Had it been any other situation, Arthur would have been scolding himself for the myriad of vulgar words slipping past his lips. It was often the Englishmen swore when he was livid due to the fuss the other nations forced him to put up with, but the amount of physical pain making itself horrendously apparent in his shoulder was outright ridiculous. "Fuck…" The word crawled up from his throat for the umpteenth time. "Bloody hell, fuck him."

The hole in crevices of his collar, just underneath the bone, was screaming agony thanks to a combination of depth, and profuse bleeding. When the bullet had actually broken through his body it had felt like dull burning pain isolated in one area alone…however, when he had to pry the foreign object out, that was when he wanted to lay down and die, or break Ludwig's face…whichever came first. Those course of events are what brought him to his current situation still trying to scrape the bullet out of his fresh wound. Had it not been for the rag in his mouth providing him relief and protection from grinding his teeth into stubs, he would have screamed something awful. Then again, he was Arthur Kirkland…England; he recalled having worse.

The British nation swore a final time as the infiltrating object in his shoulder finally clattered to the ground near the neatly compiled puddle of blood. Fresh rivers of crimson ran down his arm, adding more to the lake of red fluid. "Git…waste of a bullet really." He snorted clutching his open sore.

"It succeeded in giving you a good deal of trouble, mon Angleterre." A smooth voice sounded from the wall connecting the living room and kitchen.

"Shut up frog."

"Sil vous plait Arthur, I came to help you." Francis smiled holding up a needle and thread. Arthur mentally swore bracing for the new wave of pain about to course through his weakened body.

"Fine…make it hasty. I know your sewing skills wine tasting bastard, so if you slow down so much as a quarter of a second-"

"You talk too much." The Frenchmen made his way inside the kitchen, eyes almost popping out of their sockets when he came into realization of how much blood his ally and long time enemy had lost. "Mon Deiu Angleterre! How much blood is still in your body?"

"Do you think I know you idiot? Stop gawking and sew the rest in so I don't lose anymore!"

Francis sighed kneeling next the wound gingerly slapping Arthur's hand away from it, and receiving a disapproving grumble in return as he poked the first stitch through. He could feel his friend shaking slightly, he predicted, either from blood loss, or sheer pain. "Anyways Arthur, are you going to enlighten me on why you have a hole in your chest, or am I going to have to force it out?" As the words were still leaving Francis's mouth, Arthur felt a slender finger trace up his blood covered torso to the line of his jaw, just coming to a stop at his lips.

"Don't you dare!" He shuddered scooting as far as his injury would let him, while Francis had managed to penetrate Arthur's skin with the first stitch. It wasn't a horrifically large wound, but a deep one.

"Oui, oui." Francis chuckled respecting the other nation's space for once. "There, you're finished. Better?"

He nodded curtly. "Much."

"The bleeding stopped."

"So I've noticed." Arthur sighed leaning back to get some well deserved rest before he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder.

"Don't. You're not allowed to sleep until we know you have enough blood to do so."

"Tell me when you were you in charge of my affairs?" The former empire snapped rolling his shoulders until a satisfying crack sounded in his neck.

"Since you proved too irresponsible to handle your own matters."

"Frankly, I would rather be torn in two then to have you rule my actions Francis."

The Frenchmen seemed unscathed by England's insult to his leadership skills as a smirk painted itself on the soft features of his face. "Je t'aime beacoup." He laughed blowing the other nation a kiss.

England finally spoke after a long pause. "Scratch that, I would rather tear you in two."

"Ah you say that, but you called me for help mon Angleterre, when you could have called anyone else. Amerique I suppose?"

"Don't be ridiculous, really no one has your stitch skills…least of all Alfred."

"How flattering that you think that of me."

"Don't push it you twat." The Brit slumped against his cabinets far too agitated and overworked to move from his newly found comfort spot on the floor. "If you must know, it was Germany."

Francis's heart sank as the words sank into his conscious. "Ludwig did this to you?"

"Indeed. He had the heart to speak to me after I hit the ground."

"…pourquoi?"

"He said it was a message…I should relay it to you and Alfred. That and I refused to partake in his ludicrous plot to take over."

"Again, I'm touched that you care enough for me to stand by my side mon amour."

"Again, you're taking everything to sentimentally. I agree with your concepts, not you."

France sighed finally lending his hand out so that England could use it to pull himself off the floor. "How are your wounds fairing Francis?"

The romantic winced as if he had just recalled the pain he was faced with from the previous invasion Germany had forced onto him. "It's still difficult to walk…"

England actually looked slightly apologetic. "I'm sorry for your discomfort."

A sad smile looked unnatural on Francis's face. "Merci. It's alright…I've been speaking out against it-"

"Speaking out? Speaking out? Francis, where is your military?"

"Sil vous plait….Arthur please. I'm too tired, and far too old to fight something bigger then myself. I don't want to account for pointless bloodshed right now. Even if I did put my military up, what point would it serve?"

"Save your excuses. They're for the weak. This situation calls for bloodshed no matter what way you look at it. Ludwig is killing you Francis. Bloody killing you, and you're not going to put up a fight?"

Francis looked at his feet. He knew Arthur was correct in his accusations, but he wasn't one for war, he never was. War destroyed things, it didn't sing melodiously like the music two lovers made on cold nights when the house was left to only the two of them. It didn't glow like a brand new field of flowers bidding their good mornings to the arriving spring. It most certainly didn't breathe life at all, and Francis didn't like it. "Judge me as you will, it's still not your war."

England scoffed shaking his head. "It certainly is now isn't it?" He pointed to the freshly stitched wound.

"Oui…I apologize again. Alfred should be here soon. He was outraged ranting on the phone almost insanely when I spoke to him last."

"About Germany's invasion in your territory? He would be…the idiot. He tries to hard to pursue freedom for all when he can't even hold up his own economy. He has no time to be focusing on you."

"Agreed, but I'm very appreciative for any extra aid."

"Well you have mine."

"Merci."

"You're welcome. What time was Alfred supposed to arrive?" England asked all too knowing of America's antics. Alfred had always been passionate about helping others in the pursuit of freedom, however he'd run his mouth more then he would swing his fists. He was always late.

A quick glance at the clock and Francis sighed defeated. "Around a half an hour ago."

"As to be expected. It's likely that he's been stopping to eat a burger ever mile."

"Oui."

It wasn't until another grueling half an hour later the American country arrived. England was puzzled as to how Alfred could have been his former charge when he was so inconsiderate, so improper, and so childish. "Sorry guys I was late."

"By a bloody hour you git!"

"I see you're letting your age catch your mood Iggy."

"Shut…the hell up.

France cleared his throat breaking their intensely escalating argument before it become too much weight on his delicate heart. "Monsieurs please have a seat so we can discuss the matter at hand."

The Brit and the American sat across from each other, strained by the will to tear each other's throats out. "Merci." The Frenchmen sighed in relief. "Now, we all know why what we're discussing, so it's crucial that we-"

"Yeah, that German bastard took you over, right Francy? Well he doesn't know who he's messing with! You guys are lucky to have the hero on your side."

"America, it's terribly rude to interrupt when someone is speaking in the first place. Secondly, a war isn't something to parade about, especially at this time. Your economy is a mess as is." England pointed out, dearly hoping that his point had gotten through to America's head. "Such a thick skull to protect that tiny thinking space."

America crossed his arms signaling the beginning of an indignant speech. "How is that any of your business? I'll be fine. I've done well on my own for two hundred and twenty four years without any of your help."

That stung somewhere in England's chest, and not where the bullet had hit. "Fine, I was only warning you. Try not to be late into battle."

"I wasn't that late, and I'm here now aren't I? I didn't have to come to your rescue at all."

"To my rescue? Please, rescuing me would require someone to put a restraining order on you for me."

"You know what you moody old man-"

"Excusez moi, but I don't even want to go to war." France interrupted crossing his arms as a slight pout made its way onto his lips.

"Don't you want your independence back though? Don't you want to be free?" The American nation asked in disbelief.

"Oui, but do you think that I really have a chance against Germany?"

"That's why we're going to help you!"

"I suppose…" Francis replied reluctantly.

"Francis…" England interjected, " if we don't fight Germany he will continue to take over countries while he gathers allies. God help us then."

Ivan plastered a cheerful smile over his face and replied in the same demeanor. "Of course I'll join your side ермания."

Germany grasped the Russian's hand tightly sealing the pact that would most likely bring end to the rest of the world. "Ausgezeichnet."

Words to know:

French: Mon Angleterre - My England

Mon Deiu - Oh my god!

Oui - Yes/ okay

Je t'aime beacoup. - I love you much.

Amerique - America (Hope some of you got that one on your own.)

Pourquoi? - Why?

Mon Amour - My love

Merci - Thank you

Sil vous plait - Please

Monsieurs - Polite way of adressing a male.

Escusez moi - Excuse me

Russian: ермания - Germany

German: Ausgezeichnet - Excellent

British (slang): Git - The equivelant of calling someone an idiot or annoying.