Since today is the 70th anniversary of D-Day and the start of the Battle of Normandy, I figured I would write a one-shot about what Francis might have been thinking as D-Day started, and the battle ended. I hope you enjoy!

June 6th, 1944

It was 2am in London, and yet Francis was awake, shaking slightly as he watched England leave. He had been forbidden to go with him, under the claim that he was still recovering, and would feel the effects less across the channel. The Brit was going to meet America and Mathieu at the docks before they left to fight. To fight for him. For his freedom.

The Second World War had been going on for five years now, with France being taken over by Nazi Germany in 1940 after the Blitzkrieg. In three weeks the Germans overran his country, driving him and England to Dunkirk, where the French fought valiantly to protect the British while they called in rescue boats and were forced to retreat back to the U.K. German soldiers captured Francis before he was able to escape, and France surrendered. It took England over a year to find where the Nazis had him hidden.

Germany had been ruthless during his imprisonment; little to no food, no water, various forms of torture throughout the was the easy part though. He had been locked away from everyone, and only Germany and little Italy ever came to see him. Not that seeing Italy at that point had been a good thing. Being deprived as he was from social interaction nearly drove him insane. He had started hallucinating, and when England finally did arrive to sneak him out and escape back to his country, he had almost refused to go with him, thinking that it was just Germany in disguise. It took him weeks to get used to other people again.

He heard shots firing echo in the distance and got up to look out the nearest window. Out towards the distant sea, he could see the ships slowly leaving the shore. He looked up at the sky, a bit fearful the weather would turn bad on them like it had the night before. Then he remembered England's determined expression as the man told him that they were doing this that night, no matter what happened. That they would get his country back, or die trying.

England told him earlier that day that this would be the biggest seaborne invasion in history, with 195,000 naval personnel manning nearly 7000 naval vessels. That they had decoded message after message from the German enigma, and knew this was the best day to invade. Francis believed him. The Frenchman couldn't help but think of all the things that could go wrong. What if there was a storm? What if the ships got misdirected? What if there had somehow been miscalculations, or incorrect readings of the messages from the enigma, and there was more German soldiers there than they knew? What if it took Germany's 2nd Waffen SS Division less time to reach the coast once the invasion had begun? He prayed to God that everything would go according to plan.

As the hours went by, he watched the sun rise on the English Channel, with formations of Allied plans flying over the water to support the invasion. He was easily able to identify the American planes from the British ones, and after a closer inspection the British-command Canadian planes as well. He worried for his family. He knew the three couldn't be killed by the humans, but if Germany was there he could, and they could still be badly injured. He heard no word how it was going.

A few days later, Francis was woken to a message from the battlefield. "L'invasion a été un succès, cependant, la bataille de Normandie ne fait que commencer. -Arthur Kirkland, England"(1) He sent a small prayer of thanks, and wished them luck again for the upcoming battle.

August 22, 1944

Francis was being flown into Paris, the Battle of Normandy officially over, France liberated. He could see the destruction of his country, and could feel it too, but the growing jubilation from the crowds forming in Paris masked it. He landed near Paris and was driven to the heart of the city. He emerged from the car into the happy crowd, thanking the soldiers who fought for France's freedom. Francis limped slightly as he walked, clutching his chest in pain as he looked around.

He found America and Mathieu first, both of whom were getting many kisses of thanks from the Parisian women. When Mathieu saw him he ran over, America a moment later. "Papa!" "Francis!" They both hugged him and he returned it.

"Où est Arthur?"(2) "Il est là-bas Papa."(3) Francis looked up and saw England standing off the the side of the crowds, not really one for major celebrations like this. Francis headed in his direction, ignoring his pain as he walked. "Arthur.." Said man looked up at his name, meeting him halfway. As Francis took in how battered up Arthur was, as well as the twins, it hit him finally that they had saved his country. He pulled Arthur into a tight hug, tears shedding themselves as he hid his face in the other's neck. Arthur took a moment to respond, awkwardly returning the embrace. The two younger nations joined when they noticed Francis was crying, completing the family hug.

"M-merci..." (4)

First, here are some translations of the French used in this short fic:

1. "The invasion was a success, however, the Battle of Normandy has only just begun."

2. "Where is Arthur?"

3. "He is over there."

4. "Thank you"

Second, thank you for reading, any reviews or criticisms would be appreciated as long as they're not mean!