The death count will begin now. Just a heads-up.

Warning: Anarchy, character deaths, mention of rape and murder

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

England

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

Arthur sat in his living room, blankly staring out of his window. Oh, look at that. The garden was ruined. All those hours of slaving in the sun (however little of it there was in England)… for nothing.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, and he peered up into warm green eyes. "How're ya doin', lad?"

"I'm fine, Lennox, thank you." Arthur gave him the happiest smile he could muster, but it apparently wasn't very happy.

Lennox frowned. "Don't lie. When ya lie, ya make me feel like I'm not doin' my job as a brother." When Arthur didn't respond and turned to peer out of his window again, Lennox settled down next to him. "Tell me what's wrong."

"You know perfectly well what's wrong." Arthur responded with distant venom. "The Irelands and Wales are dead, and the world's a living Hell."

Lennox gave him that damn pitiful look that he'd always hated. He missed how bold and reckless his older brother used to be, how he used to lose his temper at everything, how when Arthur looked him in the eyes, he could see fire, how the man used to hate his guts.

"Don't look at me like that!" Arthur snapped, not knowing exactly why. Lennox was the only one he had left, as far as he knew. "I'm not beaten. Not yet. Not until they hunt me down and fight me to death."

Lennox lifted a bushy red eyebrow. "You're not implyin' you're stayin' here, are ya?"

Arthur stood, feeling his head pound with frustration. All this time, since he'd found his other brothers dead and Scotland alive, he'd been trying to get Lennox to leave. Even though Lennox was technically the big brother, Arthur's country was the only one that wasn't completely in ruins. And the Queen was still alive, as far as he knew, still here, like him, and he was determined to stay. "If you're going to just sit here and console me, then don't. I've ordered you to leave this place numerous times, but still, you stand here, looking at me like there's still hope left! I won't have it! I won't have the last of my family killed!"

Lennox didn't look in the least bit scared, which managed to tick Arthur off even more. He just kept staring at him with those sympathetic eyes. "You've already given up, then?"

Arthur clenched his fists, seething. "You blasted idiot! Don't you see? We're too far gone to bounce back, not from this. That's why you need to leave."

"And you're stayin', I presume?"

"Yes!" Arthur was shouting now, though he didn't quite know why. "Of course! The only thing for me to do now is stay here. Don't you see, Len? This is my end. Parliament is destroyed, the Palace is overrun, London is in shambles, anyone who was worth anything dead. This is how it was meant to be. This is punishment for me, for that time long ago when I shouldn't have chosen to take the cowardly way out. This time, I will go down with my ship, not abandon it. But you, Lennox," His voice was shaking now as he held the other man by the collar of his shirt. "You need to leave."

Lennox held his gaze, unfazed. "This is just as much my country as it is yours, laddie."

Arthur couldn't believe it. The shock, the anger, the regret… it was starting to get to him. "How dare you!" Arthur released him, shoving him away. Lennox stumbled, but caught himself, looking idly at him. "How dare you act so kindly toward me now? You didn't give a rat's arse about what happened to me a few decades ago. You—!"

There was the sound of wind whipping outside, and Arthur turned to peer out his window at the gray sky, where a helicopter approached and landed just outside. He turned back to Lennox, who had a look of fright on his face the likes of which Arthur had never seen from him before. Was it fear or regret? He couldn't tell.

"You need to leave," Arthur said sternly. "Now."

To his surprise, Lennox walked toward him, head down, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him close. Arthur felt his throat grow scratchy.

Scotland had never hugged him before.

"I will do as ya say," Lennox murmured close to his ear. "But only because I know yer too stubborn to convince otherwise." There was a pause, and Arthur was too shocked for words. Since when had he become more stubborn than Lennox? "I love ya, little brother. Be strong fer me, fer our people."

"I will," Arthur choked out, disturbed at the weakness in his voice.

Without another word or glance, Lennox exited the house, heading for the helicopter. Arthur took a deep breath, willing away tears, and turned around to watch him leave, feeling his heart sink at the sight.

Now he was truly alone.

Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was a slight movement, but he spotted it nonetheless. He and his trained pirate eye. It never failed him.

The figure darted out of the trees surrounding his home and dashed toward the open space where the helicopter had landed. It took Arthur a moment to realize that there were four of them, and they had guns.

"Lennox!" Arthur shouted, fear wrenching his gut and helping him rush out of his door and toward the helicopter. "Lennox! Behind you!"

A shot went off, then two, then three. Arthur stopped counting as he neared his brother, who was now hurrying back in his direction, reaching out for Arthur.

He grabbed his arm. "We have ta get outta here."

Arthur nodded, his pride and bravery dissolving with the sight of the rebels. "I'm right behind you. Now, run!"

Lennox pulled him along, both racing toward the helicopter. Inside, the pilot was motioning anxiously toward them. As they neared, he shouted something—inaudible over the sound of the whirring blades.

"What's that?" Arthur shouted.

"… hurry!"

He dare not look behind him as he nodded and was pushed into the cabin by Lennox. Arthur turned around, reaching to tug his brother in, when a loud shot rang out and blood splattered on his sleeve.

"Lennox!" Arthur shrieked, catching the man in his arms as he fell forward, blood pouring from his neck wound. It must have hit his jugular—the blood was everywhere, hot and sickening, soaking Arthur's sleeve and pant leg. "Lennox! Oh, God!"

"We have to go now!" The pilot swiveled around in his seat, his eyes wandering down to Lennox's limp form. "Is he dead?"

"Lord, I-I don't know…"

"We don't have any more time to waste." The pilot gestured to the rebels who were just a few yards away and closing, guns reloaded and ready.

Arthur's voice rose in panic. "We… we can't just leave him here!"

The pilot shook his head, pity glazing his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's no room for a body where we're going."

"Body…?" Arthur's mouth went dry as he muttered the word and ran a hand through Lennox's red hair. "I'm sorry, Lennox. Please, forgive me. I couldn't protect you either…" He blinked back tears. "Dammit!"

"Lifting off!" the pilot warned, and Arthur bit his lip, willing his frozen fingers to wrench themselves free of Lennox's blood-stained clothing. He let out a whimper as he allowed his brother to drop listlessly to the ground.

"Go, for God's sake. Get out of here!" Arthur couldn't bear seeing Lennox in such a state, and he forced himself to look down at his lap as they took off. So, he was abandoning ship again. How fucking typical. But he had to live—Lennox and his other brothers would have wanted that at least.

A sickening feeling rose in his throat, and he felt like he would vomit, but willed away the feeling. He couldn't be weak. Not now.

He'd promised Lennox too much.

"Where are we off to, lad?" Arthur finally found his voice, though it was still trembling.

"The U.S." was the response, and Arthur felt his heart lurch. "It's the only place that responded to my call and still has fuel."

He leaned his head against the window and heaved a sigh. "God, please, just let America be okay… I don't think I could take it, black pirate heart or no."

France

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

"You have to do this!"

"I will not!"

"For the sake of our country—"

"For that very reason, I will not abandon you."

The older man bowed his head in exasperation. "Francis, don't do this to me, please."

Francis folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "You are just as important as me. Why should I go while you stay?"

"Because I am one man. You are an entire nation. If you're killed, France is wiped off the globe. If I perish, you will still exist, that is, if you leave now."

Francis looked defiantly at him. "You are just as important as me." he repeated, holding his gaze steadily. "Without your guidance, this country may never be at peace again. So, tell me, what if I am to leave today, like you want me to and you die? How will I ever be able to return safely if you are no longer alive to control the nation?"

His boss pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed gruffly. "That isn't the point, Francis. The point is that you'll still be alive. And it's better having you not here and alive than having you here and dead."

Francis growled, "I will not abandon my people in a time of crisis! That is the last thing they need in such times: less guidance."

His boss gave him a cold stare. "Remember what happened to Monaco and Luxembourg?"

Francis's breath caught in his throat and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "No, I try not to."

"Please, do. They stayed behind to help their countries, and look where that's gotten them. Ten feet under!"

"Please, don't say anymore." Francis felt guilt well in his gut. "Please,"

"Remember, France—you couldn't save them, and why? Because they stayed put. They were like large, red bull's eyes!"

"Stop it."

"I won't stop it, France." his boss replied venomously. "Not unless you agree to my terms."

"I told you already, I will not."

"Have it your way, then." His boss pushed back his mussed gray hair and turned his back to him, peering out the window in the long conference room. "Now, where did they find him, Luxembourg, I mean? Oh, yes, tied to a stake, burned alive."

"No," Francis covered his ears. "I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, you'll hear it, all right." his boss snapped, turning around and slamming his hands on the end of the table. "And Monaco, hm? How did you feel when she was found, violently raped, her body hacked to pieces?"

"No!"

"Yes, France, and it's all because of their ignorance. If they were smart, they would have left long before. But now all they are is another corpse in the street…"

"ENOUGH!"

His boss looked at him quizzically as Francis stood, crumpled-looking, panting, pale, and grief stricken.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Francis?" His boss's voice had returned to its normal tone. "Why do you sit back and suffer at the expense of your people?"

"Because I am my people!"

"You'd prefer them all condemned, then, to a life without a country?"

Francis flashed him a menacing look. "I'd do anything for them."

"Then the biggest sacrifice you have to make is to let go. Leave,"

Francis was about to respond, when a corpsman ran through the doors and saluted. Both men saluted him in return and he shakily went on, "Sirs, the jet is ready to depart."

His boss gave Francis a stern look. "Do this for France."

Francis found himself nodding, though not really wanting to. "Yes, for France."

His boss smiled, and he smiled too, the main reason being because he hadn't seen anyone smile in a long time.

"Go, then. And be safe."

Francis nodded, feeling guilt claw at his insides as he was led out by the corpsman and onto the dusty stretch of land that had long been demolished by angry citizens. His heart sank at the sight. As he was boarding the private jet, his boss came running out to see him away, shouting, "Vive la France!"

Francis cracked a smile and waved, "Of course, my friend, of course!"

With that, the doors were sealed shut, the pilot guiding them down the makeshift runway and into the air.

"Where are we off to?" he asked after a while of pondering.

"America," the pilot responded, not bothering to elaborate.

Francis sighed as he peered out his window. He could not bear to look down on the destruction wreaked upon his beautiful cities and towns for more than a few agonizing minutes, though. He leaned back in his seat and muttered, "What has this world come to?"

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Nations are dropping like flies. And that thing about England 'abandoning ship' will be mentioned later on in the fic, so pay attention! And are you seeing the pattern here? America is the destination. Ignore how coincidental them all going there is!

The stanzas are from "The Second Coming" The whole poem will be mentioned within these first few chapters. Now hopefully I won't have to mention it at the end of each chapter, yay!