BOOM!

Arthur bolted upright in his bed wide-eyed and gasping for air as he started awake, looking to his window just in time to see a bright flash.

BOOM!

He didn't waste another second. He threw back the covers, got up, and crawled under his bed, protecting his own head and neck with his arms.

It was no mistake, he was being bombed. But, he didn't know by who. Terrorists? No, terrorists took out coffee shops and gas stations, this sounded like what a German plane would drop in WWII… But it did sound different from that. Come to think of it, it sounded… Normal? Almost like he shouldn't be panicking. Something was off. Actually, something was missing.

Pain.

If he was being bombed, he would be in pain. In fact, he was in London, so he would also be coughing up blood and withering on the floor, half-dead in pain. But, if he wasn't being bombed, then what was happening?

Then he heard rain pelting his roof. Slowly, and cautiously, he crawled out from under his bed and walked over to his window as his entire body quivered in fear and panic. He pulled back his curtain to see the rain stream down his window, and a streak of lightning shoot across the sky, followed by another loud crack that made his body jump involuntarily. Arthur put the curtain back in its place and turned around as he wrapped his arms around his sides, as if to give himself some comfort.

"It's just a storm, Arthur," He said to himself, "Just lay back down and go to sleep. It's just a storm."

Arthur laid back down in bed and took a quivering sigh in an attempt to calm himself. Unfortunately, it didn't work. He still flinched at every crack of thunder, and he couldn't stop himself from shaking. He knew he wasn't being bombed, but flashbacks of past bombings came to him. So far into the past, that he swore he heard cannon fire and muskets instead of thunder. It didn't end there either. He could feel the cold of the French winter in the Hundred Years' War, see America's usually merciful expression full of anger in his revolution, and smell the blood in the trenches of WWI.

"It's all in the past…" Arthur whispered, trying not to cry, "Go to sleep, it's just a storm… It's just a storm… It's just a storm… It's just a storm…"

"What's the matter, Arthur?"

Arthur sat upright again, his heart pounding faster than it already was. If front of him, he saw Flying Mint Bunny, one of his life-long friends. The feathered rabbit floated down into his lap with a worried expression. Arthur ran his fingers through her soft fur, which did offer some comfort. "I'm okay, Minty," He lied, "The past is just haunting me."

The bunny looked thoughtful as she hummed in thought, "Why don't you concentrate on the rain? You always say that the 'pitter-patter' of rain calms you."

Arthur took in a sharp breath to keep himself from crying, "It's not that simple."

The rabbit was silent for a moment, "How about you go watch some tellie? To distract yourself."

Arthur said nothing as he shook his head and laid back down. Due to the long life-span, and many other qualities that they shared, Arthur always associated himself with magical creatures rather than humans, but sometimes, not even his magical friends understood him, and that made him feel even more lonely than he already was. No one else in all of England was like him. No one else could remember everyday in history since the country of England was created. Every country could understand. But, every country hated him, so it didn't matter. He was alone. Always was, always will be.

Then, unexpectedly, the doorbell rang.

Arthur looked to his furry friend, "You heard that too, right?"

The rabbit nodded as she floated off the bed and started towards the door with Arthur close behind her. Arthur carefully descended the stairs with shaking legs and slowly walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole. On the other side, was France.

"It's France." Arthur notified his friend.

Flying Mint Bunny replied in a confused tone, "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," Arthur said as he turned, "But, could we have some privacy?"

The bunny nodded again, "Yes. I'll send Pixie to check on you in the morning."

"Thank you."

With that, the rabbit disappeared and Arthur turned back to the door, taking a deep breath to gather his nerves the best he could before opening it. France looked at the ground and didn't seem to notice that Arthur had opened the door. He was in nothing but a t-shirt, a pair of sweats, and slip-on sneakers and he was soaking wet from the rain that poured on him.

"Hello, France." Arthur finally said after a long silence, prompting the Frenchman to speak.

France finally looked up and met Arthur in the eyes, "I don't know why I'm here."

Arthur narrowed his eyebrows at him, "Are you drunk?"

"I needed to get away," France said with a far off look, "And I sort of ended up here."

Arthur glanced away, trying to think of a way to respond, "That doesn't answer my question." France didn't answer, he just kept staring off, as if his mind was somewhere else. Arthur tried to get his attention, "France?" Nothing. Arthur raised his voice, "Francis!"

Francis' eyes snapped back to Arthur's, "I don't know why I'm here."

Arthur nodded awkwardly, "I know, you already said that."

"Sorry." Francis said, expressionlessly.

"Are you drunk?" Arthur questioned again.

Francis shook his head, "Non, I'm not drunk."

"Do you know where you are?"

Francis thought for a moment, "...Non."

More anxiety built on the panic that was already in Arthur's chest. He really didn't need this. He rested his head on the door frame and took a few breaths to keep from going into a panic attack. After a moment, he looked back to the Frenchman, "Do you know who I am?"

Francis paused just long enough to make Arthur fear the worst, "You're England."

Arthur nodded, "So, where do you think you are?"

"The UK?"

Another crack of thunder, but Arthur pretended that it didn't effect him, "Yes, Francis. Now, can tell me why you're here?"

Francis began to repeat himself again, "I needed to get away-"

Arthur interrupted, "Get away from what?"

Whatever trance Francis was in, it seemed to be dissipating. His emotionless expression turned pensive, "The memories."

"Why did you come here of all places?" Arthur said in frustration, "Whatever memory is haunting you, there's a good ninety percent chance that it's a war against me!"

Francis shook his head and shrugged as more life came to his eyes, "I don't know-I… I don't know." He was silent for a long moment, but Arthur gave him the chance to continue, "I… I would bother Germany, but he so young, he wouldn't understand. Italy is always so happy, I hate to bring him down, and I hate worrying Spain and Prussia… I didn't know where to go, but I couldn't be alone…"

Francis was soaked to the bone and now on the verge of crying, and it broke Arthur's heart. This was the man he loved, and he was alone and lost, but Arthur didn't know what to do. His first impulse would be to try to lighten the mood with some teasing, but now didn't wasn't the time for that.

"Can I stay here until morning?" Francis asked, looking a bit embarrassed.

Arthur went to answer, but there was another flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder, and this time, Arthur couldn't stop his body from flinching.

Francis gave him a look of confusion, "If this is a bad time-"

Arthur didn't let Francis finish, "I'm fine," He said quickly, "Come in."

Arthur stepped out of the way as Francis came in, closing and locking the door as he did. Once in, Francis looked down at himself with an awkward smile, "You wouldn't have a towel that I can borrow would you?"

"Yes, wait here." Arthur ordered, turning away.

"And some clothes?" Francis added.

Arthur didn't respond as he walked into the other room and ascended the stairs. Once out of view, Arthur tried to get as much panic out of his system as possible, letting his body shake in fear, and even allowing a few whines out. He went into his hall closet and grabbed a towel and a lightweight suitcase that was already full. When he got back down the stairs, he leaned against the wall and took a few slow, deep breaths the regain his composure as much as he could, wondering why in the world Francis had to stop by on a night like tonight.

"Just get him into some dry clothes and send him to bed," Arthur mumbled to himself, "Then you don't have to pretend like you have mental strength."

Oh, god, what about tomorrow morning? There's no way I can keep this up for that long.

Arthur decided not to think about it. He just took another deep breath and walked into the other room with the towel and suitcase in hand.

Francis gave a puzzled look as he eyed the suitcase, "Kicking me out already?"

Arthur handed the items over, hoping to god that Francis wouldn't notice his hands shaking, "You left this at the hotel last week when everyone was here for a World Conference."

"That's convenient." Francis shrugged as he dried his hair.

"Don't walk on the carpet until you're dry," Arthur ordered, "I'll let you get changed."

"Yes, mum." Francis said with a smile. As usual, he was trying to lighten the mood with teasing, and it worked, even if Arthur forced himself to scowl.

The small relief from the teasing didn't last long. By the time Arthur had sat down at his kitchen table, he was so depressed that he just laid his head down on the cold wood and closed his eyes, his body still quivering.

"Are you alright?"

Arthur took a deep breath as he sat up in his chair, forcing his body to calm, and covering himself up with an irritated expression, "Well, you did wake me up at two o'clock in the morning."

Francis' look of concern changed to guilt, "I'm sorry, I-... I'm sorry."

Remembering how lost Francis was, Arthur spoke apologetically, "It's alright, I'm just tired. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Francis didn't respond and started to get that far-off look again, his usually bright eyes dulled with pain and regret. Arthur suddenly noticed how tired he looked… How old he looked… Francis was only physically twenty-six, but the look in his eyes showed the centuries he had lived. Arthur had seen it a few times in other countries, even in past colonies. It was always a weird and scary realization. To see the optimism in America drain completely, and Canada's gentle voice sound hopeless… Arthur knew he got like that sometimes, but he was good at hiding it. The only person in the world he couldn't fool was Scotland. His oldest brother always seemed to know when his pride was fake. The Scot would grow sympathetic, even in the heat of an argument. Of course, all that false pride was due to all the countless wars and battles he had fought, and…

Arthur couldn't let his mind wander like that. He had to keep his composure somehow. With a sigh, he stood from his chair, which seemed to break Francis from his trance, "Well, how about you go get some rest? You must be tired from your trip."

Francis nodded, "Oui, I'll just sleep on the couch." Although it was a statement, it sounded like a question.

Feeling guilty, Arthur shook his head, "Take my bed, you've had a rough night."

"Oh, I can't-"

Arthur cut him off, "Just take my bed."

Francis looked at him, as if debating whether or not he should argue, before sighing in defeat, "Last door on the right?"

Arthur started towards his living room, "Yes, goodnight."

The Frog smiled gently, "Bonne nuit."

Arthur grabbed his handmade quilt and laid on the couch. His composure was dropped, and he couldn't stop his fearful shaking. He tried desperately to sleep, but the thunder and lightning was worse than before, or at least it felt like it. It was only moments until memories came rushing at him. He could almost feel himself rock as his ship tried to scale a huge wave in the middle of the Atlantic. He could remember flying through the air and falling into the cold ocean… He never learned how to swim, and what a cold, lonely death drowning is… It couldn't have been worse than what he did to Spain in their pirating years. Death is never a pleasant experience, and the Spaniard begged of his life when Arthur held his blade to his neck. He still slit the fellow nation's throat, and liked the taste of his blood on his lips…

All the regret over the centuries. There wasn't a way out of it. All his future was going to be filled with new mistakes, he learned that lesson in WWII. Even when he thought he was mature, he still let the hate and vengeance take over him, and he put a bullet in Germany's head.

Arthur didn't understand. America and Canada, his prodigal past colonies. So strong and fierce, hell, they're unbeatable when they work together. But, even with all that power, the twins are so merciful, so forgiving. Arthur didn't know where his Sweet Boys learned it from, because it certainly wasn't from him.

He was a monster.

Arthur choked back on a sob when that thought crossed his mind. The tears finally started falling as he curled his legs up to his chest, keeping his crying soft. It got worse from there. He realized, yet again, that everyone hate him, and will eventually, leave him. God knows that Scotland has threatened his independence. He'll leave. Along with everyone else… How cold and lonely his life is…

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jump in surprise. It was Francis, who wore a sad, understanding expression. Arthur propped himself up on his arm, wiping tears away as he tried to find a way to cover himself, "Oh, uh… Thank you for waking me, I was in the middle of a nightmare."

Francis gave a sad smile, "You're not okay, are you?"

The little bit of composure that Arthur had built in the last few seconds shattered into a million pieces, and he began to cry harder than he had in a long time. Silently, Francis sat in the opposite corner of the couch, reached over, and guided Arthur to him. Arthur laid on Francis' chest and cried into his shirt as he felt Francis' wrap one arm around him, and begin to run his fingers through his messy hair.

Francis began to hum, and Arthur couldn't remember where he heard the tune. It was only minutes later when he realized that it was the same song that Francis used to hum during their time under Rome. When their lives were simpler.

The humming actually calmed him, and his sobs became soft crying. That was until Francis' voice began to break and Arthur felt tears soak into his hair. His heart broke. He had seen Francis cry out of panic before, but there were only three times he had seen the Frenchman cry in sadness: Jeanne's burning, giving up Canada as a colony, and when Arthur said the words 'I hate you' in true honesty.

"I'm sorry! Oh, god, I'm sorry!" At first, Arthur was unsure if he was apologizing out of sympathy or guilt before concluding that it was both.

"It's okay," Francis choked out, "I'm sorry too."

"I love you, Francis!"

Arthur felt a kiss on the top of his head, "Je t'aime aussi, mon cher Arthur." Francis broke down after that, which made Arthur cry harder.

Arthur cried until his stomach hurt, and eventually, cried himself to sleep.