Reunite and tip krauts

The house shook with the tremors of a nearby bomb, and France winced. The Normandy landings were a couple days ago, and he was going insane not being able to fight. He had helped with sabotage and distraction, but oh how he longed to be on the front lines, cleansing the nazis from his land himself. He had set up a temporary hospital for his injured citizens, as casualties were high. He probed his side tenderly where a bullet wound was still healing, even though the injury had been a couple hours ago. France opened his eyes as he heard the roar of gunfire, and grabbed his chauchat as he heard loud footsteps thump to the basement, loading it and settling himself in front of an injured girl, prepared to defend. The door was suddenly kicked down, a loud voice echoing through the room. "GET UP LOSER WE'RE GOIN' KRAUT TIPPIN'!" America yelled, tossing a sniper rifle to France. France did not relax his aggressive stance and pointed the gun at America, who hastily backed up, bumping into figures behind him.

"Oof!"

"What the bloody hell?" The familiar voices made Francis lower his weapon and stand

up, still suspicious.

"Angleterre? Amérique? Canada?" He asked, eyes widening as the figures took off their helmets. "Mon amour…" Francis whispered as he dropped the gun, taking a hesitant step towards Arthur.

"Francis…" Arthur whispered in return, a smile blossoming on his face. He started to say something but was cut off when the Frenchman threw himself onto Arthur, arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder.

"Arthur! I thought I would never see you again!" He cried, relief clear on his face as he pulled back and caressed Arthur's face tenderly. He turned to Matthew opening his arms for a hug. Matthew rushed into them, holding the older nation tightly.

"Papa…"

"I'm so proud of you, mon fils. You fought bravely, and my people shall 'onor you for it." He praised, brushing hair away from his son's forehead to kiss it lovingly. He turned to Alfred, also wrapping his arms around the American. "Merci Alfred. You are truly a héros." He praised, ruffling the golden hair affectionately. "Eet 'as been so long since I 'ave felt ze warmth of friendship and love."

"So y'all gon help me blow up some Nazis or nah?" America smirked and held up his gun, wincing when England hit him over the head for not using 'the Queen's English, you bloody git!'. Francis grinned and held up his own weapons, a thirst for revenge in his eyes.

"Oui. Ludwig can, as you Americans say, can kiss my ass." he smirked as he adjusted his helmet, getting ready to leave the bunker. A young girl a couple cots back stirred, a groan of pain escaping her lips. Francis was at her side in an instant, placing a cool rag on her forehead and quickly checking the bandages on her leg.

"Papa?" She weakly asked, gripping Francis's hand and looking at him through eyes glazed with pain.

"Oui ma chérie, boire ceci."(drink this) Francis instructed, raising a glass of water to her lips. She took a couple sips and laid back on the cot again, unconsciousness claiming her once again.

"You have a daughter and you never told us?" Canada asked as they were climbing the stairs, hurt and curiosity in his words. Francis glanced back, shaking his head.

"Non, I just don't 'ave ze 'eart to tell 'er zat 'er père was killed by Nazis trois days ago. Be glad zat zis war is not being fought on your lands, mon garçons." England nodded solemnly in agreement, sighing.

"The war has been horrible on all of our citizens. When innocent civilians are harmed it is the worst part of being a nation. If I could I would fight this bloody war personally, but instead we are doomed to live while they die. Ah the curse of an immortal." he reflected bitterly, a rueful smirk twisting at his lips. "Let's go capture your heart, shall we?"