There was silence on the other end, as England held the phone to his ear. He brushed his eyes with his sleeve angrily, and traded a guilty look with France.

"I'm so, so sorry Toris."

There is a confused laugh.

"England, what are you talking about? What happened?"

England takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to tell Toris. England doesn't want to say it out loud. That will make it true, and he doesn't know if he can handle that. But he owes it to Toris, the truth.

"Toris, I'm so sorry, but… Poland… is dead."

There is more laughter.

"You're kidding, right, England? This is just a joke! A silly, sick joke! You've got Feliks with you, don't you. He's right there. Please, please tell me you're kidding, England." His voice breaks on the last word, and there is sobbing, as Toris clutches the phone to his chest and cries. Then he hangs up, and wraps his arms around his knees. He doesn't need England to confirm it. He already knows it's true.

Then he picks up the phone again, and dials England's number. England picks up right away.

"Toris?"

"It was him, wasn't it. I always knew he hadn't forgotten Poland. He doesn't forget things like that. And he's helping him, isn't he. They're a team now, aren't they. Again."

"Yes, Toris."

"Let me help you."

England and France trade another glance, and then nod at each other.

"Meet us at Alfred's in two hours."