Warnings for this chapter: Violence, Sensitive Material (Hitler, Nazism, etc.)
Francis has never felt sicker in his entire life.
Right now, as he sat in this office, surrounded by dreary gray cement walls, he felt disgusting. He could feel it in his heart, these... These demons marching on his land, terrorizing his people -
And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.
If the French nation had anything in his stomach to vomit out, he was sure he would have done so already. Alas, there was none, so he settled for clawing at the wooden table before him. Normally bright blue eyes became as hard as chips of ice - He had given up so easily and he felt pathetic. He didn't want to - Oh god, he would have done anything but surrender to those Nazi connards - But what could he have done? After Dunkirk, his soldiers were weary, their supplies were short, and the German army was closing in fast. There was simply not enough time.
Francis almost laughed. Maybe he should have seen it coming - After all, it was none other than Gilbert, the nation who knew nothing but war and battles, and his brother Ludwig who were spearheading this war. Once upon a time, Francis called the Prussian his friend. He spat on the floor in disgust - Some friend he was.
The sound of the door creaking open caught the nation's attention. A German soldier, dressed pristinely in his SS uniform, held the door open before his hand flew up to his head in an automatic salute. "He moves like a fucking robot," Francis sneered in his mind. When he turned his attention back to the door, his eyes widened in surprise. Two familiar looking officers stepped inside, also dressed in the black uniform, the dreaded red band that held the twisted symbol clasped to their right arms. He didn't pay much heed to the blue eyed one, but he made every effort to keep making eye contact with the other man with the red eyes.
Francis stared at Gilbert as if he could burn holes into him, but the Prussian did not so much as cast a gaze at him. Coward - the French man growled in his mind, resisting the urge to get up from where he sat and pick his 'old friend' up by the collar and slam him against the wall. He would love to tell him exactly what he thought about his little Fuhrer -
"So this is the personification of Frankreich,"
Speak of the devil. Francis felt his blood boil as he looked up at the newest visitor that entered the room. The soldier that had held open the door slammed it shut, leaving only him, Gilbert, Ludwig and the devil himself in the tiny room.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the man greeted with a falsely polite smile, extending a hand for him to shake. Francis could feel his stomach twisting into a knot. If he was crazy enough, he would have lunged at the man and strangled him to death - But one look at the gleam of the pistols holstered at each of the brothers' belts told him that it wouldn't end well for him. Instead he glared at the hand that was offered, before raising his gaze to look at the man Europe feared.
"Hmm," the Fuhrer of Germany mused, taking his hand back, "You failed to mention that Herr Bonnefoy isn't much of a talker, Gilbert."
Was he hallucinating or did the bastard actually sound amused? Francis didn't know. He looked at the Prussian who obediently stood guard by the door, not uttering a word. "Ja. Mein Fuhrer." He finally responded, but that's all that he said. Apparently it was enough to appease his leader.
"Keine Sorgen," the dictator waved off. No worries my ass, Francis mentally snarled. "After Herr Bonnefoy has done his part, he won't have to talk much after."
"What part?" Francis rasped out, surprising even himself by how hoarse his voice sounded. "I didn't agree to do anything,"
"It's not much, Herr Bonnefoy," Germany's boss said in a tone that suggested he was asking a friendly favour from the defeated country. "We simply need you to say a few words..."
Before Francis could say something back, the door opened again and a soldier stepped in carrying a small radio set up with him. The young man set the equipment on the desk, angling the microphone towards him. "What is this?"
"A victory isn't truly a victory until it has been announced, is it now?" A sickening smirk curled up the man's moustached face.
"Vous pouves aller a mon chef pour que vous salaud," Francis snapped deliberately in French, relishing in the sharp intakes of breath that went around the room.
"Herr Bonnefoy," the dictator said, his polite tone now lined with a growl, "In case you haven't noticed, there are Germans on your land now. I advise you to speak in Deutsch or if you're truly incompetent, in Englisch. Habin wir uns verstanden?" When the nation didn't respond, he took this as a cue to continue, "Ludwig, ihm sagen was wir woller, dass er zu sagen."
Dutifully, the younger German nation stood forward, his piercing blue gaze settled on Francis. "Frankreich, you are ordered to declare your unconditional surrunder unto the German forces and your withdrawal from the war."
"W-WHAT?!"
The clatter of a chair could be heard as the French nation abruptly rose from his chair, now towering over the shorter dictator. "I will say no such thing!"
"The armistice has been signed, Francis," Gilbert spoke from his post with... Was that regret in his tone? "Your leader has already surrendered,"
"All we need for you to do now is to make it official," the leader smirked, "It's one thing to hear it from the leader of a country, but quite another to hear it from the personification... Ja?"
Francis couldn't believe what he was hearing. His boss signed an armistice? They had already been defeated for good? No. It wasn't real. It can't be. It just can't be. Without him, Arthur would have to fight this monster alone. He can't. He can't just give up and leave him! "Non," he muttered with as much conviction as he could.
"I'm sorry?"
"Je l'ai dit," Francis spoke louder and slower this time, as if he was talking to a dumb child. After what he had heard, he didn't give two fucks anymore. The only thing that would make him feel at least a little bit better at this point was to insult this motherfucker like crazy, "Non,"
The next thing Francis knew, a white hot pain seared through his face and the wind was knocked out of him. He bowed his head down, tasting the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth. A fist grabbed his shirt collar until he was eye to eye with the dictator, "Deutsch oder Englisch Sie verzogern," he snarled, spit flying onto Francis' face. "Ist es schwer zu verstehen?!"
"Non, pas du tout," the French man managed a smirk despite the fact that it hurt to do so. "Je ne vais pas abandonner-" He growled, staring the man down, "Je ne prends pas les ordres d'un salud nazi comme vous!"
Francis grunted as another punch made contact with his jaw. He yelped when he felt himself be grabbed by the hair and his head painfully met with the hard wooden desk. Again and again, he was rammed against it until it finally stopped and the metallic taste filled his mouth. His vision had started to be filled with black spots and he felt himself get yanked up by the hair again and have his face thrust towards the microphone.
"SANGEN, DASS ES!"
"N-Non!" he still managed to choke out. In response, he felt his head collide against the desk again, this time landing in a warm pool of his own blood, breathing heavy. He heard the bastard yell out Gilbert's name while he still tried to raise himself off the table. Blue eyes widened in shock when he heard the cocking of a pistol right by his head and when he looked, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun, his old best friend standing behind it, finger on the trigger.
Despite the rage he was feeling at the moment, he still tried to scan those ruby red eyes for some sign of mercy or regret or anything close to that. Gilbert's eyes had always been the thing to betray what he was truly feeling but when Francis looked into them, they were unreadable and hard. "Tun Sie es einfach, Francis," the Prussian said in an even tone - neither pleased nor repulsed - "Es wird leichter sein, dass Weise."
"Qui est insultant venant de cous, la Prusse," Francis scoffed, "You honestly think I would just give up that easily? Qu'auriez-vous fait? Ce qui serait un Grand Frederick sur vous si vous avez abandonne?!"
"HALT DEN MUND!"
Gilbert growled, pressing the barrel of the gun up against the blonde's head. Francis knew he had hit a nerve as soon as he brought up the Prussian's beloved king. Half of him felt triumphant, and yet the other half felt terrible. For a moment he saw a flicker of realization pass through those red eyes and Francis felt the tip of the gun retract from his skull a bit, "Tun Sie es einfach," he repeated even more sternly. The triumphant smile slowly melted from Francis' face as he continued to stare into those eyes as they became readable once more, reading the one word that he couldn't say in front of his superior:
Please.
"I suggest you follow Kommandant Bielschmidt, Frankereich," the dictator growled again in a tone that suggested he was back to being pleasant but was losing patience quickly. "It would be in your and your people's best interest if you cooperate."
"Non!"
"Francis, be reasonable-"
"Je ne veux pas faire ca!"
"Do it!"
"NON!"
"FRANCIS-!"
"I WON'T!" .
In the heat of the moment, Francis batted gun away .He felt someone slap his head from the side and he collided with the cement wall behind him, slumping to the ground in a bloody mess. Breathing ragged, Francis managed to turn his head up and see Ludwig towering over him. The younger German reached out to grab him but he saw another hand intercept it. Gilbert bent down to where he was and took hold of his collar, though his grip was noticeably more lax than his boss'.
"Stop being stubborn," he whispered harshly, though judging by Gilbert's eyes, the tone was for show. Why was helping him?
"I won't surrender," Francis spat back acidly, "Not now, not ever!"
"Francis-" Gilbert's grip on his collar grew tighter as the other nation lifted him above the ground a couple of inches, "I'm trying to save your ass here. Just do as you're told and your people will be fine."
"I'd rather die than obey you fucking Nazis!"
"Francis, swear to Gott, you don't want to-"
"I think talking to him won't work anymore, Gilbert," the dictator's smooth tone came. Francis was all but ready to let lose another spew of French insults, but one look at the Prussian's mortified expression told him that something bad was about to happen. "Ludwig, geben ihnen den Auftrag,"
"M-Mein Fuhrer!"
Ludwig froze in his spot, surprised that his brother of all people objected to their commanding officer. He looked between his brother and his leader. "Gehen, Ludwig." He said, his eyes not leaving the older German nation still crouched beside their French prisoner. What was once angry resolve has now crumbled into nothing but cold fear in Francis' chest. "Gilbert, Herr Bonnefoy has made his choice. If he doesn't want to talk, well then we have to resort to... Other methods."
Gilbert's jaw hung slightly open for a minute before he appeared to regain his composure and stood up. Like a dutiful soldier, he stood back, eyes back to being hard and unreadable. "Ja, Mein Fuhrer." he responded mechanically.
Francis could feel panic surging through his system as he looked between his stone faced friend and the smirking Nazi leader. "W-Wha-?!" He didn't have time to complete his sentence before a gunshot resonated through the air and almost immediately after, a searing pain soared through the country's chest.
Screams of women and children could be heard, followed by more gunshots - One right after the other, each one making the French nation cry out in pain. His people... His precious, innocent people - Were being gunned down because he wouldn't surrender. Tears escaped his eyes as another shot was heard and another explosion of hurt wracked his senses. He couldn't give up. If he said the words, he might as well just hand them all over to die at these pigs' hands... But if he didn't, how many more people would they keep shooting out there?!
The country coughed, sending a spray of fresh blood all over the floor. It was all over, wasn't it. It was done. He was done. Whatever fighting spirit he had, it was completely gone from him now.
When he felt a hand yank him up by the arm, he didn't protest anymore. Gilbert sat him back down on the chair and stood guard beside him. The dreaded Fuhrer walked towards him before flicking on the switch on the radio set and angling the mic towards him once more.
"I'm glad you came to see things our way, Herr Bonnefoy," he purred. Francis wanted to kill himself right then and there, "Now, what was it you wanted to say?"
Francis turned his blue eyes to the mic before him. He had no strength to fight. He thought about Arthur... About Alfred and oh, his little Mattheiu. Gulping down the sob that threatened to escape his throat, he reached out a shaky hand and brought the mic closer to his lips. He felt empty inside, like he had nothing left to live for. This was the end. By saying what he was about to say, he was about to sentence himself to death.
"I..."
Arthur, I'm so sorry.
"Francis Bonnefoy, the country of France,"
I tried so hard to fight them. And I failed. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...
"Hereby announce -"
It's up to you now, Angleterre... Take care of our boys, please. I'm so sorry,
"Our unconditional surrender to Germany."
Forgive me.
Well, that was dark. Haven't written a piece like this in a while, but here you go! This is the first of many (hopefully) one-shots that I'm going to write, mainly centering around the FACE family with occasional appearances by other characters. I hope that I'm historically correct for the most part! Reviews are always much appreciated!
Translations for what they're saying: (Forgive me for any mistakes, I'm only starting to learn German and French, most of these were translated with Google Translate!)
Connards -
Bastards
Keine Sorgen -
No worries
Vous pouves aller a mon chef pour que vous salaud -
Talk to my boss about that, bastrad.
Habin wir uns verstanden -
Are we clear?
Ludwig, ihm sagen was wir woller, dass er zu sagen.-
Ludwig, tell him what we want him to say.
Je l'ai dit -
I said
"Deutsch oder Englisch Sie verzogern,"
German or English you retard,
"Ist es schwer zu verstehen?!"
Is it hard to understand?!
Non, pas du tout -
Not at all
"Je ne vais pas abandonner-"
I will not surrender
"Je ne prends pas les ordres d'un salud nazi comme vous!"
I don't take orders from a Nazi bastard like you
"SANGEN, DASS ES!"
Say It
"Tun Sie es einfach, Francis,"
Just do it, Francis
"Es wird leichter sein, dass Weise."
It will be easier that way.
"Qui est insultant venant de cous, la Prusse,"
That's insulting coming from you, Prussia
Qu'auriez-vous fait? Ce qui serait un Grand Frederick sur vous si vous avez abandonne?!"
"What would you have done? What would Frederick the Great say if you gave up?!"
"HALT DEN MUND!"
"Shut up"
"Je ne veux pas faire ca!"
I won't do it!
"Ludwig, geben ihnen den Auftrag,"
Ludwig, give the order.
"Gehen, Ludwig"
Go, Ludwig.
