The sky was a clear, crisp blue with a few sparse clouds spread around at random. It was hot but the light breeze that blew through the clearing made it comfortable to all those outside, though there was only one person that could be seen for at least a mile.

The teenage boy had long, blond hair that fell a little past his shoulders and a light smile on his face as he picked some of the many flowers surrounding him. He was expecting someone and wanted to finish the beautiful bouquet before they arrived.

Hearing running footsteps, his smile brightened and he raised his head to spot a small boy coming in his direction.

The smile slipped when he noticed tears running down the boy's grimy face and how the boy was carefully holding his arm. He jumped up and hurried over to him.

"What is wrong, mon petit?" he asked, worried, brushing the tears away.

"M-My brothers," the boy choked out, still crying hard.

"What did they do?"

As a reply, the boy held out the arm he'd been cradling gently; it was quite clearly broken.

The older boy's heart shattered at the pitiful sight.

"Oh mon pauvre bebe!" he cried, pulling the younger onto his lap and taking his arm gently. "Why did they do this to you?"

"Th-they said I was bothering them...I-I just wanted some of their food...it's been d-days since they gave me a-any..."

The pieces of the older boy's heart were smashed to dust at his words and he quickly stood up.

"Come on, lapin. We will get you fixed up and fed. Does that sound good?"

The boy nodded.

"Yes please." He was carried all the way through the forest to the boy's home where he was set down on a soft cushion while the older blond went to get a splint and some food."F-Francis?" he called.

Said boy poked his head back into the room.

"Oui?"

"Can I also have some water...?"

"Of course, mon petit chou."

"Thank you..."

Francis nodded and slipped back out of the room.

The little boy looked down at his hurt arm. He wasn't sure what was wrong with it but if Francis was worried then it must be bad. All he knew was that it hurt. His arm was gently pulled away and his head shot up to see Francis regarding him carefully.

"Can I borrow this for a moment, mon cher?"

Nodding slowly, he let the boy attach the splint to his arm and pull him onto his lap to feed him.

When he was full, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the older.

Francis gently ran his fingers through the boy's hair and in minutes he was asleep.

"How can vos frères treat you like this?" he asked the sleeping boy. "You are so sweet and innocent and do not deserve such treatment. If I could I would keep you here, raise you myself, teach you how bright the world can be but my boss would never let me and neither would yours." He sighed. "Je t'aime, mon chaton. I will try to keep them from hurting you anymore and if I cannot, I will treat you and make you feel better. Je promets. Toujours. Even if you do not want me around you."

After a long time he stood up and carried the tiny nation to his bed and lay down to sleep with him.

The next morning he was awoken by banging on his door. Sitting up and wearily rubbing his eyes, he tried to figure out what time it was. The sun had not yet risen so it must be quite early since they were will into summer.

The incessant banging was starting to get on his nerves as he made his way to answer the door; outside stood three angry men a little older than him.

"Bonjour," he greeted, a little coldly.

"Where is he?" the red-haired one demanded.

"Qui?"

The man growled and grabbed the collar of his nightgown, fisting the material in his hands.

"You know perfectly well who!" he yelled in the blond's face. "Our brother never came home last night! The only other place he might be is here so where is he?!"

"Why do you care? You three broke his arm and starved him! Sounds like brothers who really care!"

Before he could react, a fist collided with his cheek and sent him crashing to the ground.

He gaze shot back to the man as he crouched down in front of him, pulling out his pocketknife. His eyes widened in fear.

"Go get him while I deal with this coward," the man instructed the other two. They nodded and walked down the hall. "I'm going to teach you about lying to me, frog," he said dangerously as he put the knife up to his eye. "That is a mistake you won't soon forget. You'll have a reminder for the rest of your life and longer." He shoved the blade into the delicate skin right below his eye and dragged it a few inches before twisting it, cutting and tearing deeply and making Francis scream in pain.

When the knife was pulled back, he quickly put his hand to where he was cut and felt a flood of a warm liquid running down his face. He raised terrified eyes to the man as the blade fell again.

Francis was staring at himself in the mirror, touching his cheek gently. It was hundreds of years later and they were still there...all of them.

Sighing to himself, he picked up a small jar and a brush, and set to work on the daily task of hiding his unpleasant past.

When he decided all traces were gone, he slipped the supplies into his jacket pocket and left his room.

He walked in silence to the meeting room and sat down in his seat. The room slowly filled up around him and one next was taken; he didn't look up to see by whom.

"Awfully quiet today, aren't you, frog?" a familiar voice mocked him.

Prefect; Arthur was sitting next to him.

Another thing that hadn't changed was that Francis still tried to protect Arthur like he did when he was younger. The other hated him now though so it was much harder.

"I am just thinking, mon cher," he replied quietly.

"Well stop that. We don't need any ideas from that head," he poked Francis's as he spoke. "Last time we both almost ended up dead."

Francis smiled weakly.

"Oui..."

Arthur shared at him. "Are you feeling alright?" He put his hand on Francis's forehead. "You aren't warm..." he said, puzzled.

The older pushed him away.

"Stop that."

"Now I know something must be wrong. Spit it out."

Francis shook his head and moved away.

Unfortunately his jacket caught on the chair and spilled the contents of his pocket.

"Merde," he muttered, quickly reaching for the make-up.

Arthur heard him and looked down, laughing at what he saw.

"I always knew you were queer, frog, but make-up? Really?"

"Shut up."

Instead of shutting up however, Arthur grabbed the make-up and held it up.

"Hey everyone, look! France wears make-up!"

The room erupted in laughter and Francis snatched the concealer out of Arthur's hand before running out of the room.

He made it to a restroom and slammed the door behind him before bursting into tears. He slid down the wall to rest on the floor, hugging his knees.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Frog? Are you in there?"

Francis didn't answer, not that he could.

The door opened and Arthur walked in.

"What's wrong with you today? First you're quiet, then you're crying and running away." Francis looked away from him. Arthur's eyes narrowed and he crouched down in front of the older man. "And look at me when I'm talking to you!" he yelled as he gripped the other's chin and forced him to meet his gaze.
That was when he noticed the faint corner of something under his eye, uncovered by the tears. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at his face.

Francis wrenched his chin away the other and averted his gaze.

"Nothing," he whispered.

Arthur glared.

"It's obviously something if you felt the need to hide it."

"Just leave it alone. S'il vous plaît."

"No!" Arthur yelled, grabbing a cloth and wetting it. "I will find out one way or another!" Francis started yelling and thrashing the moment the cloth touched his skin, desperate to get away. "Stop moving!"

Terrified tears burst out of his eyes as the one thing Arthur was never supposed to see slowly became visible.

When he finished, he dropped the cloth in shock and felt a little dizzy at what he was looking at; several long scars stretched over the man's face, all savage and cruel.

"Who did this to you...?" Arthur whispered in shock as his fingers traced the scars.

Francis tried to hide his face desperately.

"A-Arthur please...go away...forget what you saw...p-please..."

More scared tears burst out of his eyes.

"Francis, please tell me."

Said man shook his head violently.

"N-Non! You were never supposed to find out! I never wanted you to know!"

"Just tell me who it was!"

"N-Non! I-I cannot!"

"Why not?!"

The door burst open and Francis jumped.

"Because he was told not to, weren't you frog?" Francis's already huge eyes widened more and he nodded quickly at the other man. The redhead pulled a gun out of his pocket and cocked it. "And you was also told not to touch him ever again, weren't you?" Francis nodded again. "Well we told you there would be consequences for not listening so you forced my hand on this." He pushed the gun under the younger's chin forcefully. "You should have done as you were told."

Arthur's eyes widened as Francis's closed and slow tears slipped out.

"S-Scotland," Arthur stuttered, completely thrown. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"He was given clear instructions. It's not my fault the frog can't listen."

"P-Please," Francis forced out. "I-It has been hundreds of years. A-Am I not allowed to slip up once…?"

Scotland's eyes narrowed and he slapped the Frenchman forcefully with his free hand, knocking him to the ground. He reached down and gripped the other by his hair, tearing some out, and poked the scar under his eye with his gun.

"Do you not remember what this was for?! It was to remind you what you were taught!"

Francis winced and Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop it, Scotland! Don't hurt him!"

"And why not?!" he demanded, turning to him. "This is for you after all!"

"W-What?" He turned to look at the man on the ground. "Is this true?"

Francis nodded.

"The eejit has been trying to protect you since you were a wee bairn but it's never done him any good!"

The Englishman was confused.

"What do you mean…? Francis wasn't around me as a child…"

Francis looked away.

"That's because we made him stay away! We didn't want his ways rubbing off on you!"

"Menteur!" Francis hissed. "Liar! You wanted me to stay away so you could abuse him without interruption or distraction!" The man jumped to his feet, eyes full of rage. "You wanted me to stay away so I could not help him! So I could not feed him and heal him!"

Scotland grabbed his collar and slammed him into the wall.

"Shut up you coward!"

Arthur had been standing still, trying to figure out what the two were talking about. 'Francis wasn't around me when I was young…he hated me and I hated him…we've always hated each other…' A sudden memory of him running with a broken arm sprang into his mind. 'Someone put a splint on it…who?!' He wracked his brain for the answer. He needed to know! Francis's kind, understanding face popped into his mind and his eyes burst open.

Scotland had pinned Francis to the wall and was holding his gun to the side of his head.

Running forward, he threw Scotland away and hugged the Frenchman tightly around the waist.

"It was you!" he cried, tears starting to slip out of his eyes. "You're the one who cared for me when I was little! It was always you! My brothers would hurt me and I would run to you for comfort! I remember the last day I saw you I heard you scream and they wouldn't tell me what had happened! You're the one who's always been there for me and then you disappeared and no one would tell me why!"

Francis stared at him for a long time before slowly putting his arms around the other and holding him close.

"Oui, lapin. It was moi." He stroked the other's hair gently. "Ssh, mon cher. Do not cry anymore. Everything will be fine."

"Oh it will, will it?" Scotland asked as he regained his footing, pointing the gun at the Frenchman again.

Arthur quickly turned around and spread his arms out, trying to protect the other after all the years of being the one protected.

In response, Francis pulled Arthur against him tightly and kissed his forehead. "Pardonnez-moi," he whispered before pushing the younger away. "Go on Scotland. Do what you have always wanted. I will not stop you." He proved his point by letting his arms rest at his sides, head bent to look at the ground.

"Gladly."

He pulled the trigger and shot Francis in the chest.

The Frenchman crumpled to the ground and Arthur rushed over to him.

"F-Francis!" he choked out between his tears. "F-Francis, no!"

Dropping to his knees, he cupped the other's face and made him look at him, tears freezing in his eyes as he saw how hazy the other's were.

The older smiled sadly at him.

"Do not cry, mon amour. He did not hurt me that badly. I will be fine."

Arthur wrapped his arms around the other's neck and cried into it; Francis pulled him into his lap and held him close.

Managing to get enough sense back, Arthur started tearing his shirt into strips and tying them around his chest. The thin fabric wasn't able to hold much of the blood that was streaming out of the wound.

"Mon chou?" Francis asked quietly, making Arthur look up. "Je t'aime."

The Englishman blushed deeply.

"J-Je t'aime aussi, Francis."

Francis smiled lightly, closing his eyes.

"Merci. I needed to hear that."

His breathing slowed but didn't stop and Arthur realized that he had simply fallen asleep.

"Just like Francis to take a nap during something important," Arthur said to himself with a smile, laying against the man's chest and closing his eyes. Might as well join him after all the stress he had just been forced to receive.

As he slept, memories ran through his head of all the times that Francis had been there to protect him. He had never returned the favor. The closest thing he had done was help get him away from Germany but that was barely anything compared to all that Francis had sacrificed for him. No matter how many wars he had been in, with or without the other, the Frenchman had always stopped anyone from hurting him. Even Francis himself had never tried to hurt him. But Arthur had always hurt him, mocked him for being weak when in all reality he had been the weak one, but Francis had still protected him, even with the names. Francis had taken all the hits for him because he loved Arthur.

A smile crossed Arthur's face and he snuggled up closer to the other man who had always cared.

The door opened a few minutes later and Spain couldn't help but smile at the cute picture of Arthur wrapped up in Francis's arms, both deeply asleep.

"Buen trabajo, amigo," he whispered. "You finally got him."

He let the two sleep and returned to the meeting to inform the others that the two wouldn't be back for a while.

AN: Wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep. I just randomly got the idea of France trying to protect England though he had trouble because England's brothers hated him. Originally France was supposed to die at the end but that wasn't supposed to happen so I had to change it. Hope it doesn't seem too bad. I was trying to write a oneshot where no one dies at the end. I was also trying to try out a new writing style.

I can't tell if this is cute or sad...oh well. I still like it.

Young Iggy is cute and I got to hurt people. Two of the things I like most in my fanfics. I determine this oneshot a success.

And I promise to update my other stories soon.