Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or characters, except for, like, two (his parents *shrugs*). I only own the plot!

My parents are murderers. They killed my brothers. They killed a family. The house we live in was owned by that family. I still don't know why the police hadn't come for us yet... We should be in jail right now. The only reason why I, Arthur Kirkland, am still alive is because I act as their little puppet. They pull my strings. And I let them. That's the only way I can survive. I still have many scars and mental bruises from them, but as long as my heart keeps beating- I'll be fine, right? Right? Or will I end up like the Bonnefoy's? Dead and not breathing. I'm scared of what my fate might be. My brother Dylan had talked back to my dad- they sliced his throat. My brother Angus hadn't done what they instructed- he was choked. My brother Allistor had tried to run away with Peter, my youngest brother, at his side- they were both beaten to death. Their bodies are unknown to me- I have no idea where they're buried. But wherever they are at, I try my best to not be with them. I don't talk back, I don't stop listening to them, and I don't try to run away. I do this so I can live. I don't want to die...

Arthur Kirkland laid upon his small bed and stared at the ceiling with his bright green eyes that seemed like they glowed in the dark. The window above him shown in little light that came from the moon, so he could see half of his room. It was 12:16 AM and Arthur couldn't sleep. He never slept. Ever since he saw his brothers killed, he never had a wink of sleep. Most would think that he should be ill and weak, but, he was always a unique child. He was rarely tired. He was rarely ill. Only once in his life, he was sick. And that was only a cold. Other than that, he'd never been sick. He couldn't afford to be sick. He couldn't afford to be tired. Just a year ago, his family killed the people who once lived in this house. Just a few weeks ago, they moved in. And he felt something...odd in this house. Not the sensation of guilt for killing the old owners. It was just... The air made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He would often get goose-bumps, and he sometimes found himself shivering.

The British teen sat up and rested his back onto his headboard. He slowly brought his pale legs closer to him and hugged his knees to his chest. He gave out a sigh and looked out the window. He stared at the full moon that formed a sleeping face and licked his chapped lips before biting them. He silently cursed the moon. He hated the moon. He hated the stars. He hated the sun. He hated everything outside his window. He hated them because they could be free. No, not could... They were free. The ground was free. The trees were free. The rocks, the flowers, the air, the sky- they were all free! He let out a breath a breath and swallowed. He moved his gaze away from the window and to the edge of his bed. Something was there. He could see a shadow. However, he didn't fear it. He always knew that something was in his house, his room.

Arthur moved closer to the edge and said in low, whispering voice, "You can show yourself." The sentence was more a command, and he knew the shadow either flinched or moved. Now, the Brit was on the middle of his bed, wanting to get closer to this shadow, but not wanting to scare it away. However, when he moved a bit closer, the shadow pulled back and disappeared. Arthur let out a silent groan and laid back down onto his bed. He closed his eyes, and tried his hardest to go to sleep, but that didn't work. How can his parents sleep? How can they sleep so peacefully and soundlessly? How can they sleep, knowing that there's blood on their hands? How can they sleep, knowing that they killed his brothers!?

He could feel his eyes watering and he sat straight up, wiping them. He cried every night. A teen his age shouldn't cry that much. No... No, don't cry... Stay calm... He told himself as the tears overflowed and making stains on his bed sheets. He let out a choked sob and tried to muffle it with his pillow. He stared at his door with dull anger. It was locked from the outside. He couldn't get out of his room until his parents unlocked the door. Arthur balled up his fists and shook violently with sadness, anger, and pain. Sadness from losing so much. Anger from being trapped in the hell. And pain from being hurt mentally, physically, and verbally. In cases like this, most people would've killed themselves already, but Arthur couldn't give up. He had to show his deceased brothers that he was strong and he wouldn't give up. One day, he'll finally be free. Freedom... Even being in prison is freedom enough.

Screech!

Arthur snapped his head to the direction behind him and he stared wide-eyed at what was before him. A young adult male with shoulder-length blonde hair and sparkling, glowing blue eyes was in front of Arthur's sight. His skin was very pale and...and...transparent...? He was transparent. The male looked at him as he looked at the male. Both were staring at each other with shocked expressions, until Arthur stepped forward, surprising the see-through man a little. The Brit cleared his throat and, but, as he spoke, his voice was weak and hoarse, "You... You were a part of the family that my parents killed, aren't you? Your...Francis Bonnefoy, am I right?"

"...Oui," The ghost nodded, his mouth moving into a frown. "And, your name is Arthur, correct? Arthur Kirkland?" His voice was lathered in a French accent and it was slightly hollow and it echoed in Arthur's ears. He looked like he was either nineteen or twenty. His beard showed that he was just beginning adulthood. His body was well-built and strong; he was about the same height as Arthur, older or not- dead or not.

Arthur nodded to his question and licked his lips, his heart beating frantically in his chest, not in fear, but in nervousness. After all, he was talking to a ghost that his parents had killed. He wasn't afraid if the spirit was there to get revenge, if it was there to try to kill or possess one of them... He was just afraid that Francis might've been too sad for comfort or too depressed. After losing his brothers, Arthur didn't speak for years. He didn't cry, he didn't speak, he didn't yell, scream, shout... He did nothing. It was like he was a lifeless puppet that did only what his masters told him. He could understand if Francis was feeling the same way. After all, a year and one month ago, Francis, along with his parents were murdered.

After a few seconds, the teen decided to open his mouth and speak, fidgeting slightly as he took another step closer to the Frenchman, "Francis... I'm sorry... You...your family... I-"

"It wasn't your fault," The other male cut in quickly, smiling softly at Arthur with a sad look in his blue eyes. "You have no reason for saying sorry, Cher." Arthur was taken aback by this and his large eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Francis's word. His mouth was open to say something, but Francis didn't let him. "Don't think it's your fault. I've seen you getting beaten and tortured by them. I've seen you cry every night. I've seen you do all things, except sleep. You're not a killer."

The blonde Brit's lip trembled slightly as his eyes watered again. But he didn't let them free. He kept his tears in his eyes. His eye lid being dams to the tears. He swallowed shakily and got closer to Francis where they were both standing in front of each other. Arthur stuck out his hand and slowly touched Francis's hand, shocking himself to see that he could still touch his skin. It was slightly cold and it almost felt like he was touching air, but he could still feel the skin. It was...marvelous. His watery eyes were now shining with interest, for he always sort of had a thing for the paranormal. He then looked up and asked, "Why...why are you still here? Shouldn't you have passed on? Are there any others here?"

Francis sighed and shrugged a little, giving a half-smile, "My parents have already moved on and... The reason why there're ghosts in this world is because they haven't found their lifetime wish. Everyone, no matter who or what, has a lifetime wish, or goal, and those who never got to that goal and have met death, stay in this world." He explained and sat on the edge of Arthur's bed. Said Brit stared in wonder as he saw the bed crease under the weight of the ghost... Weight? They had weight?

Arthur shook the thought off and sat next to him. He looked up with slight terror in his green eyes and frowned a little, "What was your goal?" He asked that, hoping that he didn't intrude on much.

Francis shrugged and shook his head in disappointment, "I cannot remember... That's what I do not understand... Mon Dieu... Big Brother just wants to pass on already!"

"So, you- Wait... Did you just call yourself 'Big Brother'?" Arthur rose an eyebrow, smirking in amusement. France let out a soft chuckled nodded, his hair overlapping his shoulders, before he flipped it back:

"Oui, I did. When I was alive, I would declare myself big brother of everyone, you know- a nickname. I can remember everything so clearly and I find myself smiling when I think about my friends and my college days..." Francis's glowing eyes became glazed over as he thought about the past, explaining each word: "I had two friends, Gilbert and Antonio. I wonder what they are doing right now... Knowing Gilbert, he's probably at the bar and Antonio's probably trying to woo Lovino..." It was as he was talking to himself now, and Arthur just watched. Arthur traced the outline of the man's face with his eyes. While doing so, he thought; he was talking to a ghost, like it was perfectly normal. It would be strange to most people, but Arthur wasn't like most people. He wasn't normal. So far, Francis was the closest thing that ever had to as a friend. It was really the first time that he had ever talked to someone, other than talking to 'fae' and 'Flying Mint Bunnies'.

"Anyway..." Francis shook his head and laid back onto the bed. Arthur looked at him and he shot the Brit a bright smile, making said Brit blush a tiny bit. Arthur observed at Francis's hair fall in his face and he had that same urge to just push it away. "...I got a question."

Arthur's head perked up a little and he tilted his head to the sighed, "Yes? What is it?" What did a ghost want to ask him? He shrugged inwardly and focused back on Francis.

"Why are your eyebrows so huge?"

...

...

...

"What?" Arthur's shoulders slumped and he furrowed his 'huge' eyebrows in confusion, trying to comprehend what had just been asked. Did he just say that...? Arthur brought a hand up to his eyebrows and felt them. They weren't that huge... Were they?

"Why are your eyebrows so huge?" Francis repeated, making his voice clearer and louder. He then let out a chuckle and said, "Shall I call you Sourcils? It means 'eyebrows'~!"

A vein popped in Arthur's head. "Shut up, shit-beard!" He hissed in a whisper, not wanting to raise his voice and wake-up his parents. The Brit picked up his pillow and threw it at the Frenchman, missing horribly. Francis stifled his laughter with his hand until it died down.

Arthur sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair, lying down on the bed. He was tired, but he could never sleep. He shifted his head so that he looked at Francis again and Francis floated- floated!- by him. He gave a sympathetic smile and knelt down. He knelt by the side of the bed, Arthur staring at him, and he softly pushed away the stands of hair that fell in the Briton's face. "You need sleep," Francis stated with gentle words, making Arthur reply with a "Shut up, Frog..." Francis shook his head slowly with sympathetic looks. He opened his mouth and begun singing a soft lullaby. The lullaby was French. It was soft and pure as it came out of his mouth. The words and tune gently caressed Arthur's ears and kissed them with soft, nonexistent lips. It was...enchanting. His eyelids slowly closed and an image formed before him. Arthur was in the woods...

I was in the woods, lost and alone. The wind was fast and strong, close to blowing me away. The clouds above darkened and roared with anger and fury, and they sent down small bullets of water, making sure that there was enough to hit me. The trees wavered and swung violently as the wind picked up and started to carry me away. I ran into many things: trees, boulders, clouds, etc. But then, as I was way up into the darkened sky- the wind stopped. I began falling, each cloud touching me as I pass through. I close my eyes tightly as I wait for impact; wait for the end. But I never felt the end. I open my closed eyes and I see that I'm still in the air. I look up and an angel is holding me; everything is now clear and beautiful. The sun blocks me from seeing the angel's face, but it caresses my face with its warm hand. The angel says something, but I cannot hear what it says and he slowly fades away, and I'm on the ground again...

Author: Sooooooooooooo... How was that? Did...did it suck? *dramatic sigh* I really hope it was alright... I've been on real writers block because I really wanted to write a FrUK fanfic and I had so many ideas, but I didn't know how to write them... So I decided that since Halloween's close, might as well do something like this!

I'm real, real sorry if I have any grammar errors and things! Please forgive me!

See you guys next chapter...maybe?