It was raining today.
Thunder echoed throughout the house. Lightning would flash outside of windows in bright bursts. Arthur stayed huddled beneath blankets on his couch. Alfred was getting hot chocolate for them, and then they would continue their game.
They were playing Go Fish. It was incredibly childish. That was what his thoughts echoed anyways.
"And he we are! A cup of hot cocoa with your name on it!"
Arthur looked over at the other. His blanket had been tied around his shoulders like a cape. His glasses were slightly crooked but he was smiling. A warm cup was placed into his hands, Arthur smiled back.
"Thank you," he took a sip.
It was sweet, not overly so, just the way Arthur liked it.
"You're welcome," was responded back. Alfred hummed in content picking his cards back up after he had sat back down. More thunder rumbled overhead. "Got any threes?"
Arthur looked down at his cards, "No, go fish."
This continued on and on as cards were exchanged and drawn. Arthur kept taking sips of his drink until it was gone. The thunder had lulled to a quiet hum in the background of the perfect evening. Soon enough, the game was finished. Alfred won by two pairs of cards. He let out a laugh scooting over to muse the other's hair up with his hands.
"Guess I win monkey butt," Arthur grumbled before letting out a laugh when Alfred's hands danced behind the back of his neck giving the Brit goose bumps.
The cards fell to the floor as the table was kicked forwards a bit. They fluttered to the ground soundlessly, Arthur's eyes flashing in brief recognition.
Bet I can beat you in any game you throw at me Alfie- the worlds were slurred, purple eyes and slightly curled hair-
Oh really Matt? Fine, we'll play Go Fish! Wasn't that Alfred's voice.
Go Fish is for five year olds, America, grow up a bit will you? Himself?
Fuck off Artie. You're just sad 'cause the only thing you've done all night is knit in the corner 'cause- 'cause Frany didn't let you drink- That was Alfred wasn't it? 'sides, we'd be playing Strip Go Fish. Play it with Latvia all the time.
He sucked in a breath the voices gone as his shirt was slipped off of his shoulders, buttons already undone. Alfred kissed back up his chest sucking gently on his neck right where it sloped into his shoulder.
"You're so beautiful Arthur-" the other's words were drown out with his own gasp. Warm hands, they were everywhere-
"I love you so much," Alfred bit down on Arthur's neck, on the spot sporting a forming hickie. Arthur moaned his head tilting back further. His vision went blurry, his mind in a haze as he was laid back like porcelain. Alfred was above him still kissing and biting. His mind and limbs went to mush.
Why would he need to know who America was anyways?
Later, much later, even if there was no way to tell time; Arthur lay cuddled up practically on top of the other blond. A hand was running through his hair causing his eyes to droop with sleep. He looked up at Alfred eyes glassed over with tiredness.
"Could we…" his mouth felt heavy. What did he want to do?
"Hmm?"
Dirt. He remembers dirt, under his knees and in his hands. They were protected by gloves is bright flowers were placed into the earth. He was in a garden. It was a one man garden filled with brightness and sweet smelling things. Roses.
Roses. And lilies. And daffodils. And weeds- pesky, pesky weeds that would turn white after a week and then fly away. Fly away free like a bird before settling down again. They'd make more. They'd be yellow, and then they'd turn white and restart. They'd be golden- dandelions-
Big brother, big brother! Look at what I can do! A boy, a child- bright blue eyes and grass stained pants. He held a handful of them. Weeds- dandelions- with a bright smile. His thumb went underneath the top of one of them. Mama had a baby and its head popped off!
It flew, soared through the air. A graceless arc before falling down, down, down- it hit Arthur on his head before falling to the ground-
That is simply wonderful. Do you know what else you can do with them?
Nuh uh, I only learned this so far.
Well you see, if you take one like so, then the boy was giggling as the fuzzy flower -weed- was rubbed under his chin until it fell to the ground useless. Now you have a chin of gold.
You turned it gold! That's so cool! Turn yours gold too, do it, do it; pretty please Englan-
"Could we go out into the garden?"
Thoughts were already dribbling past his mind, lost and soon forgotten. Alfred smiled before sighing sadly. "Maybe some other time," thunder echoed throughout the room before he could continue. Oh right-
It was raining today.
Norway and Romania sat in complete silence. They had woken up a week after the discovery- after Arthur was no more. They felt it the second they woke up: the emptiness of where their colleague -friend- was supposed to be.
Norway could see more of his past friends, ones whom he had not seen since he was young. Since he was the physical age of six. Romania had more cravings, more animals to take down and pop up dead with no blood left-
They were a mess.
They had set up that system as a benefit to them all. It kept them all in check most of the time. Kept them from using too much magic or doing something stupid. Kept them from, from this.
"I just do not understand how he did it. We did not feel anything out of the ordinary the whole five months this was going on Norway- a whole five fucking months," Romania slammed the book shut he had finished looking through in anger. "We do not even know what spell he used because his books were destroyed. All of them! He had the vastest library out of all of us-"
"I know that," Norway looked up with a sigh setting his own book down, "The only thing we can do now is keep moving forwards. We both know that."
Both nations settled into silence after that. Whatever this thing was, they'd try to get to the bottom of it. They needed to.
They needed to get England back.
Canada stared at the book in silence. It was a children's book, one that had different words along with illustrations. Both French and English littered the page. He was frustrated. So very, very frustrated. He could feel the words flowing through his head. His people knew English- he knew English.
Arthur had taught him English ever so very long ago, when he still cried over his papa leaving and still absolutely loathed the man in his tiny little colony heart. He still had to learn, or they couldn't communicate.
America had helped too. He talked with him all the time: at breakfast, at lessons, at lunch, during piano practices and escapades into the woodlands behind their house. During and after dinner, when all of the lights were turned out after Arthur had told them a story with evil sorcerers, gentle princesses, and brave heroes for Alfred- and adventures of the fey and mythical creatures for Matthew.
For Mathieu.
He knew the English. He knew that was a fridge and that was a file but when he opened his mouth- his tongue seemed to clog and his brain fogged over- 'réfrigérateur' and 'fichier' fell out. They echoed throughout the space filling up the room as Matthew's heart filled with despair.
He knew it! He knew what everything was, how to say his own name in English. Knew who his brothers were, who is friends were, and who he was and yet-
'Mon nom est Mathieu. Je suis Canada.' His eyes screamed of recognition. That was Alfred.
That was Gilbert. And Lovino. And Ludwig. And Yao. And Kiku-
That was-
'Tu est qui?'
Tears fell to the page. Hey dripped down his nose, making little pitter patter noises. He knew this, and yet he felt like a young colony once again. He didn't know how to say this or who that was or what he was supposed to do.
His shoulders began to shake; the book fell from his hands-
"Mattie, Mattie it's alright," calm soothing words fell on his ears. Arms wrapped him up close- a bond he felt they were neighbors.
"Sorry- sorry," broken words. His accent was thick, thicker than France's even at times.
"It's alright. It isn't your fault. Just relax," the book was removed from the floor by paler hands. Pale hands much like his own and yet older larger, Russia-
Purple met purple. The large nation smiled setting the book down on the coffee table. He put up with so much for them, so much for Alfred when he had to deal with his brother when France couldn't.
"It will be alright Matvey. We are here for you."
The northern nation curled up, his lap and arms feeling empty. Kuma was upstairs on his bed in the guestroom. He didn't- he- it wasn't alive anymore. More tears fell from his eyes. He was useless, worse than a colony because colonies had a reason for not being able to do anything yet. They were growing, still learning. He had already learned-
Listen Matthew, I know it seems to be a bit harsh around here. It is probably a lot different than what you were used to when you lived with, a pause with a choice of words, France. But I want you to know that you are my colony. You are my little brother now and I will do everything I can in order to make you happy. Even if it does not seem like that at times.
Bright purple eyes looked up at the crouching man. He seemed sincere, Matthew understood that much. He could speak English now- good enough anyways.
Okay. Thank you.
The other smiled standing up once again. Alright, I am glad we could reach an understanding. However, as you know I am leaving soon. Alfred can usually keep himself busy with what is here and helping out in the town a few miles from here- but I would like to give you something to occupy your time.
England had grabbed the small colony gently lifting him up so he could see over the top of the table England had been working on. His polar bear plush lay on top of it unmoving. What are you doing with Nanuq?
He is going to become your very best friend Matthew.
The other had meant it too. The day he left, he had given the bear back with a smile. He was bigger and warmer- Who are you?
He missed that question. Even if it sometimes made him angry or want to cry he missed it. Missed it so much that it ached.
"How about we lay down for a while, okay Mattie?"
He looked up from the palms of his hands, feeling comforting hands on his back. Alfred, Ivan, Kuma- Nanuq-
"Okay."
A reassuring smile as he was herded upstairs by the other nations. Soon he was laying down with either on one of his sides. They'd be here. They'd help him relearn.
I'm Matthew! Eng- Arthur says we are going to be very best friends!
Who's that?
He's my colon -a sharp intake of breath- he's my big brother.
Is he nice?
He's nice. He's-
"-the best," his eyes fell closed, the whisper falling from his lips "the very, very best."
The phone wires at his house had been cut. All of them. His cell phone had been crushed into pieces and shoved under the couch. They would never have reached him that way.
Had they even tried to see he was okay after he hadn't been on social media or going anywhere for three months?
No. The answer was no. Now it was too late. Arthur was gone.
No one had noticed.
Arthur stared at the door in the hallway. Alfred had told him not to go down there because it was dark and musty, no lights yet installed. He moved past it in the next moment. Not like there would be anything down their anyways.
The basement was echoed. He shook his head. It didn't matter.
"Arthur! Breakfast is ready!"
Alfred was setting the table when he walked inside the kitchen. Was it bigger then it had been before? No, that couldn't be it.
"Hey you, I made tea," the blond smiled setting a cup down on the table. Arthur smiled back before picking up his cup. Milk and sugar, just as he liked it. Alfred soon sat down next to him holding out a forkful of eggs.
They had breakfast like usual. Arthur still didn't understand why he couldn't just pick up the- the fork- himself but.
It didn't matter though did it?
Alfred hummed while doing the dishes. Arthur dried them before putting them away. Smiles, all smiles. Alfred was always smiling and happy to help.
No, he decided, it didn't.
Russia felt responsible. Not entirely so, no; but enough to make his head scramble at times. One of their kind was gone. They were gone just like that. It wasn't immediate sure but there was nothing wrong with the UK. Arthur just vanished. Disappeared.
Five months.
Could that happen to anyone else? To the Baltic's? His sisters? Canada? America?
It could happen to any of them. It could happen to him- if they weren't careful.
No one was panicking about that yet though. He wouldn't say anything about it. If it never came up then so be it. They had other things to worry about. He didn't like England -Arthur Kirkland- at all. He had been a shrewd little man stuck on his past.
He had been in love with America, always had been. Russia had known this. So had France. So had many people. So had it been cruel to not say anything? America hadn't known.
America had kissed him. Had been in love with him. Made love with him.
Love was a fickle thing. Even worse than they had all once thought if it could lead to this. Even with everything leading up to this point, the obsession and anger and regret before the disappearance, Russia still didn't get it.
England had known America didn't love him as the older nation did. Or had he? Had he really deluded himself that far?
Russia felt responsible.
If he hadn't seen the kiss would he still be here? If they had paid attention would he have been saved? If, if, if- all if's
Would America still have his older brother figure he still looked to for advice and thought of as one of his closest friends? As part of his rather small close family- Canada, France, England- as Arthur Kirkland?
Russia didn't know.
He wouldn't now. Not ever. He could only watch as Matthew wept. As Alfred tried to stay strong as he was slowly but surely crumbling like his brother was. They'd hold each other close, Matthew mumbling in French and broken English as Alfred usually remained silent.
They'd both cry every time Matthew asked the question- who are you?
Matthew would stop, eyes filled with recognition in the next second. Alfred would freeze heart filling with dread because- what if the next time it didn't happen? Ivan would just smile and wait, no matter how long it took. Matthew knew him, he knew that.
They knew it.
So he'd wait and observe. Keep his thoughts to himself and keep a bottle of vodka handy. He'd hold them both -the new world twins who used to be brimming with so much hope- and smile kindly.
It was his fault. Not entirely so, true, but they all had a hand in it. Didn't they?
When they got together to have another meeting, no one spoke out of turn for once. No one commented on the empty seat next to France. It was the last thing they addressed. Romania and Norway taking up the podium after speaking with China.
It had been a potion. That's why they hadn't sensed it when it had been made. He had only done a brief spell in order to activate it. They couldn't tell different spells from one another through the bond, only that magic was being used. It was a normal amount, to the point where they probably did feel the initial spell.
Did they remember it now?
No.
They knew this thing, whatever it was, had to have some type of energy source. If it had been sapping magical energy from Arthur they would have felt it. Could it be some other type, they didn't know.
China did. Yes, it could. It sapped emotional energy along with another force they still did not understand. The thing fed off of Arthur's emotions. Off of his hurt with the real world -with them- and off of the pure love and adoration Arthur had possessed for Alfred.
They wouldn't have felt that.
In accordance with that, there was almost no way for Arthur to get out of this. Once this thing had your attention it sapped away at your brain, made it seem as though everything was fine. If you went along with what it said everything would be fine.
The doors and been barricaded from the inside. All means of communication had been cut. All windows had been locked. Everything that had been present in the house that would deter Arthur's thoughts from this being was destroyed. Every photograph or portrait that was their was destroyed. All of his magic books and items were destroyed. [perhaps to cover up the things tracks as well, or to stop them from chasing after him]
Anything pertaining to anyone but England had been destroyed both upstairs and down, shoved into a forgotten closet that was almost never opened. The portrait -the picture of it- of him and France was shredded. The coat Japan had forgotten after his last visit was too in shreds.
Anything and everything damaged beyond repair.
Even in storage, where the clothing of his past left untouched -the rocking horse New Zealand remembers using in the Brit's home when he was not even three feet tall had been torn to bits. All of the drawings of the wild life Australia had given his old care taker were burned, charred, left in a pile of ashes. As was the stuffed snake he was sure England hadn't kept and yet he had-
The tea set Hong Kong had given him was smashed to dust. As were the Christmas presents he sent the other every year. Most were old records England had claimed he adored. That he had thanked Hong Kong for multiple times.
The wild life book that Canada had given him and updated for the other every so often had been ripped. Every page over and over again. So were the scribbly drawings had made the other when he was a colony. The old clothes, the white dresses with ribbons on the collar, riddled with holes and left to rot. The figurine the Canadian had carved for him in 2000. It had been of the legendary Queen Tatiana and King Oberon hovering over England when he was a child-
It too was destroyed.
Every letter Arthur had ever gotten from America since the time he was known as the 'British Colonies of' along with the ones he never sent were logged with water. The second to last remaining toy soldier from long ago in existence- Arthur had one, Alfred had one- was in pulp.
This thing had done everything it could to make Arthur have a one track mind.
But was there any way to get him back?
Was there any way to find him?
Any way to reverse this?
Canada opened his mouth after America had quieted down the room. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't. He broke down crying in front of everyone. Frustrated- so fucking frustrated-
They had all lost his influence. Some of it was harder to see than others. The eyebrows were gone. As were some of their acquired tastes for English tea. Canada couldn't speak proper English- then again neither could Hong Kong or India.
America couldn't even look at a hamburger. He tried to eat one, he had, it had tasted so horrible that he had vomited.
He had cried for an hour- it had been England's cooking that made him like them.
All of the scars he had inflicted were gone. France suddenly had not felt as heart heavy about Joan- for she had died but, he didn't know who was responsible now if no one was there to yell at and to blame. Humans didn't understand such stuff, they killed each other everyday.
He couldn't blame England's people.
America's birthday that had passed a few weeks prior had been different too. There wasn't any dread looming over America about him not coming because he couldn't even if he wanted to.
Everything was a mess. Nothing was as it should be- how could this have happened?
No. There wasn't.
Arthur yawned as gentle hands went through his hair. Blunt nails rubbed against his scalp in soothing motions making him all the more sleepy. Alfred hummed softly behind him for a few minutes as the washing continued shampoo beginning to slide down the back of his neck.
"Alright. I'm gonna rinse it out okay?" Arthur only nodded slightly, his mouth and eyes closing tight. Warm water washed over the top of his head the soap soon all gone. The water began to drain.
Arthur was soon wrapped up in a fluffy towel steam still slowly making its way through the air. The bathtub seemed larger than it had before, as did the whole room. The tile and counter were shinning and new. Two sinks next to each other had tooth brushes and other things strewn about.
He was soon wearing boxers his hair being brushed by the other, gentle kisses placed on the back of his neck right where it met his back. On the small top bump of his spine. Arthur shivered.
"Let's turn in early today, yeah?"
He nodded with a quiet mumble his hand being grasped as he was lead across to their room. The carpet was soft under Arthur's feet, the colors in the room warm and inviting. Alfred picked him up with a breathy laugh kissing his nose and his cheeks before setting him down.
He doesn't remember the bed being as big or soft as it is. Perhaps a long, long time ago it was. It was a poster, we curtains hanging down and tied to the posts encasing them in light green.
Alfred wrapped around him, his arms going around Arthur's waist tugging his back to his chest. His chin rested on top of his head. Their legs tangled together.
"Good night Arthur, I love you."
"I love you too," was replied on instinct. Alfred smiled, snuggled into and under the covers and fell asleep.
Arthur didn't remember why he loved the other. But that was okay right?
Tears fell from his eyes for no reason as more thunder began to echo everywhere once again. Everything was okay. Alfred was here, he was here. They were here together forever-
"So much."
They had agreed someone needed to clean out his house. It couldn't remain the way it was. Covered in dust and broken memories. France agreed to do it. Himself.
He was met with no objections.
The house was now stagnant. Dust covered most surfaces. No one had been here in two months- not since the discovery. Everything is as it was the remnants of what might have been a happy final life in this world.
He started to clean. He threw out the shreds of things, of once precious items held close to England in some way. Portraits, broken tea sets, letters, other gifts such as clothing and little trinkets.
The kitchen was cleaned of all foot and all plates and utensils. It was left bare, refrigerator turned off. The sitting room and living rooms were dusted off, the remains of the cell phone thrown away. The furniture was covered in white sheets; the phonograph was carefully taken apart, all of the surviving records packed away. All left over trinkets and doodads were wrapped in bubble wrap then packed away.
Everything was labeled, from every room in the house.
France refused to cry, he had stopped crying. Stopped crying a week after he accepted the truth. A month after denial. How could England have been so stupid? How could he have been so stupid? He knew something had been wrong with the other, but he turned to look the other way.
Five months, the other had been missing for five months and he hadn't done a damn thing. England, Arthur, the one he had known when he was not yet a teenager. When he was still a boy who ran around in cloaks spouting tales of fairies and unicorns.
Was it wrong to miss that?
To miss the days they'd run after each other, may it have been in anger or childish happiness. Flower chains and sharing bread and apples underneath trees. Pure happiness in laughter that as few and far in between, for the boy was a little green eyed gremlin. One with dimples and freckles during the warm months-
No, he wouldn't cry.
Soon every room was dusted, both upstairs and down. Furniture was covered in sheets. Small things packed away and labeled. The basement was left alone for now. Only his back office was left.
The door had to be broken down.
Papers were strewn about, paperwork that was never delivered and never signed. Leftovers of what appeared to be tea and some type of scone remained on the desk along with Arthur's reading glasses.
He cleaned that room up too, using the shredder to get rid of the old documents. There were bookcases filled with books, all left untouched. France traced along their spines, many of them well worn from use. He stopped on one of them, eyes sparking in hope.
He gripped it with the tips of his fingers carrying it over and sitting down at the desk. It was slowly opened to the first page.
A photo copy of a painting of Arthur as a child was in his view. It was stored in a vault in Switzerland, the original one that is, as were many of the nations old possessions for safe keeping. He kept flipping seeing more photo copies of more pictures. England and his brothers, all young and covered in dirt. Rewritten copies of notes he took as a child about different types of creatures and ingredients for potions.
A picture of him and France, him in that old blue dress and England in his green cloak, flowers in their hair and around their necks.
He kept flipping, photo after photo passing over his vision. Then he stopped, allowing it to rest on a singular page. The description was written in loopy cursive, regal in all its glory.
'Alfred, Mathieu, Francis, Myself; 1726, Virginia.'
The photo of a portrait lost in the Blitz in the Second World War stared back at him. Alfred and Matthew- both young in tiny little clothes of pure white and ribbons along with tiny little shoes. Matthew sat in his lap while Alfred sat in England's. They were all smiling. All together.
He kept turning the pages sucking in a breath. England's view had gone obsessive in his last few decades of life sure, but this was different.
Pictures, so many, of Alfred, Matthew, and himself. England here and there up through everything after the Revolution. Many were taken during and after World War Two, a whole twelve pages, some of them even in slight color.
America in his piloting seat. Matthew sleeping leaning up against some wall. France being liberated- him being swamped in hugs by the three other blonds.
All during the Cold War, the four of them together so many times-
'Family; 2013, Paris. Happy Birthday Frog.'
They were in front of the Eiffel Tower, America holding bunny ears behind Canada's head while Canada did the same to France. England was leaning back against the railing with a bright smile, as was France, America, and Canada. They were so happy, they were his family-
It was the last photo he had added.
France let out a choked noise tears dripping into his lap. His shoulders began to shake and he finally gave in. Sobs filled a room his hands meeting his eyes.
Arthur was gone.
He never told him, never stopped antagonizing him. He was an asshole towards him. England, Arthur had hated him. He knew what was going to happen that once he found out he'd be heartbroken-
He hadn't helped he had looked the other way-
This was all his fault-
"Je t'aime tellement. Je suis désolé. Pardonne-moi, je vous en prie.Angleterre."
He sobbed even harder.
I love you.
Arthur stared at the basement door again. It was the basement, he told himself. It had to be. The door seemed small compared to the tall hallways. The house was big, extremely so. He didn't know what to do with himself. Alfred was still asleep.
He wanted to see what was down there.
So, Arthur opened the door and peered inside only to see stairs that lead into darkness. He frowned but chose to walk in anyways. He went down, down, down until he reached the basement. It was colder than the other floors of the house and musty. There was no light coming from anywhere.
He turned looking around closely only to spot a dark sheet over the top of a light source. Noises were coming from the other side, shuffling and the crinkling of papers and plastic. Arthur slowly walked over, not wanting to make any noise himself. He tugged the sheet off to see-
The basement. But it was trashed, covered in burnt and ripped pieces of papers. Book covers and pages along with photos and portraits. His eyes widened.
There was a man.
He gulped, raising his knuckles.
Arthur tapped on the glass, only once, for his eyes to then meet piercing blue.
Thank god the dead body had been taken out of the basement the day after they found it. Francis would have vomited. The room still held destroyed books and pictures. Still held the blood on the floor and the cauldron where the deed was done.
He had multiple trash bags. France began to fill them. He kept piling in things until there was no room for anything else-
The other England's body had been given a proper burial. It had been a sad day, and yet, the sun had shown.
He kept cleaning.
Kept holding back tears.
Kept putting piece after piece of England's life away.
'Tap!'
He turned to look at the mirror, his breath stopped- bright green eyes.
"England."
Everyone remained silent as the sun shown overhead birds chirping loudly and proudly. They were unaware of what was happening. America and Canada remained silent their hands finding their way to the other's- Russia standing behind them with a hand on either of their shoulders.
France stood next to Canada, a large bouquet of roses in his arms.
The Queen backed away from the casket after a while tears running down her face, along with her daughter's, a baby nestled in her arms. Even the baby had sensed something- for it was quiet. Too quiet.
France stepped forwards next placing the bouquet into the open casket into the other's arms instead. They had chosen to bury him in his favorite button up and sweater vest combo along with black slacks and well worn brown dress shoes. One of his earrings was in.
It was as if England were asleep and not dead.
He lowered his head, urging himself not to cry in front of everyone. He could hear the rest of the Commonwealth- all grouped together sniffling and sobbing behind him somewhere.
"May you find happiness where you are, old friend."
He looked up at the other's face one last time. Roses surrounded his body, so calm so peaceful.
"I wish you good rest."
He stepped back to where he was, only for Canada and America to take his place, Russia staying behind for privacy. The two brothers said their own respects placing something into the casket each before backing away not saying another thing.
It was lowered into the ground some time later, France taking the boy's and Russia back to his flat in London to spend the night. He had plenty of room- he asked the two what he had put in later once the stars were out.
They couldn't see them, but it was the thought that counted.
Canada had made him a figure of Chibiabos, a god of the dead and brother of Nanabozho who had always watched over the two of them since they were children along with Nanuq. He was a kind god of the underworld, one of them. He had hoped for Arthur to be protected by him and to have a kind afterlife.
America had given him a dream catcher. He had chosen not to elaborate, but there was something else as well.
France didn't ask. America was ever grateful, a small smile showing up on his face.
Both refused to cry. Not then.
They couldn't.
France felt his heart stop. England's hand lowered in his lap, green eye filled with confusion. France walked over slowly sitting down in front of the once darkened mirror. His eyes filled with hope, oh dear god, he hoped with all of his heart this was the truth-
"England?" he asked again, much quieter than before.
Arthur tilted his head, "My name is Arthur. Who are you?"
"I'm-" a shuttering breath, "I'm Francis. We knew each other, a long time ago."
Arthur's eyebrows rose up in what appeared to be interest, "We… we did? Was I- were we friends?"
"Yes," France pressed his hand against the glass, "The very best."
Arthur lifted his hand up slowly before pressing his hand against the other's. "Okay."
He smiled. France sighed in relief. Maybe he could fix this.
This should be fun.
Christmas was an affair. America was hosting this year, as he did pretty much every other year. He smiled, greeting everyone with cheer and a big hug. Canada stood talking with Romano, only slipping into French if he didn't pay attention.
It had gotten easier.
A huge Christmas tree had been set up with presents from all around the world. Not everyone could make it this year, but they'd been sent in from everywhere. Missile toe had been hung. The punch was probably spiked, twice, once by South Korea and again for good measure by Prussia.
America made sure to get Russia and himself to wear the ugliest sweaters as possible because it was American tradition damnit!
France was late though. He usually showed up sooner to help make cookies, but not this year.
"They're coming right?" America looked over to see Canada frowning a mug of cocoa in his hands. America nodded slinging an arm over his shoulder.
"Probably just had problems in customs. You know how it is," they both did. Even though they were nations they still had t go through with the whole process explaining yes, I am my own nation, yes, I do need my gun, no, I am not leaving it behind thank you. Want to speak with the President?
"Humans are… are… uh," the other paused eyes looking around in confusion.
"Dumb? Fucking morons? Stupid?"
"I was going to say silly."
America shook his head before smiling wide. "Hold up, my man's here," Canada snorted as the other jogged over to the northern nation throwing himself at his back. Russia laughed hugging America once he had turned around.
Everyone was happy and exchanging pleasantries over drinks. It was so nice.
Hours ticked by slowly, presents beginning to be opened. Canada was getting worried. He looked around for France still, yet he only spotted the nations he had seen already. He made his way to America, seeing him and Russia talking with Ukraine and Lithuania.
"Al! I don't think France is here yet," he called out. The people in their little group turned to look at him soon realizing the truth.
"Holy shit, you're right. Hold up we're gonna go find'em. See you soon big guy," America then grabbed Canada's arm making his way back through the crowd. Sometime during the night, the blond had obtained reindeer antlers. Probably another gag gift from Prussia.
"You try his cell?"
"No one was picking up. I figured it might be that way earlier because he would need to turn it off on the plane but," the other stopped talking once the doorbell was heard. They both let out a breath.
"Guess he was just running late," America ran towards the door jumping up and clicking his heals together with a whoop. Canada followed behind him.
America opened the door to two people -green eyes filled with- with-
Fear.
Russia hadn't been right. Keeping his thoughts to himself was a horrible, horrible idea. It was his fault yet again. Then again:
Wasn't it everyone's?
Arthur opened his eyes the ceiling blurry with sleep. He looked around, reaching over for Alfred finding the sheets cold. He sat up, a headache swarming his head. He slumped forwards, holding his head with a wince.
"Alfred!?"
"Hey, I'm right here. No need to yell," he jumped as a hand brushed against his shoulder. Alfred was sitting in a chair next to the bed a worried frown on his face, "Are you alright? You took a nasty fall down the stairs."
"What? I did?" he looked at the other in confusion, that- it couldn't be so.
"Yes, I was very worried, I thought you had gotten seriously hurt Arthur. You need to be more careful okay?"
He nodded, eyebrows furrowing together. That couldn't be right, he ad gone into the basement but he had not tripped and fallen. There had been a man, a man in the mirror! Named Francis. He was nice but then he had to go because he thought Alfred would wake up but, then- nothing.
The rest was blank.
"You mean the basement stairs then?"
"Basement?" Alfred looked even more confused than him, "You took a tumble from upstairs into the hallway downstairs. We don't have a basement."
Arthur looked up at the other, finding that he wasn't lying. Didn't look like he was lying. "Oh, oh I am sorry. Must have just been a dream then," he mumbled out the last part before rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry."
"No, no; it's alright, Come here," the other crawled into bed before gently grabbing the other pulling him into his lap. Arthur sighed in happiness as a kiss was placed on his forehead then his cheeks, "Was it a cool dream?"
"Mhmm. There was a man in the mirror down there. His name was Francis, he was nice," he explained cuddling his head against the other's shoulder. Alfred let out a laugh rubbing his hands along the other's sides.
"Sounds interesting."
They fell into silence before Arthur shifted again placing a kiss on the others lips, "Do you think we could go outside after breakfast?"
Alfred smiled before shaking his head, hands tightening just a bit. Oh right-
You are Francis. You seem nice. Your love, I like it. I love you too. I love you so much.
The party stopped by that point. China and Norway and Romania and Russia- running over to see both of the twins crying, screaming, on the floor. A crash could be heard, glass shattering and photographs falling from the hands of the people at the door.
They were with the French and British government. They remained silent.
No one knew what was going on.
Russia grabbed hold of both of the twins. One sobbing in French. The other flat out starting to scream.
This couldn't be happening. Not now, not now. Arthur was already gone. Not this, please not this.
Russia was filed with regret in an instant. He looked at the photos. France's dead body in front of the mirror-
The buttons were on the wrong side.
They asked when France said he would be able to make it to the party- when they had last seen or really heard from him. Alfred looked up, eyes red tears still flowing-
August. Early August.
Five months.
I like you a lot, you know. Your hair is so long and soft. Your eyes are like the ocean. Your smile is of the sun, and yet full of sadness. I wish you wouldn't be so sad-
You do not need to be so sad Francis. You can come here, with me. I'll keep you safe. Forever and ever-
Of course Francis. I'm Arthur, I'm England. We are a family, remember? Me and you and Alfred and Matthew. They'll be here, if you want. We can all be together.
-because I love you so, Francis. It is okay, you can let go. Let go, come to me. I'll be here always. I will always love you-
Yes. Forever and always.
-he had forgotten. They couldn't go outside.
It was raining today.
I decided to post a second part! Bet you thought for a second France had saved England, huh? That it was him at the door. Haha, guess what: no one gets a true happy ending in this. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always welcome!