A/N: hello all. So yes, yes be mad that I'm starting another story I won't update forever and then the next chapter will just be complete suck =-=. Anyways dark story ahead (not so much this chapter, but later on). So be warned

Rating: M for gore and insanity later

Genera: Angst, horror, tragedy

Characters: England, France, America(kinda)

Pairings: USUK, Past/one-sided FrUK. If you wanna, you can think of it as just friendship

Summary: The loss of a loved one is a difficult thing to cope with. But for Arthur Kirkland, copping isn't an option. He just wants Alfred back, and will stop at nothing to get what he wants. No matter how he gets it.

Declaimer: I don't own any characters

~*~*~weeee~*~*~

{[(Arthur's POV)]}

'No . . . no no no no no no NO! Th-this can't . . . th-this isn't happening. I-it can't be i- . . . it just can't god damn it!'

Salty tears ran from my green eyes and made trails down my cheeks. I couldn't believe it. It had to be a dream. I prayed to a god I wasn't even sure of anymore that I would wake up any second now and find myself in bed, a warm body wrapped around me in a caring embrace, and a worried voice telling me, "You were thrashing, so I thought a hug would help." like all the other times I had a dream like this.

I bolted my eyes shut and pressed the lids together tight. Holding my breath, I counted the seconds – waiting to open them again and come face to face with those sweet aqua marine orbs and that stupid, idiotic, ignorant, imbecilic – . . . amazing, beautiful, lovable, perfect smile of his.

Time passed by, and I began to run out of air. But I wouldn't breath. Not till I awoke. Not till I saw him. Not till he was there . . . breathing with me.

Maybe it's like wishing on a star . . . if you tell someone what you asked for, it won't come true. Maybe if I take in a breath of air, I'll be denied the chance to gain my consciousness. So I kept holding onto what little air I had left, not daring myself to get any more than that. Not daring myself to take that chance . . . not wanting to face the truth . . . it was too painful . . .

'Please . . . please I'd give anything. Just . . . let me wake up. Let this be fake . . . don't . . . don't take him from me . . . he's all I have . . . no . . .'

My head began to feel like it was losing weight. Both my lungs and brain roared at me to exhale the air I had and to draw in a new breath. I disregarded them. They'd see. In just a few moments this whole scene would be gone – forgotten forever.

Without much warning, my legs quit functioning and I was slammed to my knees. Still, I didn't breathe. My head started to pound along with my heart. That's all I could hear. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, over and over. It hurt . . . pretty much everything started to hurt. The things that didn't ache had gone numb. But . . . it's nothing compared to . . . oh god.

The need for oxygen grew more intense by the second, but I ignored it with all I had. Fuck, when would I wake up? This was getting ridiculous! Surely by now I would have . . .

What if I was wrong? What if this was real? What if Alfred was really . . . I can't even finish that thought.

'. . . Well then . . . I guess I'll just stay like this . . . I don't mind . . . not at all . . . I want to leave this place . . . I want to be with him . . . I'll give anything . . . my life included . . .'

. . . Then again, it might not kill me – just make me sleep (for real this time). But there's always that chance . . .

I want to take it. I want to take that chance. It'll at least hurt me . . . that's good.

Again, I counted the time as it passed. My thoughts began to grow sluggish though, and the numbers slurred – even in my mind. They twisted and reshaped themselves. Before long my mind was filled with thoughts of "twelvedy-eight" and "mexty", whatever the bloody hell those are supposed to be.

Just when I felt the darkness begin to spread around me, a sound made its way to my ears. It was familiar . . . I'd diffidently heard it before – it was nothing new. A steady, thump, thump, thump. Probably just my heartbeat.

But then a voice . . . I know that voice so well . . .

"Oh Arthur cher~ it is the fabulous me come for a visit. Open up, before I break down your door like last time~. Remember how expensive that was to replace? Well I sure do. If you don't want it to happen again, I suggest you let me in~."

'Shit. The frog. Why's he here? Damn it, what if he comes in? He'll try to stop me! I-I can't . . . he can't stop me! Besides, why would he even want to in the first place?'

The knocking got louder, but I didn't move from my spot (as if I could). All I did was give up trying to stay kneeling, and collapsed to the ground. The knocks and teasing of the Frenchman began to grow quieter, quieter, quieter . . . until there was almost no sound at all.

Then an earsplitting crash broke through the silence, followed by a yelp of surprise.

Only a few, meager seconds passed before I felt my body being jerked around harshly. Hands were clutched to my shoulders and shaking me back and forth.

It was a chore to continue holding my breath, but somehow I still managed to do it. I guess I was just that desperate . . . but as I said, chances were this wouldn't even kill me – after I passed out I'd just start breathing again. As much as I hate it, that's just how the body works – but it would still feel good to get right on the edge of death. I wanted to be teetering on my heels and staring right into the pits of hell. I wanted to see the flames and the demons – all the damned souls. I just wanted to be a daredevil and get so close to the afterlife that I could just reach out and . . . my god, when did I become so sick?

Frantic yelling echoed in the distance, but the cries were muffled and I couldn't make out the words in them.

'I'm so close to the dark . . . I think I can touch it if I try . . . just like I wanted to . . . wait, can I touch the dark? If I can, what would it feel like? I think it'd feel nice. But I can't be sur-'

My random thoughts were cut off as a spark of pain ignited in my stomach, and seemed to have an effect on my whole body. A bright, emerald green was added to the scene once more as my eyes snapped open. The hit to my abdomen must have pushed against my diaphragm, because without even thinking about it, I took in a huge gasp for air which, of course, led to more.

As I panted and wheezed for all the air I could possibly take in, I felt both heat and cool wash over my face as my blood resumed its natural flow, and the cells filled once again with oxygen. I coughed a few times before my breathing began to calm and all my senses returned to normal.

Before I could even get a single word out, a cold hand was whisked across my face with a resounding 'CRACK!'

I stared at the air for a few seconds in shock before bellowing, "What the bloody-"

But I was cut off by another slap to my other cheek, and then a pair of lips pressed to my own. I blushed deeply and tried with all my might to push away the body.

'No . . . NO! What the fuck do you think you're doing! Y-you can't touch me like this! Y-you could b-but not now! Only he can touch me like this, frog! You have no right to! Only him! ONLY HIM! But he- . . . h-he's . . . so I guess no one can touch me like this . . . no one. Ever again . . .'

My struggles grew weaker as my thoughts wandered. Before long I was just sitting there, tears in my eyes once more.

"O-oh god Arthur." Francis sobbed, holding me to his chest. "Wh-what the hell was that? What were you doing? Why-wh-why weren't you breathing? Why . . . why are you crying? What happened?"

When I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but worry. The fucker. Why'd he have to be sweet like this? He left me, so why does he act this way? I hate him so much . . .

"Arthur," he brushed some hair from my face. "Arthur, Quel est le problème? What's wrong?"

I couldn't handle it anymore. I broke down crying in his arms. My hands fisted his clothing, but he didn't mind. Francis just held me gently and stroked my back. He might have sung some French lullaby, but I wasn't sure. The only sound that I could be sure of were my heart wrenching sobs.

"Shh, shh, Arthur. Arthur, it's okay. It's okay, you're okay. Just relax. Breathe. It's okay, cher. I'm here, I'm here."

"I-I don't w-want y-you, fr-frog! I-I want h-him! N-no one else! Y-you don't compare . . . n-never think you can! Y-you can't! I-I-I- . . . I just want him back . . . o-oh . . . oh god!"

As I sobbed louder, he held me tighter. "Arthur, I don't understand. Tell me what happened. I need you calm down. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't speak clearly. Come on, take a breath." I did as I was told. "Good, that's good Arthur. Now relax and tell me what happened."

A few staggered gasps later, I finally had enough breath to rasp out, "A-A-Alfred . . . h-he . . . he's g-gone . . . f-f-forever."

"You two broke up?"

". . . N-no . . . i-it's so much worse . . . I'd actually p-prefer that. N-no he . . . h-he's . . . he's . . ." I couldn't finish my sentence. Because doing that would be admitting it. I wasn't ready for that. I'd never be ready for that. So I just kept on sobbing my heart out into Francis's shirt. What more could I do? I barely had enough strength to even do that.

Although I couldn't get the word out, the Frenchman understood what I was trying to say and instantly froze up. ". . . o-oh my . . . A-Arthur I . . . I-I'm so sorry . . . how?"

"I-it's all my fault, Francis . . . all my fault. I-I didn't mean to, I-I swear. I didn't mean t-to . . . b-but . . . but I did . . ."

He shook his head and spoke to me as a mother would her child. "Oh, no no no Arthur, I'm sure it wasn't you. You wouldn't do that, I know you wouldn't. You love him too much. It wasn't you, Arthur."

"Y-you don't kn-know that! Y-you don't know! I-it was m-me!" I was inches away from hysterics.

Francis kept rubbing my back and telling me it wasn't my fault and that things would be okay. But nothing he said would make a difference to me. I knew better. It was my fault. And it would never be okay. I killed him. I killed the man I love.

Not directly, and not at all intentionally, but it was me nonetheless.

We had a fight . . . only a few hours ago actually. I started it . . . as always. I'd complained that he never did anything and that it wasn't fair that I was always the one doing the housework. Every day he would make a mess and I'd be left to clean it up. It was something that could have stayed so small . . . but I went and turned it into a huge deal.

We started yelling, and before long Alfred had stomped out the door, saying he was going somewhere to cool down.

That somewhere just happened to be a bar.

He'd only been gone five hours before I got the call . . . no matter how long I live, I'll never forget that call.

The police found him, bloody and mangled, on the roadside. He had all his ID on him, so they were able to work fast. They're not sure exactly what happened – most likely a hit and run – but they said he had an extreme amount of alcohol in his blood.

I never felt more terrible in my life. I just wanted to drop over dead.

But I can't. Not as long as Francis is here. He won't let me.

Because no matter how many times I tell him I hate him, he'll just respond with "Well I love you." And he won't leave me alone now. Damn. That fucking bastard. If he really loved me he'd just leave me alone.

But I guess that's just too much to ask.

~TBC~

. . .

A/N: I like it. I was a bit skeptical when I started writing this, but I think it turned out good in the end. Not the worst thing in the world, right? And I KNOW I have so many other stories I could be working on but . . . when inspiration calls, I can't help but answer. Hope you at least found it acceptable. Bye bye~