Arthur gently traced the numerous scars decorating the other's back.
"How many of these are my fault?" he asked quietly, almost wishing he hadn't asked.
"Not as many as you might think," came the quiet reply.
He was trying not to tense as the touches, light as they were, roamed over the painful reminders of hard times, most long past now.
"That wasn't the question I asked."
"Only about a dozen or so."
Arthur bit his lip.
"And the others?"
"Most are Germany's or Russia's."
"So they're from times when I didn't help you?" He tried to hold back tears. "Is that it, Francis?"
Francis turned around and took his hand lightly.
"That is not it mon cher. And you know it."
"You lied to me Francis. All of your scars are my fault...," He raised his eyes to the other man's. "Aren't they?"
Francis quickly shook his head.
"Non! Non, do not think that amour! They are mine! I should have been more careful and learned who to trust and who not to. None of this is your fault. Je promets. I should have known Germany did not love me and I should have protected myself from Russia."
Arthur tapped some very faint scars on his arms.
"These are too old for either of them to have done it." Francis had looked away the moment Arthur touched the small scars. "Where are they from?" No answer. "Francis, you promised to tell me the answer to any question I had. It was part of our way to get to know one another better. Our scars are very intimate so sharing their stories was going to help us grow closer. Please tell me?"
"I take it back," Francis murmured. "You aren't allowed to know about those. Those are so old and faint that I can barely see them so I had hoped you would miss them too." He reached for his shirt. "I need to go now," he said without looking at Arthur.
Desperately, Arthur grabbed his wrist.
"Please Francis! You promised!"
He shook his head.
"I can't. I'm not allowed."
"Don't you trust me?" Arthur asked in a tiny voice. "It's not like I'm going to tell any of the others. Please..."
"Non. I've stood Russia's and Germany's torture when they both wanted to know the answer to that question. Those scars are off limits. Forget about them."
Arthur looked down into his lap.
"You really don't trust me..."
Francis sat down next to the younger and stroked his cheek.
"I DO trust you mon amour...I'm just not allowed to talk about them."
"Why not?" Arthur demanded, tears running down his face. "Who told you that you're not allowed to tell?"
Francis looked away.
"Germania...and Rome..."
Arthur gasped.
"Th-They...? They hurt you?"
Francis nodded, face looking dead.
"Germania used me as a sword sharpener and Rome..." He closed his eyes. "Used me to let his...URGES out..."
Arthur's eyes widened hugely.
"H-He...H-He...raped you...?"
Francis nodded slowly, eyes blank.
"He taught me that that was the correct way to love..."
"He...created you..." Arthur said, shocked. "He made you the pervert that you are today..."
Francis nodded again.
"The marks he made...were to keep me from telling anyone. He scared me into silence. They both did."
Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis and cried into his shoulder.
Francis made no move to comfort him.
Instead, he traced the half-circle scars on his chest.
"These are courtesy of your brother Scotland. He liked to stab me with broken beer bottles when he was drunk. He would always hug and kiss me when he was sober, promising to never do it again but he always did."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"I'm going to kill that bastard," he growled.
"Germany loved whips," Francis continued, eyes staring straight ahead, seeing nothing, and voice dead. "Hitting and kicking with steel-toed boots was a favorite of Prussia's. That pipe has been in and out of my body more times than I can count." He indicated several small circles on his stomach. "And of course rape was customary from all of them."
Arthur clutched Francis's shoulders and shook him.
"Stop! Please stop!" He cried. "I can't take hearing anymore!" He buried his face in Francis's chest, crying hard. "You were right! I shouldn't have asked! You said you couldn't tell and I should have just left it at that! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Francis! I should have done something! Anything! Just something to try and help you, save you!" He was sobbing now. "I'm so sorry...nothing I've ever done even comes close...I have nothing on my end that even compares to your scars..."
Francis's face slowly lost its dead look and he raised his arms to hold the Brit close.
"Désolé mon cher. I shouldn't have told you..."
Arthur lifted his tear-stained face.
"No...I'm glad you did. I needed to know. Now I can keep history from repeating itself. I promise to protect you. Nothing will ever hurt you again. Nothing like the things you've been put through."
Looking down, he gently touched the jagged scars around his wrists; there was no way he was going to point them out to Arthur.
AN: My Francis is messed up. He's covered in scars and has been since he was a small child. I think I had about 2 or 3 more countries originally but I lost my list. I know someone had knives and someone else had guns. And Arthur obviously had his words but those barely bother him after everything he's been through. I just can't see him having good relationships with any of the mentioned people and the part about Rome and Germania makes sense to me. (He was raped by his grandpa when he was so young! D: And Germania, other grandpa, used to hurt him to get back at Rome and France's mom. I have a total headcannon about France's parents. If you want to know it, just ask. I might write a story about it though...eventually...)
Oh and yes...Francis HAS tried to kill himself. Many times. (I told you he's very emotional and wouldn't you be upset if this was your life?)
Sorry if I depressed anyone! See ya soon!