A/N: This came out a lot more angsty than I thought. I tried to make everyone as in character as I could but they are all recovering from a war. So think of it as being in character during an extremely tiring time. By the way, this whole story is being beta-read by Anonymously Missing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

France's Story

France was by the window, as he often was these days, a shell of his normal self. The effects of war were apparent on his face, paler and more drawn than usual. His movements were that of an old man, not of the youthful man he physically appeared to be. In all reality, he was much older than many of his 'elders'. Much much older. It was in times like these when his age really began to show, when his nation was under war and his people were suffering.

He barely remembered what got him into this war, but he had been determined to finish it. It was a pity that they had to go against one so young. When he had last seen Holy Roman Empire, he was barely taller than France's waistline. This was the enemy his boss had told him to attack. France would have much rather married the poor boy than attacked him. They had had their differences in the past, mainly over other countries, but that was the way of nations. Nations could never be too sure of relations between each other, for just one order from their bosses and they could be strained by war. So began the war that would last years.

"Mr. Francis Bonnefoy?"

France looked up, putting on a winning smile. "They're going to be doing the signing now, and request for you to be there."

"Of course," France nodded at the small messenger, and couldn't help but compare him to the boy that had been occupying his thoughts as of late. He went to his wardrobe and briskly put on a dressier outfit. Tilting his face in the mirror, he allowed himself a small half-hearted wink to the mirror. Then he swept out of the room.

When France entered the signing room, he could already see that it had already started. He didn't really need to be here, but it looked better if a nation attended the more important public events concerning war, treaties and/or alliances.

"France." The voice nearly made him jump. France hadn't realized how skittish he had become lately. Turning around he almost blanched at the sight of the intimidating Swedish man.

"Bonjour Sweden." If it were any other nation, France would have done something a little more flamboyant in terms of greeting, but this certain country always stalled his flirtatious ways. Besides it was not the time for such pleasantries. He looked around, searching for a little figure clothed all in black.

"Where's the Holy Roman Empire?" France finally ventured, scanning the room in earnest. When he heard no reply he looked back at Sweden. There was no trace of emotion on the man's face, but the big man reached out and put a hand on France's shoulder. He tried not to wince at the unexpected touch.

"He's not here."

France tried not to think of the implications as to why he wasn't here. He was probably wounded in the war and couldn't make it. Or they wouldn't want such a little child in on such important decisions. Then again, France thought with a sinking heart, they wouldn't have let him fight in the war if they were worried about his age. The room suddenly became very hot and France made a little squeak.

"They can't find him." Sweden said in reply to France's noise. "It might be that he -"

"Don't say it." France said tiredly. "I don't want to hear it. Just wait until the treaty's done and then you can tell me." He ended the conversation by turning away from the other nation and watched his people. The rest of the day went by slowly, painfully. Each minute carved more certainty that the Holy Roman Empire was dead. Even if France hadn't killed him directly, he knew it was still partly his fault. It was rare that a nation completely died, but it wasn't impossible. Especially on one so young, the fall of an empire was sure to do damage.

After the treaties were signed, France and Sweden walked out of the congress together. More like France wandered out, still wrapped up in his thoughts and Sweden followed him.

"He's probably dead." France said to himself. "Isn't he?"

Sweden seemed to want to say something but he closed his mouth tight. France went to look at him and almost didn't see the large man that was running towards him. Before he could say a word he was tackled to the ground. Calloused hands wrapped around his throat and he heard ferocious growls. Sputtering he looked up and tried to focus on the man who was currently strangling him.

It was Prussia.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you." Prussia was yelling at him, still keeping his death grip on France's throat. The nation's red eyes were narrowed in pure hate, no empathy resided in them. France tried to speak but he couldn't even breathe. "You killed him, you really killed him, didn't you? Damn you, Francis. Damn you."

Sweden wrapped his arms around the furious nation and firmly but gently pulled him off of the other nearly unconscious one

Prussia turned to look at who was restraining him and his face flushed darkly. "You." he said to Sweden. "You killed him too. All of you are killers."

France took a few lungfuls of air and sat up, brushing at his clothes. Despite what he had been thinking earlier he glared at Prussia. "Hey, was that really necessary? If you wanted to get that close to me you could have simply asked."

France wasn't quite sure why he was taunting the already enraged nation, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. So he simply let his default mode take over. It was better than half-hearted apologies. Prussia tried to escape Sweden's tight grip but to no avail. "Shut up. I don't want to hear it from you. You murderer. There's nothing awesome about a killer. Let go, Sweden. Damnit, let go!"

France stood up and avoided looking Prussia in the eye. "Are you sure he's dead?"

"That's it, I'm really going to kill you." Prussia said coldly. "Of course he's dead. I haven't seen him for over seven months and there's no response to his summonings. And wasn't that your point all along? To kill him? Why else would you go through all this." Prussia waved his arms madly.

France couldn't deny it any longer. The truth was staring him right in the face in the form of a crazed older brother. Holy Roman Empire was dead. At his hands. France looked at his hands almost expecting to see blood on them, but they were clean, just like they were when he washed them that morning. Sweden looked at the other nations, his eyes softening slightly.

"Are you happy now? He's dead. You got what you wanted. Bastard." Prussia spit out no longer fighting against Sweden's grip. France didn't even flinch. A part of him wanted Prussia to say even worse words to him, a part of him wanted to strike back at Prussia for placing the truth in front of his eyes, and still another part just wanted to forget everything that had happened. There was a silence that was only broken by Prussia's heavy breathing.

"I never wanted him dead." France mumbled. "I had to follow my boss's orders. You have to know that I would never wish anyone dead. I'm sorry that he's dead. I never wanted the light to go out of that boy's eyes."

"Well it's too late now, isn't it?" Prussia answered, all the fire gone from his voice. Prussia extricated himself from Sweden's arms. The nation let him go, sensing that he was no harm to France now. Prussia stared at the two of them, his eyes hard. He turned to leave, but then stopped considering something. Turning back around he punched France in the face and then simply walked away.

France staggered back and clutched at his now wounded face, pulsating with pain.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." France waved Sweden off and looked at the retreating country. "As fine as I'll ever be." He lied.

I'm sorry Holy Roman Empire. For everything.