AN: Ok, so again, a long gap between chapter updates. I swear this is not on purpose, I'm just so busy with school and such, I can't keep up with the fics on this account, or on my other 2. I have some very angry readers at the moment. ^^;; Anyways, again, it's a bit short, I apologize. It's most likely because I wrote this at about 1:30 am.

side note: you know I'm American because I almost wrote "spilt" instead of "spilled"

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Warning: Not much really, just some mild violence. Barely descriptive.

I weaved through the crowd, musket in hand. My ears were numb to the sound of bullets whizzing past them.

Men were dropping like flies, lying in pools of their own blood, as others stepped around and over them. Occasionally, someone would stop to help a fallen friend as he writhed and gasped for air, a futile attempt as he bled out.

I ran ahead, pushing past enemy and ally alike. My heart was beating out of my chest- I was disobeying Arthur. It was...

crazy...

dangerous...

risky.

I wanted to find France. If he would just give up the land, then all this fighting could end. Arthur wouldn't be in harm's way anymore.

I ran until I spotted blond hair, slowing down to a walk and raising my hand to wave.

Familiar voices argued, in a strange mix of accents and grunts, blood splattered vegetation idealizing the scene.

I ducked in a bush, hidden from their tired eyes. There was screaming in a language I still didn't understand.

And finally, I saw Arthur lunge.

It was an almost beautiful sight, the way he was defending my home...me.

For some reason, I was overwhelmed with joy, so I didn't intervene when blood was spilled.

Punches were being thrown, the fight escalating in violence. I watched in pure amazement, mesmerized. I was only freed from the dellusion when I felt blood as it trickled down my arm.

He must have been aiming for Arthur, because I fell right back into his arms.

It was later explained to me how I had jumped into the way of the shot, shielding Arthur from what would have been a deadly blow.

I woke up in my bed, so I guess I had blacked out.

The first thing that hit me was the smell of burnt vegetables; all mixed together in a watered down substance I assumed was supposed to be soup. I scrunched my nose in distaste, feeling sore and nauseous.

Blood loss, I guess.

I had no interest in eating the soup, instead more focused on the dull ache in my shoulder.

I noticed Arthur slumped in a chair on the other side of the room. Even asleep he still maintained his gentleman dignity- a certain air about him that seemed perfect in every way.

I ran over quickly, ignoring the tingling in my leg- no doubt the result of being asleep too long.

"Arthur." I was kneeling in front of him, gently pushing his leg- one hand on his knee, the other on his thigh.

"Arthur, it's time to-" and suddenly I could taste my own blood again. My head jerked to he side, my cheekbone almost vibrating from the after force of knuckles driving into it.

"What have I told you about waking me up?"

"I won't do it again sir." And with that, I went back to my soup as his firey stare watched me. As I drank the murky liquid, I contemplated when he had warned me before. I couldn't recall anu rule about not waking him up, and certainly not after I got shot protecting him.

It didn't make Arthur as proud as I hoped, and I recieved no praise before he left the room, leaving me to my soup. However, ai kne I'd do that again in a heartbeat.

Anything for my Arthur.