This an AU based off Hetalia, I must warn you this contain's dark contents throughout the story, so look forward to these Trigger warnings. Like Child Abuse,Gore,Swearing, Dark Topics and imagines of Nazism scattered all around. So read ahead with warning.

Thank you.

"Pitiful boy, dumbass boy, ill boy."

That were the words that came out of the red gum teeth of the much taller man standing in front of him. Named after a Nazi Scientist from WW2, he despised it, he hated that name with his guts. But he was known to be a sadist, tear and scream at his little subject all day. Smashed his little head with a violin until blood spilled down on the floor, as he twitched. A sicko he was, twisted in his damn head.

Campbell, the name that lay bolded on the papers as two pair of eyes looked down at it. One was an Englishmen and the other was a Frenchmen, shocked that they were being replaced by a sicko. As their jobs were to take care of a little 6-year-old boy under their wing, give him a normal life despite him living in a government regulated place. But their days were put on pause as Campbell was the lead of this project. Their knees were kicked forcibly to bow down to his orders to this day and on.

"But why? I thought we were doing a good enough job to handle this project and you throw us under the bus with this shit?" the Englishman stated in an annoyed manner, by the name of Arthur Kirkland.

You see, Arthur was the main head of the project as he was the one who discovered the poor sick boy in a part of the woods located in Russia. After getting complaints of a village that seemed to be infected with unknown humanoid creatures by villagers around that area. He discovered a young male outside of the village by a 50-mile radius, lying next to a dead rotting corpse of a fairly large male deer. The boy was of a small height and thin to the bone, shivering as his only supportable warmth was the fur of the deer and ripped night gown, dirty with blood and dirt. He was the first in to contact him, talk to him, comfort him, and ultimately lead him down the white hallways of the foundation. Leading to a plain white room , larger , and had a feel like home well more like a trailer home for the most part. Arthur sang, read bedtime stories, and stayed with the little boy like father to son. He rock the little boy to sleep , planting kisses on his forehead when he was sick. Walk through the hallways every afternoon to improve his leg muscle, and feed him even though it was through an IV. They were unbounded, as the little boy enjoyed the Englishman company and grew fond of him, either by hiding from other doctors behind Arthur's leg or wanting Arthur to do all his checkups. The little boy loved Arthur and the Arthur loved the child with all his heart, so this flooded the Englishman with emotions of anger and sadness. He couldn't bare knowing that the child was he was close of was being abused by this sick ass.

However the Frenchman beside him stared down at the paper with tears pricked in his eyes. His name was Francis Bonnefoy , he was the little boy's pulmonologist after Arthur discovered that the little boy had problems breathing. By that day forward he grew fond of the boy, as he was sweet to the much taller doctor. Giving the room a positive vibe despite the child suffering from this disease. The little boy reminded him of his born mother, Mary which was originally from France. However the child didn't know his mother was currently dead .She was discovered ripped apart on the snow,near to the home that seem to be where the child lived. As entering the living room there were to be photographs of her, the child and her husband. As the walls were peeling and broken glass laid in the middle of the living room, seeming abandoned with no soul to take care of the house. His father is currently unknown, not known whether he was alive or dead. Francis never occurred to break the news to the little boy as he was afraid of him handling too much of the guilt. Or the child having the statement burned into his memory throughout his whole life. But he knew Campbell would damn tell about his parent's death, not caring that the child would be scarred by it. He was afraid rather than angry at the reality of him being replaced by Campbell. He held the paper on his hands as he placed pressure on the piece of paper . Shaking ,Francis took a deep breath as gently placed the paper down . Even though he wanted to slam it on the desk , he wanted to scream, he wanted to sob. But he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to those actions, but why couldn't. He saw them in the movies, it looked so easy... but he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to his point.

He looked at Arthur , studdering his words " So what should we do now? W-we can't go against this or else we get fired from our jobs? There must be another way-!"

"Nothing, we still in the project but not in charge of it.. I guess out best plan is to wait." Arthur explained in slience.

And so they did. They waited , and he suffered.

Nicholas suffered, and that was his name.