Sorry for the delays... to summarize why I give you two words. Real life. Not sure how updates will look towards this summer, and I have finally fought my way through unemployment, so perhaps updates will be slower. But, hopefully, this can also motivate me to work faster.

NEWS: On a happier note, on my tumblr: sunshineauthornotes, I have posted a series of bonuses for the course of this story. By each goal, I will bring you all a gift as to show my appreciation, so please go check. If you guys keep clicking into this story I will share some interesting little things, because I love you all! As it stands this story has a little over 1700 hits, so we are quite close to passing 2000 views. Holy crap, you are all amazing.

Chapter 11

Love is Hurt

Arthur did not leave Madame Ruiz's until his shift was over. He slowly walked back to his home. Of course his home had to be next to Francis. Francis, who most likely hated him by now. It had to be the longest walk he had ever taken in his life and with each stride that he took, he wished it would lead him to some kind of idea what to do, but none came.

Thus he was surprised to soon find himself outside Francis' door. For the first time in his life he felt nervous as he stood there. He wasn't sure what to do or what to say. He raised his hand as to knock, but stopped halfway. Should he knock? Should he ring the bell?

But he had to try to do something. He had to mend whatever had broken of their relation that day. Arthur raised his hand once more and finally his fist connected to the wood with a loud knock. It followed by another knock, and then an even louder knock. As seconds passed the knocks rapidly turned to a serious of bangs on the hard surface.

"Francis, please, open up!" he shouted. He didn't know even why he shouted, but the tears from earlier had resurfaced. His efforts were but to be met by silence, as the door remained shut. Francis didn't respond, he didn't even see as much as a clue that any life existed behind that door.

His frantic knocks and bangs soon started to fade. It became clear that Francis did not want to speak. He had no interest in seeing Arthur after all. If scores could tally, he had lost this fight. He was certain, before he blacked out, that he could hear Antonio say something from deep inside. He felt as if was falling, and that there was an empty void down deep there to forever drown him within its darkness.

Deeper, deeper, forever deeper he'd fall. He didn't even notice the door finally open, nor the hands that would carry him inside.

-000-

He couldn't remember what happened. He was in a familiar room on a soft couch, with a blanket drawn up to his chin. His head hurt, his vision felt almost clouded and everything kept spinning. It took a while for him to focus. As his vision and exhausted mind cleared little by little the fears and dreads crashed down upon him. He started to feel sick and feared to turn his head, because he could hear movement beside him.

"Hello Arthur."

Slowly he turned his head. Francis sat on a chair next to the sofa and in all fairness he seemed to mirror the pain that Arthur felt. His hair hung in an unusual unkempt way, for being Francis. His eyes were red and bloodshot from tears, he had been crying as well. His lips were drawn in a thin line, as if he was trying not to say the words he dearly wished he could say. But that wouldn't have been like him. Francis was always the one who knew what to say.

But now he didn't say anything.

For minutes they existed there in complete silence. You'd literally be able to hear a pin hit the floor. Finally Arthur spoke in the most neutral tone he could muster.

"Where is Antonio?"

Francis took a deep inhale.

"Upstairs. I tended to him before I came down here."

Arthur blinked.

"Will he be okay?"

Francis nodded.

"He'll live. He's going to have to find a way to cover some of those bruises, but he will heal."

Arthur felt yet once more as if something big and heavy had gathered at his throat that threatened to spill over, but he wouldn't let it. "I'm sorry." he tried to say, but the words only came out as in a whisper.

Francis leaned forward to give him a glass of water he had set on the table for him. Arthur took it without a sound. He didn't say anything, he didn't even find the strength in him to look Francis in the eyes anymore. He felt so ashamed of himself. He had never before lashed out on anyone, with the rare exception of his brothers, but that was kind of allowed.

He raised the glass to his lips, but the guilt was still caught in his throat. He couldn't swallow, he felt choked and unable to fight back. Defeated he lowered the glass and stared at the smooth surface of the water.

From his vision he could see Francis lean forward to take his hand. A sudden warmth embraced him by that small touch. But when he finally looked up he only saw hurt and confusion within those blue eyes and the pain returned tenfold.

"Arthur." Francis said, and he looked close to tears himself. "Why did you do it?"

Arthur wished he could have run out of the room like a scared rabbit, but he felt trapped beneath Francis' gaze. Instead he fiddled with his glass, nearly spilling the content on his lap.

"I..." he started, but words wouldn't form. What should he say? Should he spell out the truth? It might finally get him somewhere, but would Francis believe him? He wasn't so sure. But he had to try, right?"

"I... I saw Antonio talk to someone." he finally said in a low voice. Francis leaned back, his face void from any readable expression. Arthur figured he was trying to understand what he had just been told.

"Go on." Francis said after a minute of thinking.

"It was during my shift at the café. I was surprised to see Antonio there, you weren't anywhere to be seen. He talked to someone, I think it might have been that guy, you know, Lovino; the one with the huge temperament. Nonetheless he seemed to set a date. He kept saying things in Spanish that I didn't understand, but he did mention..."

It was now or never...

"He mentioned that he loved Lovino. Francis, I think he's cheating on you."

He felt better for saying it, but Francis didn't utter a sound. Instead, the French teenager put his hand over his eyes and sat like that for at least a minute. Then, to his astonishment, he saw tears behind those slender fingers.

Francis sighed.

"Arthur... is this why you chased him and beat him up?"

Yet once more his throat swelled to the point that no sounds could be made.

"You shouldn't have." Francis said, lowered his hands. Arthur saw the faint traces of wetness from where Francis had cried. "I hoped... I hoped it was for something else. I hoped, I hoped you'd mistaken him for someone, or maybe you had been threatened, but why? Why did you decide to erect justice by yourself?"

Still nothing could be said.

"I think you should know, for future days, that those two have known each other almost as long as we've known each other. We all love our friends, ever since they reunited they've been a bit of everywhere together. It's even made me jealous at times. But it's no excuse Arthur, it's no excuse for what you did."

"I didn't." Arthur finally managed to say, but by now tears welled up and he lost vision. He had never meant to go this far and it scared him.

"I know you didn't, but... me and Antonio will return to Paris in a three days. I think, it's best if you stay out of our way. We can talk some other time, but for now. I think. I think we need a break."

It was as if they had broken apart, and Arthur knew he could very well lose him.

-000-

It was the first time in years that Arthur had revisited that old part of himself. But that night, when the entire Kirkland house had gone to bed, he sat with his old, now tattered, mint bunny plush and talked. Tears streamed down his eyes and he couldn't get them to stop. At first, he cried for his stupidity, but that hadn't lasted very long. There are just so many ways to mentally hurt yourself before that becomes too exhausting. Next he had cried from fear. He was scared of his own actions and how his rage had taken over so suddenly. But mostly, he was now scared for losing Francis. He had tried to text. He had tried to send all the apologies he could muster. But Francis hadn't answered a single one, and it felt horrible.

He dreamt that night that he stood on white cliffs by Francis, who was slowly walking away. As Arthur watches Francis turns, smiles, and then continues walking. He never turns back.

-000-

Arthur barely saw Francis for the rest of the duration of his stay. Neither did they talk. The very few times he would glimpse upon the French teen would be peeks from his window or at times during his shift at the café. Francis would often bring Antonio to the village, where they'd drink some coffee and enjoy the promise of a better day. Antonio wore bandages to cover the wounds on his head and he seemed quite docile in comparison to his usual annoying behaviour. What made his day worse was that half the village sympathised greatly with the Spaniard and by now Arthur had become quite unpopular within the area. Thankfully, they had not raised the pitchforks and demanded his departure yet.

Some people, like Madame Ruiz, treated the incident as nothing more than young peoples' quarrel and seemed quite indifferent to the incident and though many had initially reacted to the violence, they could also tell that Arthur truly regretted his actions. It still didn't help the growing amount of insults thrown his way. His mood had dropped tenfold and he was near back to hating Antonio once more. But this time, he made sure to keep his distance. It was better for everyone.

It's not hard to figure how annoying it was that during Francis' final day home, the couple sat down at the outdoor tables at Madame Ruiz café. Thankfully, Arthur had been tasked to serve and clean some other tables indoors, so he didn't have to face either of them.

A cute girl, Chloé, was the girl that carried their orders; a cup of espresso and a cup of regular black coffee. Their trunks were parked on the side, so Arthur guessed it was soon time to depart. He couldn't help but to stare at them through the open window of the café, where the sounds of their conversation carried through. Arthur groaned. Would this torture never end? He was torn between wishing to be left alone again, and running to apologise to Francis. At the end, he chose neither.

"I cannot wait to get back. I don't mind coming here, your mother is so nice, but if this keeps up I will be stuck on six of my seven lives." Antonio said with a sigh.

There was a pause. Then Francis spoke. "Seven? I thought cats had nine lives."

"Isn't it seven?"

There was a pause. Arthur could hear the clinking of the china, which he guessed was due to the two of them sipping coffee.

"I suppose" Francis continued "it's good to return. I am worried what Gilbert meant when he said that he slept on that park bench."

"Gil will be fine, you worry too much."

"Wouldn't you?"

There was another pause.

"I don't want to be mean, but... your friend, Arthur. He truly is something." Antonio continued with a chuckle.

"I don't see the humour."

"I wasn't laughing. But still, you have some weird choices in friends."

"Same to you." Francis chuckled slightly as well. Arthur guessed the two of them truly did enjoy each other's company. "Just think about Lovino. You still haven't told me why he punched you like that?"

There was an awkward pause.

"I... well... I won't deny, but I think I deserved that one."

"I won't pry. I am still curious. One of these days I will find out."

There was a small clink of what sounded like cups hitting the saucers.

"When does the train depart again?" Antonio continued and seemed to change the subject.

"A little to an hour, don't worry. Drink up!"

"Don't you think you should talk to him, before we leave? You won't have the chance for months."

There was yet a pause, as if Francis was thinking. Arthur could feel his heart hammer beneath his ribs.

"No, not today. Not yet. It's weird. I don't know what to say to him."

"Francis, a word of advice. Leaving unfinished business is never good for anyone. Trust me, I know."

Arthur walked over to the window, chores and work forgotten momentarily. He looked to the sounds of their voices and surely he saw them at the very furthest distance from where he stood. Neither took notice of him, so he stayed and watched.

"Since when did you get so wise?" Francis asked and leaned forward. He was dressed in a violet cotton shirt and to Arthur's surprise and pleasant delight, he wore the blue ribbon in his hair, the one he had given to Francis that Christmas.

"I'm no wiser than you, in fact I am an idiot." Antonio said and pouted.

"Don't say that..."

"It's true... it wasn't you that Arthur decided to rage his hormones at. Speaking of which, he packs quite a punch for being so small."

"He is still my friend though."

"Exactly my point, go. Before..."

"I'll write to him." Francis said quickly. Antonio flew his hands in the air.

"I give! I'll never be able to understand your logics."

"I will talk, just not now. Look, lets just drop the subject. I will talk when I am ready."

Antonio sighed.

"If I didn't know you better I'd say you loved this boy."

"Of course I do. Hold him as dear to me as a brother."

"Francis, I hate to be the one to tell you, but keep in mind. He's still a child. I cannot understand for the life of me how you two can be so close. Wasn't he in his diapers when you two met."

Francis laughed.

"I beg your pardon. He may be like my little brother, but I would never regard him as nothing more or less than my best friend. Are you jealous? Because trust me, you don't have to be."

Arthur turned straight to avoid the sickening sight when Francis leaned forward for a kiss. His heart raced and a flood of tears threatened to escape his eyes. A brother, a friend... that was all he would ever be.

-000-

It was later that very day, after Francis and Antonio's train departed, that Arthur locked himself in his room. First thing he did was to throw his things around, then he screamed and then he cried. Luckily, no one but Allistor was home, and his brother didn't seem to bother. When the tears stopped flowing and when there was nothing more to throw around that wasn't already lying by his feet Arthur had made a decision. He unlocked the door, stole a handful of candles and a lighter from one of the cabinets, then hurried back. He rinsed away some of the rubble from the floor and fetched a piece of chalk he had stolen from the school. He drew a circle, than a star and placed the candles at the star's edges. Few of his friends and families knew he had a passion to study old magic rituals, but it had slowly turned into an obscure hobby.

He wanted to somehow break the love between them. He kept asking himself why he couldn't be stronger and just do more? He had so many things he wanted to destroy that evening: the love between Francis and Antonio, the event that had transpired between himself and Antonio, his own darkness and jealousy that he felt whenever he saw the two of them together. He took out a picture he had of Francis, one he had of Antonio that Francis once sent, and his own school photo.

He started murmuring spells he had learnt from a book he found at a market. He hoped that he could curse whatever ailments that had befallen him. He was so busy in his work that he neither noticed or heard that someone climbed the stairs and opened the door to his room.

"Are ye mad?" Allistor shouted. In quick strides his brother had knocked the book from his hands and blew out all the candles. "Are ye trying to murdur us all?"

Arthur glared at his brother, but Allistor took a firm grip on Arthur's shoulders and started to shake him. It hurt, his brother had an iron grip that was sure to leave bruises. Arthur screamed and tried to kick himself free, but Allistor didn't seem to take note. A Scottish berserking rage had befallen over the older Kirkland, and he didn't let go until Arthur fell over.

"What wur ye trying to do?" Allistor asked, he had stopped shouting, but his voice still held an icy tone.

Arthur didn't answer. Allistor took his silence as an answer and examined the mess. Quite soon he spotted the three pictures, all with burnt edges.

"What is this?" he asked and held the pictures in front of Arthur's face. Arthur simply turned away. He tried to look immobile, but his brother would have none of that. "Arthur answer me!" Allistor repeated, Arthur still kept silent.

Then Allistor hit him straight on the cheek. Arthur stumbled as a burning sting flared over his right cheek.

"Arthur, answer me honestly. What's this about?"

Arthur bit his lips. He stared at the picture of Francis and new tears threatened to form. Why had he chosen that picture? It was a picture Francis had given to him. Someone else had obviously taken it, as Francis seemed to have fallen asleep by a window in it. He looked so serene and peaceful, and...

Allistor saw the slight change of Arthur's expression and he sighed. His whole composure crumpled and Arthur heard him say over and over: "Na, na... nae that. Nae mah brother too..."

Then Allistor took the picture of Francis and ripped it into pieces. Arthur saw and once again he tried to punch, kick or just wound his brother somehow. But unlike his fight with Antonio, his brother was very strong and used to fighting. Arthur found himself hitting the floor with a thud.

"Arthur, are ye sure abou' this?" Allistor asked towering over him. Arthur nodded. "How do ye know?"

"I just do." Arthur finally spoke and there was a venom to his voice. If he had to protect his own causes, then so be it. "I've known for years." he added.

Allistor put his hand over his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Mah own brother." he added and backed slightly. Arthur took this as an opportunity to stand up to take on the fight, but Allistor didn't make any second (or third) attempt of beating him up. Instead, he sat down on Arthur's bed, and he honestly did seem worried.

This surprised Arthur. But he wasn't about to drop his guard. He hated to have his least favourite brother so close to his belongings, after all, who could forget Allistor's attempts with Mint Bunny.

"Sit." Allistor said. It was an order, so Arthur took to his chair and made sure to keep his distance.

"I want ye to listen. I won't be able to halt ye, from bein' gay, but I'm wantin' ye to keep this in mind. A few years ago, A met a guy. His name is Cormac, he came to France for holibags. He's from Ireland 'n we became fleet mukkers. Ye ne'er took notice, ye were too busy playin' with those friends ye made. Efter Cormac returned to th'isles we kept writing to each other through emails 'n letters. Then twa years ago he suddenly stopped. A didn't know how come, but he wrote back only a few months back to tell me how come. Cormac, A think he knew for a long time that he was gay. Kinch was, his folk are heavily Catholic and his father believed that homosexuality is the worst of sins. When Cormac told him, 'n it took him a lot of courage to do so, his father hit him. His folk threw him out and almost all of his mukkers abandoned him. He got jammy in the end, his grandfather took him in 'n he can stay there until he graduates. Then he'll have to find his own place."

There was a moment of silence and Allistor looked Arthur straight into the eyes.

"Ye want to know how come A tell you this? It's nae an easy path to take, and people will keek at ye weirdly. A just wanted to show ye that it's nae easy."

Arthur looked Allistor straight in the eyes. This was the few time when he would ever remember that Allistor would try to protect him and it was a very strange feeling. He smiled, or maybe even smirked. There was a leer in his eyes.

"Don't worry. And thanks for telling me. I will keep that in mind, but it won't stop me."

Allistor smiled and walked over to give Arthur a rare but unusually welcome hug.

"Figures, us Kirkland's between. Fine, I'll talk to some of my mukkers, they're in Paris and should be able to talk to Francis for ye. A can't give ye any promises, but it will work. Somehow. A have never kent that jimmy to hold his anger for long. Just be ye'self."

Arthur laughed and it felt good to do so. "Thanks." he said simply.

"Good. Now wash this stupid mess and Arthur... love ye, brother."

"Leave!" Arthur shouted after him and closed the door as Allistor's red locks disappeared, but he wasn't angry. Allistor had made him feel slightly better, despite the usual fights and bothers. It felt good to have life as it normally would be and it felt good to know that his brother accepted him for who he was. It was slightly sad, he guessed, that Allistor was such a prick, but who could choose their siblings?

But he still had an issue at hand. Francis was gone, but like Allistor said, he would write. And Arthur swore to himself when those letters started to come he'd be Arthur again. Or at least, try to...

TBC

A/N: Woah, a lot happened in this chapter and yes, Allistor can be a big brother, he just doesn't bother most of the time.

I originally planned to include yet another dream into this chapter, but when I looked into it, it was kind of a repeat from the last one. And in all honesty, we don't need to wallow more into the depths of insecurities, so I'll be nice for once and leave it. Next chapter will be a chapter letter once again and will conclude the end for the Antonio Arc... FINALLY!

Scottish translations:

Holibags: vacation

Fleet mukkers: fast friends

Efter: after

Twa: two

Kinch: problem

Folk: family

Jammy: lucky

Keek: look

Kent: known

Jimmy: man

Anonymous review replies:

Guest: Gracias... it's been ten years since I last studied Spanish and I am sadly a bit rusty. Haven't been to Spain either for years, so I haven't had the opportunity to practice.

N: Thank you for telling me your wondrous reaction, because I needed a good laugh. Don't worry, it's not a maniacal laugh, but more or less a pleasant one. Though, I must urge, please do not hate Antonio. Yes, he is quite a dark figure for this story, but he has legit reasons to act the way he does. I've finally been able to approach that part of the story, because I have been dying to write it for a while. OK, not figuratively not dying, but it's one of those stories that spins around in my head even if I may never write it down.

Btw, the beret was quite intentional. While I was staying in Corsica a few months back I saw a group of aged men playing boule. A few of them actually wore berets and they were the men I snuck in there. I sometimes feel like the village need more people in it. I can actually see that these men in the story would have returned from a boule game when the whole commotion started.

PS: Thank you by the way, personally I don't see my English to be something extraordinary. My old teachers tended to say my grammar was awful. Guess this is why I try to write as much as I can.

Francis: If I could, I would wrap a gift for you and send it to Stockholm for the prize of "you 100% got it". Indeed, out of my reviews so far I think you are the only one who saw the deeper meaning, so congratulations. There is a pretty complicated story behind Antonio's actions and while I may never have time enough to explain the full story, that part will come. Still, this story is just slightly over half way finished, so I have yet a few things I need to wrangle Arthur through. It sounds awful in the way I just put it, but meh... I can be quite the little evil writer when I want to.

PS: Glenn o Poseidon hälsar ;) Å oroa inte för att man regnar bort, det e vi la vana vid härnere. Hoppas allt mås bra och hälsa Knugen.

Guest (2): I am sorry... due to real life I cannot always throw myself for every update and these past few weeks have had a lot of events happening. Still, I thank you for your concern and hope you enjoyed, but please, keep in mind that I have no intentions of abandoning this story.

Trivia:

Magic: I have long had issues with how Hetalia has handled magic and magic-users within its universe, because the way I see it half the world should have been magic-users at some point. Yes, I understand the logics behind why Norway, England and Romania became the three main weird magic-users (Norway and his trolls, Romania and vampires, England and well... traditions), but I think it's important not to forget that every country in one way or another has been quite adapt in various kinds of magical areas.

Eg, the Slavic region, that stretches from Russia to the Czech Republic, has a number of myths and creatures well sorted into magic. Such examples would include vampires and vila (in Harry Potter spelled veela). Another famous example of characters are Baba Yaga, famously known for living in a hut with chicken legs. My personal favourite is the story of Koschei, the deathless. He kept himself alive and unkilleable by hiding his soul inside a needle. The needle he hid in an egg, which he hid in a duck, which exist in a hare, which was put inside an iron chest, which he buried under a tree, which exist on an island. He could only be killed if the needle was destroyed, but in order to even get to the needle you had to find the island, find the right tree, be able to break into the chest. If the chest is open the hare would bolt away, so you'd have to catch that. If the hare is caught then the duck would fly away, and you'd have to somehow catch that. Once you had the egg you'd be able to control Koschei and his fate, but this was deemed impossible.

Still, doesn't the whole remove your soul and put it into objects remind you of a certain someone? Here is another hint. Koschei was the antagonist to the prince in the tale.

Cats and their lives: For some reason, in the Spanish speaking world, cats have seven lives. Another interesting thing I read up upon was that you can also find cacti in their windows to ward of evil spirits.