A/N: So basically after what? Two years! of not uploading anything, I am suddenly here again? Yeah, basically. XD Anyways. This story...it was one of my first Hetalia stories and I am aware it could probably be a lot better. But it's simple, sad and heartwrenchingly sweet. So please read and don't hate!

ALSO! I am aware this is from France's POV...cause I wrote it...and it's not in French. What? Well, I have had four years of French and am continuing on, I speak and read fluent French. I just...wrote this in English for those who don't speak French!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia!

Where there was land, there was fire. It was unavoidable, the fire, as if spread and spread with no apparent end. Who were alive inside? Who were not? Mort.

Russia was. Smiling, victorious, winning. What he had wanted all along, why he had us played so that we would never suspect this coming, this sudden slap in the face. Or, more like the explosion that erupted...in our faces. Everyone's face. Because who was there to not get in the way? Every small detail had to be removed. Russia missed no one.

I saw Germany go up in explosions from my country; he is...was...right next door, it was nearly invediable to witness. The blond man had fought to the finish, defending not only himself, but Italy as well. Until Italy had taken it to the chest as thirty missiles hit his nation at the same time, completely obliterating it. It had been as though the smaller man's chest just exploded like his country, which is understandable. Italy was thrown backwards right into Germany's arms, bleeding out and gasping, sobbing, begging for it to just be over. Germany had lowered him to the ground, wiping away the blood bubbling out of Italy's mouth, softly speaking to him and when he had pulled Italy in for a hug, the auburn just went limp and the country no longer exists. It belongs to Russia now.

As for Germany, I do not quite understand how he went, besides the obvious explosions. I do not even know if he is dead yet. Contact is restricted and honestly, who can you trust anymore? I do know, for a fact you see, that America is still there. Of course.

America is holding together by safety pins, though. It began as soon as Russia took on Canada and the little, normally invisible country fought to the death. I had tried to help.

"Matthew!" There was America's voice amongst the explosion. I whirled on my heel, scanning for my little Canada, my little Matthieu that I had found and raised. I could not lose him now, and neither could America. We both loved him, but in our own ways.

"Mattie!" America screamed into the blackening smoke once more. He is not far from me. "Please answer me!"

I found America, bloody and scarred, clothes torn and glasses cracked in both lens. I know I am not any better. Me, the beautiful country of love, standing there in the midst of the war in blood and dirt caked clothes, greasy and darkened hair. It would be many, many hours in a tub before I was fully cleaned again. But I do not care.

"Matthieu!" I join in the calling and my voice cracks horribly.

And then, we hear him. The small voice calling out names, desperate and broken. America pushed forwards, coughing into his fist with me on his heels, my hair falling in my face and obscuring my already limited sight. There is a building, fallen beyond repair, debris spread amongst the street we are hurrying down. Somewhere another explosion rocks the large city and there is an audible cry. Blood coats the streets and walls, adding to the smell of smoke and chemical reactions.

I can see him. Suddenly, through the black and gray, of course I can. He is caught under the debris, bleeding and broken, like a rag doll. No. Not my Matthieu. Not my little boy.

America reaches him first and I drop to me knees at his side, helping the hysterical nation dig Canada out. It takes quicker than I had expected and suddenly he is being almost crushed between us as we hold him, this convulsing and spluttering country. Our Matthieu.

"I-I-I can't h-hold on m-much longer..." He is whispering and we lean in to hear, exchanging equal looks of horror. "No, Matthieu." I tell him softly, kissing his forehead. "You shall not leave us. We will protect you. I promise."

He looks doubtful. I do not argue his look. America is sniffling, tears running down his grimy cheeks as he sort of rocks Canada. "I can't lose you, Mattie. I can't!" The American is crying, leaning down to bury his face in Canada's soft, dirty hair.

"I-I'm s-s-s-sorry...A-Alfie..." He swallows painfully, reaching out to both of us as his eyes wheel, unseeing by now. Toronto is next. I just know it. And when it gets destroyed... "F-Francis..."

I stroke his hair, wincing with another explosion, feeling chunks of earth strike against my back. I can almost hear the count in my head. Ten...nine...eight...

"D-don't forget a-about me again, g-g-guys..." Canada chokes, blood spewing from between his lips. I try to keep the dam in my tear ducts from breaking. I had to be strong. For both of them.

Seven...

Six...

America hugs Canada tightly, kissing his cheeks, his lips, his forehead. "I love you, Mattie." The words are barely heard and so heart broken.

Five...

Four...

But Matthieu manages the most petite smile. "I l-l-love y-y-you..." He cannot finish for his eyes open ever so widely.

Three...Two...

One.

He had died, right there, in our arms. Convulsions again, first, spurting blood all over us. I have not changed yet. It is all I have left of mon petie Matthieu. That is sick, I know. But that is also war. Though I can hardly classify this as war. This is demolition, this is Armageddon, this is murder. Mass murder.

And then there is Japan. No one can tell me anything about Japan. He will never turn against us that are left, fighting for survival, fighting for the good of the world. I have marked him as Unverified. Until I hear otherwise. The likelihood of hearing such thing before I too fall...it is not well.

But there is one that I must find. One that I have not come across yet. The one that means the world to me, just like Matthieu.

And that is why I am fleeing through the destroyed streets of the United Kingdom, knowing where I would find him. Leaving France, is so dangerous. But for Angleterre, I shall take this risk.

His house is barely standing, creaking in the smallest of winds, threatening to collapse any second now. But he is not in it. Instead, I find him in the backyard, sitting slumped on a stone bench, head wrapped in bandages and arms wrapped the same. His emerald eyes are cast upon the land that his house overlooks. Most of it is ravenged by war, which is sad because I had come to appreciate its beauty. Mostly because it was Angleterre, but still.

"Mon amour." My tone is low and scratchy, so unattractive. But do I care? For once, no, I don't.

By some miracle, England hears me and turns, locking eyes with me before a small smile breaks out on his dirty face. He gets to his feet, a bit unstable I can tell, and limps over to me. Right as he is within arms reach, I pull him into mine, holding him close. I can feel him trembling the slightest. Not from fright, my Angleterre does not get scared, no no. But from his weakened state, and the fact that its quite cold out. His body is chilled.

"You're here." He whispers into my shoulder. "I thought...I couldn't get a hold of you."

I tighten my arms around him, assuring him that I am indeed here and alive, for now. He shudders against me, pulling back just enough to peer up at me and I notice his left eye. It is completely gray, all trace of green gone, as if it had never been there. There was dried blood around the lower lid. I didn't have to be told, I knew it was completely useless now. He was looking at me with only one eye now. His once soft lips were cracked and overly bitten, no longer holding the light pink they used to. There is a bruise that runs from his left temple clear to his chin. It's purple and blue, fresh.

"I am so glad to see you, mon amour." I whisper to him, placing a soft kiss to his ravenged lips. England returns the kiss, placing his hands on my cheeks. I hiss a bit in pain though. I had a few fresh scrapes decorating the right half of my face and they were still fairly raw. Arthur saw this and pulled his hands back, apologizing with his eyes. I inhaled and closed my eyes for a moment, suddenly seeing him behind my eyelids. Only the Arthur I saw was my Arthur. The Arthur that I had met as a child, argued and fought with, battled and lost to. Fallen in love with. Clean, crisp, handsome. Not this Arthur, the one who made my heart ache. It hurt to see him so damaged and suffering. But who wasn't suffering? Ah, oui, Russia. Sacrebleu.

"America...he's still there, right?" Arthur asks me and I nod, and I can hear them before I see them. The planes. The bombs. Arthur whimpers the tiniest bit and shakes in my arms.

I sigh quietly into his smelly hair. "I can 'ardly believe I am still even alive..."

"Me either, frog." Arthur replies and when I look down at him, I see the ghost of his old smirk. Mon Dieu, how that smirk used to aggravate me when we were younger. I give me a hint of my old smile in reply and hug him again, never wanting to let him go. I do not know when I will die. I am scared though, I do not know how it will feel or if it will hurt bad, like Italy and Canada.

"Come, sit with me for a bit." Arthur decides and he pulls back, taking my hand and leading me to the bench he had been perched on when I arrived.

We sit with barely any space between ourselves, not really speaking, just watching the sky. For what, we are not sure, but just watching and though we will not admit it, waiting.

Arthur shifts and turns to the side a bit so he can lay his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him, holding him against me as I kiss the top of his head tenderly. "J'taime, mon amour, je t'aimerai toujours." My voice is soft full of love as I whisper to him.

Arthur lets out a quiet breath. "I love you too, frog. Forever."

Mon Dieu, I don't want to be doing this. These goodbyes. Because we both know that this is what it really is. It's a goodbye.

"How much longer do you suppose we-..." Arthur had begun to speak, but I never heard the rest. My chest had begun to flash in pain, sending white orbs through my vision and causing me to gasp and double over, clutching at my chest. Arthur sat up lightning quick and turned to me, wrapping an arm around me.

I can hear screaming, people screaming. My people. And I realize; I am going to die. Right now. I reach out to clutch at Arthur's arm, falling off the bench as a bomb strikes near Paris and I jolt forwards, hitting the grass face first. Arthur comes with me, landing beside me, staring at me with that one green eye. He knows, of course he knows. But I was not expecting this next explosion to be so close...

And it hadn't hit me. Arthur coughed and blood spurted from between his lips. He is on his knees beside me, blood running down his chin and neck, hitting the grass at his hands.

We were both being attacked. We were going to die together.

"AAAAHHH!" Arthur screamed as the Earth rocked around us, missile after missile connecting with the ground here in London. Arthur is thrown forwards, and he rolls onto his back, staring upwards with his mouth hanging open. Just as I am about to speak to him, my own chest flares again in a fury unleashed from hell.

A scream escapes my lips next and I collapse beside him, on my side, facing him. Tears are flowing now, from both of our eyes. His hand worms through the grass and grabs onto mine, squeezing so hard.

"Fr-Fra-..." Arthur's own blood chokes him off and his fingers somehow tighten even more around mine. He sobs, choking and gagging, blood pooling and running out. The next blow is closer and the trees are suddenly blown away, the house falls and the air holds a static feeling. But that isn't the worst part. As I look over at my Arthur, his lips are moving and he is screaming, I can see this. But I cannot hear this. I have gone deaf.

The blow knocks him to the side and he is facing me, our eyes locking. The fire building in my body is unbearable and I know I am screaming, but I cannot hear it. I see his eyes widen one last time before my heart just explodes and I buck forwards, falling right into him as I barely feel his give the same reaction.

There were a few seconds of agonizing pain, wishing to God I would just die, die with the love of my life in my arms and never witness pain such as this again.

Russian venom is leaking through my veins now, causing me to see red and to feel the terror of my people, those who are almost gone, just like me. But it doesn't last long, for suddenly all I can see is black. I do not know what is happening to my Angleterre, but I cannot feel him moving. I cannot feel anything.

France...my people...I am so sorry...I could not defend you...Russia is here...he has taken over...we are no longer France...I am sorry...so...sorry...

A/N: Reviews please! Virtual brownies and high fives to all those who review! Yay!