Another song based drabble. This stars France and Prussia. It's the middle of the French Revolution, and France no longer cares about himself. Prussia steps in. The song it's based on is Protège- Moi by Placebo and I own neither it nor Hetalia.

ooOOoo

France's Revolution leaves him bloody and weak. Mentally he is torn between all of the different sides, and physically he is tired from running. He is pursued for both his position and his advice. He no longer knows if he has the energy to keep running from the guillotine or to stay neutral. He takes refuge from the hell that has come to his country in his house, drinking away his problems with anything he can get his hands on. It is not healthy, and if he were a normal human, chances were he would be dead by now. But he is not. He might be soon, maybe, depending on what happens at the end of the Revolution. But right now he is living a sort of half life.

There is a loud pounding on the door, but France thinks that it is simply his headache growing worse. He cannot remember the last time he was without a headache, so it seems to be a logical jump. Logic. France chuckles weakly. Logic is, was, is part of the problem. It always was, it always will be. And the pounding grows louder.

"France you wine bastard, open up!"

France's chuckles turn into full blown laughter. He has heard that before. Come out, come out wherever you are~! We have a nice guillotine ready for you~! France was not going to fall for it. He did not then, and he would not now.

The voice at the door screams again and France ignores it, taking a half hearted sip from whatever it is in his bottle. He thinks it stopped being wine days ago.

"Francis!" The screaming and pounding got louder and, suddenly, a crack. The door fell inward and France looked up, seeing a body silhouetted against the door.

"La mort est venu pour moi?" Francis laughed. Death has come for him. That is the only thing that would dare to cross his threshold now.

The figure in the doorway shakes his head and walks into the room, every step confidant and showing how strong, how put together he was.

"Death? Please. Don't flatter me," Prussia laughed, coming to a stop in front of France. "You look like shit."

France grunts and attempts to sip again, but Prussia grabs his arm.

"What is that you're drinking? Doesn't smell like any alcohol I know," Prussia mutters, pulling the bottle from France's hand.

"Vas t'en," France growls and weakly holds his hand out for the drink.

Prussia cackles and shakes his head, throwing the bottle behind him. The tinkling of broken glass causes France to snarl. "I'm not leaving," Prussia tells him, coming around the table to stand behind France. "This Revolution is tearing you apart. You look like something Death shat out."

France gives him a look that simply says "So?"

Prussia rolls his eyes and puts his arms around France, picking him up. He is momentarily surprised at just how thin and light France has gotten. "You need my help, Francis." There is no movement from the man in his arms. Prussia looks down and sees that Francis has passed out.

Prussia sighs and holds France closer. "You are one of the only people I'd put my life on hold to come out and help, bastard. Don't die on me when I'm around, got it?" There is still no answer as Prussia carries him across the threshold and towards his home, away from the bloody Revolution of France.

ooOOoo

La mort est venu pour moi? – Death has come for me?

Vas t'en- Go away