So, this is just a short little one-shot based off of an Omegle RP. I did not write the starter, and I got permission from the other RP-er to post this here. Posted as played. Trigger Warning: Character death and angst. Platonic FrUK relationship. Please Read and Review!

Lots of Love,

Faith

How many years had it been now? Five, six, maybe longer? All battles must come to an end eventually, and sometimes, you don't always come out as the victor. Unfortunately, the fates had it in for Arthur. He was terminal, attached to a machine and bound a hospital bed. It was unclear just how long he had, but his hourglass was running out of sand. He'd written his will, arranged everything for his funeral, and now, all he could do was wait for the angel of death to take him wherever he was going. He gasped for air, his machines laboring around him as he gripped his chest and tried to steady. His large brows furrowed as his eyes filled with pain. He inhaled sharply, before he slowly sighed a big breath out. His machines seemed to level out for the most part, and the agony in his core slowly faded. He closed his emerald orbs, but they fluttered back open when he heard a knock at the door. Probably just a nurse come to check on him. He closed his eyes again, swallowing thickly before croaking weakly, "Enter." He began to wheeze once more, but not quite as bad. He only looked when he felt his frail hand encased in a much stronger one, though that wasn't saying much. He felt a smile grace his face for the first time in months when he saw a familiar face that wasn't his doctor or some other medic.

"Arthur?" Francis said, almost disbelieving that this was the same man he'd always seen as strong and unbreakable. Disease was a terrible thing. It stole the best of heart, the strongest of you, from your masses. "I promised I'd see you soon, didn't I?" he joked half-heartedly. "It's a shame, though, that your eyebrows are the healthiest things on you, oui?" He wiped his eyes, trying to smile but ending up with a grimace of the most awful sort. "I... I came to apologize. Before... all this happened, I was a pretty terrible friend, wasn't I? I'm sorry for that, really I am. I just wanted you to know that before..." he couldn't bring himself to say it. He laughed bitterly. "You're the last one I expected to have something like this happen to them. You were always so stubborn."

He gave a little scoff and rolled his eyes at the remark about his eyebrows before they began to furrow once more. After a moment, he moved his hand from the other's, extending it toward his scruffy cheek. "You always were a sappy bastard, weren't you?" he whispered softly, his thin fingers dancing over his skin before he lightly pinched his cheek. "And I'm still as stubborn as I was all those years ago, and just as tough, don't you forg-" He suddenly drew in a sharp breath, his other hand going to his chest as he moved the one that had just been pinching Francis' cheek to his shoulder, gripping the fine fabric as a hot pain pierced his nervous system. It had been this way for months, this sudden, sharp pain in his chest, but the last few days had been worse than they had ever been before.

When Arthur's hand gripped his shoulder, Francis' hand immediately wen to the Englishman's wrist. He stared with wide, concerned blue eyes. "Arthur, are you okay?" he asked, feeling stupid immediately after. Of course he wasn't okay. He gently pried the hand off his shoulder and took it into his own hand, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort him. The other hand went to Arthur's cheek, caressing gently. He felt so useless. What was he there for if not to keep Arthur from pain? That was part of the game they'd played: the worse the other looks like they're feeling, the more you tease them. Then they are more distracted from whatever was causing them pain in the first place. But right now, he didn't have the heart to tease. "Do you need me to call a nurse?" he asked.

He managed to shake his head after a moment, his pain starting to subside already. "No," he barked, trying not to sound so snappy, but he couldn't help it! He didn't want to look any weaker than he already was. Fighting like he was was probably killing him quicker, but what did he care? The sooner he could escape the pain, the better. Finally, his weak grip on the other slackened as he went limp. The strength he was using to hold himself up and close to the Frenchman was power he ought to have been using on staying alive, but there was really no point anymore. "I-I'm fine," he slowly managed to whispered, though he looked about three shades away from being as white as the sheets he was wrapped in. "Just grab my pills, will you?" He gestured in the general direction of the bedside table.

Francis nodded. "Oui, of course," he said, grabbing the bottle off of the table. He opened the top and grabbed the glass of water that was already on the table. He arranged himself behind Arthur, propping him up onto his own shoulder. "How many do you need?" he asked. When given the correct dosage, he handed the pills to Arthur and tipped the glass into Arthur's mouth slowly. By the time Arthur was finished, Francis was done being strong. Despite his best efforts, tears streamed down his cheeks and into Arthur's messy blonde hair. "It's going to be time soon, isn't it?" he asked, voice hollow as he choked on his own tears. He hated to say it aloud, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew how this was going to end. "You're going to leave me." He ruffled Arthur's hair, reminiscent of their past, when Francis had declared himself Arthur's 'Big Brother.' "Are you ready?"

He gulped the pills down, a sad smile finding his face at the elder's words. "Francis, don't do this to me. Alfred's already been through here trying to shove a bloody burger down my throat, I don't need you giving me shit as well," he whispered, though his own tears were beginning to form. "And if you simply must know...Yes, I am leaving, and no, I'm not ready. I'm scared as hell, and I..." He stopped himself, taking a deep breath before he reached back for the other. "Come here, you disgusting old frog," he whispered brokenly, his voice trembling slightly.

Weeping brokenly, Francis lifted Arthur into his arms, holding him close. He wanted to be strong for Arthur. He wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, that he was going to a better place, or whatever it was you were supposed to say to the dying. He embraced Arthur tightly, not ready to let him go yet. He was silent for a while, unsure what to say. "Don't be scared," he said finally. "I'll be right here, no matter what. I'm going to stay with you." That, he could be sure of. This, he could promise. He kissed Arthur's forehead, a tender gesture that normally would have gotten him bitch-slapped so hard he'd fall on his ass. He missed being slapped. "On my honor, I promise I will stay right here with you."

He could feel hot tears pouring down his face as he sobbed weakly into the other's shoulder. He wasn't ready for this. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving his best friend behind, alone. He trembled weakly as the sweet little gesture, reaching up and gingerly brushing his fingers over the side of Francis' face. There was once in his life that Arthur had seen him so emotionally unstable, and that was the day he'd lost Joan. "Stay," was all he could manage through his sobs and attempts to refill his lungs with the oxygen he so desperately craved.

"I will," Francis said, voice hitching. "I'll stay." His arms wrapped around Arthur tightly, rocking them back and forth. He cried into Arthur's hair, rubbing his back and feeling the shaky rise and fall of Arthur's chest beneath his hands. It meant everything to Francis. It meant that Arthur was still here. So surely you can understand why the Frenchman's heart broke when... it stopped. "A-Arthur?" he whispered, feeling the younger go limp in his arms. No response. "Arthur!" He held Arthur away from him, laying him gently back on the pillows. As he stared down at him, he didn't bother to wipe his eyes. "Don't leave me."