Will Not, Cannot

It was hard staying, because England wanted to hit him. Once, hard, screaming. Like he usually did. Well, maybe 'once' never described it. But hard and screaming described a lot of things between them.

England did not have the strength for hard. France did not have the strength to take it.

As for screaming...

When France opened his eyes, he simply shut them again.

"Are you leaving now?" France asked dryly. England grabbed France's medicine and held it out until France finally opened his eyes again to look over. He continued to hold it out until France got the message. The message was that France was going to take this or England was going to spill it on him. He had no qualms with either.

Actually, having to clean up afterward would be a nightmare, but a nightmare worth bothering France for.

France took it and tossed it down as if it tasted horrible. Which England had made certain it did not. Considering how much of it France had to drink, even if England could care less about his taste buds, he had made certain it at least was sweet enough to bear. Easier than swallowing pill after pill, he reckoned.

"Would it kill you to not kill me with your medicine?"

England glared at him. France was never grateful. He had no idea why he was bothering. Well, there were a few reasons. But surely not important enough to have to take these insults!

"Attend... England, don't leave..."

England stopped wheeling backwards to look back over toward France. He was actually looking concerned. Not like it should account for much, England knew very well the expertise the Frenchman had in acting, but considering his current condition...

Why was he making up excuses for himself? It was not as if anyone else was going to hear them.

"It is so quiet in here."

He had been in here for months, if only awake for two of them. If one could even consider how often France was awake to be two months. All of his days were spent sleeping. But...

The world has been quieter, Francis.

"Couldn't we talk?"

He grabbed the soup which he had just brought back, reheated and handed it over. France sat up, taking it and staring down at it with a similar look as he had displayed when drinking the medicine.

"Ah... my tongue will be wonderfully dead by the time I can stand," France said playfully. At least, England assumed he was saying it in such a manner. As if sticking the word 'wonderfully' in there was supposed to veil the insult.

Llyr was laughing from where she was perched on his shoulder. With irritation, England flicked at her, but missed as she flitted away.

"What I meant by talking was conversation," France continued, as softly as ever. "Which would require some help on your behalf."

England opened his mouth.

And shut it.

"Arthur, please don't go..."

England managed to close the door behind him.

"Ai see. Ye come ta meetin's, bu' ye cannae find it in yer 'eart ta see yer brothers."

Ireland turned around to look at him. Scotland must have already been on a roll, because he had seemed to have already pissed Ireland off. It usually took a bit of banter between them at first (or someone asking which one of them invented the bagpipes... America would usually say that to set them off, the blighter) before they would get annoyed and start tearing into each other's throats.

"What's wrong wit' Arthur?" Ireland ignored him to ask his own question. Scotland seethed. "'e won't say anythin' ta me!"

"Join the crowd!" Scotland exclaimed. "Wha' makes ye think yer mo' special than the rest o' us?"

"Special?" Ireland repeated, along with that obnoxious laugh. Always loud and long. Ireland used the same description on him, but Scotland knew it was because he could not think of a better comeback. "And what 'bout ye? Standin' there – stoic. Doesn't suit ye."

"Did ye miss this las' year?" Scotland roared. Ireland threw a punch at him and Scotland retaliated. All he was aware of was the flurry of their fists and legs until someone lifted them both of by the back of their jackets.

"M'tin's st'rtin'," Sweden said firmly, setting them both back on their feet. Scotland rubbed at his jaw, but was happy to see that Ireland's left eye was swelling shut.

"Thanks," they both said at the same time. Scotland glared at him. Ireland glared back.

"Su-san! We're starting!" Finland called from the meeting room. Sweden seemed about to say one more thing to the both of them, but then he started coughing. The hacking cough continued as he returned back inside and to his chair.

"Yer still two bubbles off the centr'," Scotland retorted. Ireland opened his mouth to retort when England wheeled past the two of them.

They both followed after.

Scotland had brought him a radio. France came to the conclusion he would be eternally grateful to the man, whether he tried to feed him intestines or not. It passed the time. It helped him know what time it was – or at least the day. Day by day would pass and though France could rise to his feet it hurt too much. Though he had managed to go and get another pill bottle, this time completely full.

The less he had to drink British medicine the better off he would be.

The radio turned out to be as much of a curse as it was a blessing. France turned it to the news stations to learn of current world events.

Japan came out the best from the war. Almost surprising, until France remembered that no battle took place on Japanese soil. Not that America had not tried.

The Nordic countries were suffering from extremely cold weather this time of year, not helping the fact each of their economies seemed to have all plummeted very close to depression, though it seemed Sweden had hit that point, which meant Finland, Denmark, and Norway were going to follow after. And once Norway did, Iceland would follow.

China's government had stabilized, but Korea was still practically nonexistent. France felt slightly better about that, because one more cry of bomb from either of the Koreans (wait, there was only one left...) was likely to make him want to attack them. Had America forced China to kill Korea? The thought was chilling. He knew China was easily capable. The fact China had not actually done it before was the scary part.

Italy seemed to be in chaos, especially the south. Although Spain was assisting, the damage from the bombs had caused too much dissent and fear amongst the Italians. What all could be done to help when the people one was trying to help were not accepting?

Hungary's government and people seemed to be doing well, though it took a while before France heard the reason why. Austria, of course.

He wondered if they had married again. But none of this told him how the Nations were doing, it simply gave him an idea of how they might be. And right now he cared more about the former. Their personal condition affected him more than this.

Lichtenstein still existed. Well, that told him something. Germany had taken her and not Switzerland? If France had not known better, he would have thought Germany wanted to be defeated. No, slaughtered. No one could even look at the girl without being told off.

Then he found out why Canada had been avoiding speaking of Lithuania. Lithuania, whose forces were wiped out in defending Poland's land from Germany's take over. He had seen Poland during the war, but had no idea what had happened to him. France tried to remember the last time Lithuania's population was so low, but could not quite recall.

His morbid curiousity could not hold him through. He wanted to know, but this simply made him more curious about what was really happening. To them. And that made him not want to know anymore.

He nearly turned it off when he heard the one word he had been waiting for.

America.

A knock on the door caused him nearly to jump as he lowered the volume. No one in this house knocked. Had Matthew returned?

"You look like shit."

"Gilbert," Francis laughed lowly as the other came in. "I hear you are your own country once more."

Gilbert scoffed, walking over and moving the desk chair over next to the bed, sitting in it at his usual angle which always had Francis wonder if he was going to fall out. "You say 'once more' like you're surprised or someding."

"Jamais!" Francis feigned his surprise. Gilbert seemed about to hit him, but stopped his hand before he did so. Which was just ample notice that Gilbert was being nice. He must look worse than shit.

"Antonio made me dink you had checket out," Gilbert grumbled. "'He's not here anymore.'"

"What?"

"He vas taking care of you, 'til England came to de conclusion he vasn't doing a good enough job," Gilbert informed him. "To be fair dough, Spain has both Italies in his house. Taking care of all three of you vas taking a toll on him."

"Actually, I'm surprised," Francis commented. "That sounds reasonable of him. And we both know how good he is with reason."

Gilbert did not smile as Francis expected. "Gife him a good enough reason, he von't miss it."

Francis thought about everything he had been hearing over the past few days, trying to remember it all through the haze of the painkillers. It was so hard to find the balance. Enough to not feel pain, not too much so as to cloud the nothing going around him.

He reached over and turned off the radio. "What's been happening, Gilbert? No one has told me how everyone really is, just about the people. And that only tells so much."

Gilbert smirked. "Vell, vell... I see someone finally vants to just hear my awesome voice."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Yes. Yes, that is exactly my reasoning."

"Let me dink..." Gilbert sighed, leaning forward and draping his arms on the top of the bed, resting his chin on them as he looked back toward him. "Antonio. He's been taking care of Veneziano ant Romano. Veneziano spents all his time cleaning de house."

"And Romano?" Francis remembered very well what had happened to him. He had the news almost as soon as he had heard that Austria had apparently joined a suddenly territorial-driven Germany. South Italy had protested against any treaties with Germany and Germany had quietened them. He had seen Romano.

He would not blame the boy if he never tried to back up his words again. The sight had been horrifying. He could understand the incredulous thoughts of anyone who had not seen him. France had gone to war for South Italy. But they had not seen him.

"Still not doing anyding," Gilbert responded. "Up ant talking, but dat's practically de only change. Elizaveta ant Roderich are fine. Recovered – you almost voultn't know dat dere had been anyding vrong vith dem."

Hungary had been unconscious since the war began, subdued almost immediately. Francis remembered that. England had spent so much time checking on her for Austria, who would do anything Germany asked of him for fear of her life.

"Luxembourg vas viped out, you might remember." Francis nodded. "Same ding nearly happenet to Lichtenstein, she vas pretty beat up. Stronger dan I dought she't be. Should hafe known – living vith Switzerland made sure she't be tough. Lost an eye. Still manages to look absolutely adorable."

Francis could not imagine it. Lichtenstein managed to stay so clean of everything else, Switzerland dealing with everything for her. To mar the girl must have been the epitome of sin.

"Switzerland spents half de time dinking someone vill try to take over again. Can't talk to him vithout being accused of someding. More dan usual."

"What about Belgium?" Francis questioned. He remembered how Netherlands had given into Germany very quickly – smart considering the proximity and the fact Germany would have absolutely crushed him. Belgium had not, however. Germany had not attacked her first though, but France had been expecting it.

"Shortly before you vere taken out, America... 'convinced' her to stop protesting." Gilbert said America as if it were the dirtiest word he could think of. And Gilbert never balked at dirty words, but it was as if this one was simply beyond him. "She's fine now. Physically, anyvay. Her sister is dead. Vhat do you dink?"

That hit too close to home. Oh Monaco... Monaco... mon chérie...

Francis could not say anything for a moment. Germany had done this. Ludwig had done this. Gilbert knew this. Thinking about it all, Francis figured he should simply be surprised that Gilbert could talk about it at all. Germany was dead, after all of this. Always to be remembered as destruction in the day an age where such a thing would be mentally considered hand in hand with going to Hell.

"I... the radio." He paused to look over at it. "And... Scotland said it was because of terrorists. It was all because of terrorists."

Gilbert's face softened slightly. "Alfred couldn't do anyding. Deir first hit killed his President. Dey had complete control of eferyding in no time. I vas vith Russia... ve liberated Canada. Canada told us how he had been attacked ant restrained... rader dan taken ofer. It gave him de chance to fight back. I... dink dat Alfred gave us all de chances he could. All except vhat'd be annihilation to his people."

"What did they even want?"

Gilbert said nothing. Francis felt like screaming. He sighed instead.

"Mind making me lunch? I might die if I have to eat another meal made by Scotland or England."

"Ja, vhy not?" Gilbert shrugged.

It must have been the first time he had seen France in forever in which the man had not hit on him. The two would joke about it, make fun of each other. That sort of thing would be normal. Now, with Francis confined in bed – at England's house – it all seemed gone.

Because of war. Because of Germany.

And he knew he should blame him. Just as he should blame himself. He knew there were a lot of reasons and for each of them he deserved to be pissed off.

One being this wall, which still somehow existed.

Then he saw him.

"Schwarz, schwarz, schwarz sind alle meine Kleider," he sang, watching as Ludwig instantly turned in his direction and ran toward him. Ran toward him. For him. He could almost forget that Francis was stuck in bed. "Schwarz, schwarz, schwarz ist alles, was ich hab. Darum lieb ich alles, was so schwarz ist..."

Almost.

It was not Ludwig's fault.

"Weil mein Schatz ein Schornsteinfeger ist," Ludwig finished the verse with him. They met halfway.

Gilbert grinned.

"Come to see me?"

"Can I plead for takeout?" France questioned. The glare England gave him said 'no' and the way he wheeled over after that told him quite plainly 'I'll dump this on you instead'. For whatever reason that England was not talking to him, he had to be extremely grateful for the fact he could read some of the other's body language by this point. Specifically his angry body language.

Though he had always preferred reading the seductive kind. Actually, that accounted to almost all of the Nations.

Still, if France managed to get England angry enough, the other would have no choice but to respond. He would be unable to help himself. France had seen it time and time again. This was not the first time England had tried using the silent treatment on him. Though it was the first time France had no idea what could have instigated it. He usually had a guess, no matter how strange it was.

It was England. England was strange. Therefore, the stranger it was, the more it was likely to be the truth.

"Ah! Lumpy... whatever this is." He covered a cough as he sat up. Taking it, he accidentally spilled some of whatever it was on one of his pillows. England scowled at him again, but not for very long before simply pulling it out from behind him. France winced. England looked away.

That was as close to an apology as he seemed to be able to get, so France simply readjusted himself and pretended to eat, paying more attention to his companion.

"How is everything? You probably sleep more at night, knowing I am incapable of joining you~"

The full effect of it was lost because it was still a whisper. France strained to speak louder, but could not. And if he spoke for too long, like he did with Prussia, then his jaw began to ache. Taking more pills did not always remedy this.

England quietly steamed at this.

"You're adorable when smoke pours out your ears. Too bad your eyebrows detract from the sight."

England opened his mouth to retort. And shut it. France suddenly recognized the movement. Which was when it hit him.

England was not choosing to stay silent. Arthur could not speak.

"I'm so sorry."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because England threw the pillow at him. But it was so reminiscent of when everything was all right, all Francis could do was laugh.

And England, after a valiant attempt at staying mad, smiled.

"Attend" = "Wait."

"Jamais" = "Never."

'Two bubbles off the centre' is a Scottish insult. One of my favourites, actually.

I am not using the same accent for Ireland as I am for Scotland. There are similarities, but I know the differences. And before any Scottish or Irish people get upset, I have a Scottish heritage and I can accept the fact there are plenty of similarities, just as there are plenty of differences between us. And I also happen to know both Scottish and Irish can have intense rivalries. I know people like this. I will try and write it well.

The invention of the bagpipe is truthfully not known to be Irish or Scottish. I always thought it was Scottish, myself, but that was because I was raised to be proud of my Scottish heritage. Still, I can accept that maybe the Irish actually invented them. It is just something we will never know.

And I know saying Su-'san' is very Japanese. I have been taking it for granted. Hopefully people do not mind that I keep the nickname in, as used to it as we have all become.

Yes, I only covered a little bit of the countries and only really in Europe. That is because that was what Gilbert found the most important.