Francis was a naturally light sleeper. After years of raising young, needy nations, he was needed every hour of the day, not just the ones that suited him. He was used to waking up to a sobbing Alfred during a thunderstorm or a restless Matthew who couldn't find his favorite stuffed polar bear. Nothing ever went unnoticed by him.

But that had been years ago. His boys were grown up, moved away into their own homes. It had been some time since he had a colony to look over. So it was to his surprise when he heard a fit of whining next to him. He got a sharp kick to the knee and was nearly pushed off of the bed. Sighing, he turned over to face the person he was currently sharing his bed with – Arthur Kirkland, the one he cherished the absolute most. While he loved him with all of his heart, he was a pain a lot of the time, including when he was asleep. The man just had no idea what personal space was. Francis was about to shake him awake and hiss at him for disturbing him, but he never got his chance.

Arthur's eyes shot open, chest heaving rapidly. Even in the dark room, Francis could make out Arthur's pale complexion, beads of sweat dripping down his temples. Brow furrowed, Francis turned onto his side, concerned. Never had Arthur awoken in such a state before. Grumpy, irritated, even aroused were all more common than what was lying in front of Francis. Arthur was sending himself into a full-fledged panic, shoulders shaking, stomach rising and falling each second.

Without hesitation, Francis threw the covers to the end of his bed, kneeling as close to Arthur as he could without touching him. Green irises stared up at him, fear flashing across his large, dilated pupils. "Arthur," he said, voice quiet and filled with worry. What was he meant to say? His lover looked absolutely dreadful in his current state; there was no way he would be able to respond to him. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

At first, there was nothing. Arthur didn't move or talk or even hint that he heard Francis. "Arthur," he repeated. Tears formed in Arthur's eyes as his bottom lip quivered, and Francis knew that what was coursing through Arthur's mind was much worse than he let show through on the surface.

Arthur didn't cry. Sure, he got agitated, and a few angry tears might fall down his cheeks, but this…this wasn't that. This was crying, real, bitter crying. Silent hiccups escaped his mouth as his hands reached towards Francis, fingers curling into his palms.

Quick to his boyfriend's aide, Francis pulled Arthur into his lap, hand cradling his head against his chest. He let him sob, softly rocking him without saying anything. There was no way he could get Arthur to talk in this state; it would just be a mixture of stuttered words and harsh sniffles.

"Mon amour," Francis whispered after a few minutes had passed and Arthur's tears had calmed, "what is troubling you at an hour like this? Did you have a bad dream?"

"You could say that," Arthur muttered, inching himself closer to Francis. "You wouldn't really understand."

"I might not," Francis admitted. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about it." Carding his fingers through Arthur's hair, he waited for him to speak. Patience was one thing he had learned to have after dating Arthur for so long, and at this point he was a master at it. Arthur was stubborn, and he didn't like to be rushed. If anyone did try to pressure him into talking, he'd lock himself up again and brood all on his own.

"It's…It's quite ridiculous, really. I don't even know how or why but…oh, for goodness sake. It was about Alfred, alright!"

"Alfred? Like our son, Alfred? What's he done to trouble you so?"

Arthur slumped chin tucking into his chest. "My dream. It was about…" He took a breath, before continuing, "It was about the war. The Revolutionary War." And then the floodgates opened once more.

Jaw set, Francis kissed Arthur's forehead, cupping his cheeks. "No, no, no more of that. Come now, do not cry like this. Just tell me about the dream." Shaking his head, Arthur tried to get Francis to release his hold on him, but Francis wouldn't budge. "Stop that. I just want to help you."

"This isn't helping," Arthur snapped, but the bite in his tone was overrun by the squeak in his tired voice.

Pressing a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, Francis whispered, breath hot against his cheek, "Talk to me, mon lapin."

Such a silly, old nickname and yet it was so effective. It was one Arthur had hated at one point, because he wasn't a rabbit, damnit. But the only reply he ever got was, "No, you are not. You are my rabbit." And that just sealed the deal for him.

"It was just one big flashback, I suppose," Arthur huffed, wiping away his hardened tears. "All the fighting, the deaths…Alfred. He left me. I never wanted to hurt him, not ever. I just wanted to protect him. I knew how terrible the world could be; I didn't want him to face it alone. But he wouldn't listen…and he left." Finally tipping his head up, he shook his head with a sad smile. "They've all left me. Alfred, Matthew, Michelle, Leon, Jett…all of them. They've all left me. Everyone leaves."

With a soft grin, Francis stroked the pad of his thumb over Arthur's ear. "No," he murmured, leaning down closer to him. "Not everyone."

Eyes wide, Arthur rested his hand over Francis's larger one. "Francis," he breathed, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm still here," he promised. "I will always be here. Leaving you…it would be impossible. Mon dieu, how could I ever leave you? You are far too precious to me. My sweet, beautiful Arthur…" He captured Arthur's lips with his own, hands running down the base of his neck to his lower back.

Francis knew how it felt to have his children leave; the same man he was currently kissing had ripped his little Matthew, his dear Canada, from him. So many had been taken from him, and so many others had left. His heart hurt for so long. But there had always been one person who had been there. Arthur never left no matter how much they argued. There was no way he could abandon him. They had been through so much together, and without Arthur, it would all have been meaningless.

"Francis," Arthur said once again as they broke apart. "You…You know that I won't leave you either, right?"

"Oui," he said, lying back down onto the pillows holding Arthur tightly to his chest. Tugging the blankets back up towards them, he wrapped them in the warm cotton fabric. "I know." They still had a few hours to sleep before they had to get up and start the day. Francis was just content to hold Arthur, as if just his bare arms could shield him from anything bad that may creep into his mind during the remainder of the night.

"Good," he sighed, snuggling underneath Francis's stubbly chin. "I always want you to know that."

"Go back to sleep," Francis said, looking fondly down at Arthur who was already dozing off. "I will be here when you wake up."

Next: Spamano