining from his eyes-
Francis tore his eyes open and got out of the bath, that warm water suddenly feeling much more disturbing with the thought of that red hue on his mind.
He could almost smell the blood...
He shouldn't dwell- he had a meeting to get to-
'Bonjour everyone!' 'Bonjour everyone!' 'Bonjour everyone!'
He repeated it, over and over in his mind as he walked up to the meeting hall,
'Bonjour everyone!' just smile, like every day, just smile and laugh, smile and laugh...
Clock in, Clock out, Breath in, Breath out... Get through the meeting, go home, drink, repeat...
Life was a bit more complicated than war, and yet they had their parallels...
'Ah mon ami, lovely to see you!'
'I'm doing wonderful- unlike your taste!'
'Off? Ah, I just didn't have my glass of wine yet, you know how it is'
Day after day, time and time again, like a record skipping on a broken wheel. They always asked the same questions, he wondered if sometimes he was really that transparent- but a simple excuse or two made them back off and laugh.
Laughter to drown out the screaming in his head, smiles to erase the faces in his mind, jokes that he pretended didn't pierce his heart like a blade, fights that he played off as nothing so he could go home and drown out his sorrow in wine that, after a while, just looked like blood overfilling his glass.
He shuddered and shook his head, fixing himself slightly in the reflection of the glass in the front of the building to make sure he looked perfect, for any flaw would end up as the butt of the next joke, at least perfection only ever brought glares...
He wondered if enough would ever be enough for these people..
Actually, Francis often thought about the others, how they all seemed so.. calm... normal.. As if they hadn't lived through the horrors that he knew they had lived through. How? How could they do it? How could they just sit back with a smile and watch as the world burned?! How!? How when everything was crashing down, did they never frown? They never looked down, to cast their gaze to the people that they killed on the blood soaked front lines of war-
He was yanked back from his thoughts as he felt a hand on his shoulder, jolting and nearly attacking the man who touched him until he realized it was none other than the British Nation he had so often warred with.
"Bloody Hell France, don't have a heart attack, it's just me" The Brit said with a shake of his head,
"What are you doing? You've been staring at the window for almost ten minutes now-"
"Nothing-" Francis cut him off with a sigh, shrugging his shoulder out of the Englishman's touch and walking into the meeting hall. Silently taking his seat.
The exit left Arthur with a sour taste in his mouth, the Frenchman had been.. Off lately.. Arthur didn't quite know how to put it. Francis had been zoning out, not as happy, stranger and colder and.. Just wrong.. He didn't seem like himself anymore..
The Brit sighed, shaking his head, he shouldn't have been so concerned for the Frenchman. Francis would be fine, Francis was always fine..
..Right?...
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*bonjour : Hello *Mon ami : My friend *Ressaisissez-vous Francis... : Pull yourself together Francis...
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Chapter Two will come as soon as possible!
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Broken Hearts and History (FrUk/UkFr Hetalia Fanfiction)
FanfictionA life forever lived and memories stained by the bloods of countless wars is never perfect, when the man who no one expected to let things get to him finally breaks down, who comes to his side is the strangest sight of all.
