France was not slowing down one bit. England into his eyes and they were fiery death. England spared another glance America. America seemed to be primed for a fight. He was staring on flinchingly at France. Seeing the opportunity France pounced.

France felt such satisfaction when he felt his hands wrap around soft flesh of the neck. He squeezed his hand around the flesh watching as England gripped his wrists in an effort to release his neck. Germany and America had already jumped up snatching France's shoulders in effort to pull him off. France brushed them off like annoying insects. England kicked up sand, pulled at his wrists, and generally hit France where he could.

England once hit France in the gut knocking the wind out of him but France's grip remained like steel. England's struggles grew desperate he flailed around faster. He also managed to sock France on the jaw causing his lip to start to bleed.

England's writhing got to the peak beginning to grow weaker and weaker. Still France would not let up. He didn't want to. Germany, America, and Italy were practically screaming bloody murder into his ear until Italy's voice came through the fog.

"I thought you said you and England were friends? Why you kill him you scary monster!" All the fog and rage left France in one swoop. England was hitting him lighter than a feather now. Horrified France let go hearing England gasp in huge amounts of air. France stared down into England's eyes. What he saw he couldn't bear to see. He broke the stare glancing at England's neck which was now had a horrible purple and yellow bruise all along it.

"Man…." America spoke softly for once. France became fully aware that Germany and America all but busting a blood vessel to drag him off of England.

"I-I am sorry, mon ami." France stood up getting off of England. He took the Englishman's hand. England had cringed at the gesture. A shot of pain went straight to France's heart. He never wanted England afraid of him. France pulled him to his feet. He took a moment to look at his "friends" turned and walked straight into the forest without a word.

France found a large palm tree to sit under. He could feel the tears that he held back for years begin to finally flow free. Pour quoi? Why? What was so wrong with him? He may be a bit perverted at times and a bit well snobby but that didn't mean he didn't have a heart. Everyone always forgives each other after a while. Him though they didn't allow such a gift. The sobs he held back began to form racking his whole body.

Part 2

They haven't seen France since he walked into the forest. That was almost 4 days ago. There had been no sign of him at all. England was trying not to worry about him. After all, the frog had almost choked the life out of him. Then again England replayed the whole incident into his head for 3 days. Over and over he feared he really must have gone beyond France. He recalled what he said exactly and now it did sound particularly nasty. They have all been uneasy. Squirming in the unknown of what happened to France and why he wasn't showing up.

Each one of them had gone searching for him all over in the forest. Germany had actually went twice once with Italy and the other by himself. Of which he had just returned from. Hopefully with good news but England had a vast amount of doubt.

They were all kind of eerily silent as Germany sat down. The look on his face said bad news. England already knew Germany's answer before he said it. England felt a twinge in his chest. Guilt, It was definitely guilt for what he had done. Not for France's strange behavior.

"I still have not found one sign of him. It is as if he up and flew away." Germany sighed. Who knew the Frenchman knew how to disappear? He was very good at it. Hell, who knew he could be so strong that not even America and him could pull him off of England? He glanced at Italy who looked very frightened. Which in reality wasn't saying much.

"What is it Italy?" Germany put simply.

"I have seen France like this before. It was so scary I made 10 different white flags! Ve it was scary." Italy blurted all at once.

"When? How? What happened?" Italy now had England's full attention.

"Ve…I had over heard Spain accusing France of almost the same thing. After, France started yelling very loud! I heard sounds of fighting afterwards so I ran." England was now sure that what he had said was a trigger for France. It is as if he immediately goes crazy when such a thing is said to him. Which had never knew at all. Come to think of it England didn't know much of France besides his tendency towards being perverted and love of fashion.

"So that was a harsh and touchy statement to him." Germany spoke after hours of silence. It seemed to England that he was worried as well. Maybe they all did care a bit for France, even him. Who knew?

"Germany, what do we do, man?" America asked seemingly concerned.

"We all find him and apologize." Germany firmly stated

"But you didn't do anything."

"I may have said some things to him before," he admitted, "The only one who probably hasn't is Italy."

"Vous don't have to. I am here already." Stunned England stared up at him. He came back on his own. He thought France would never come back without them finding him and apologizing.

"France, we…I am sorry." England apologized to France. France sighed not saying anything. He couldn't accept the apology he didn't forgive him and the others anymore. He didn't want to lie to them. Especially when he got his vengeance. He wanted them to understand why and not have them think he forgave them, again. No he wanted them know it was coming.

Which was why he skipped a world conference that week we when they all figured out how to get back, again. He stayed at his place thinking nothing but thinking of all the things he could do to get his payback. There were many ways he couldn't settle on one just yet. He liked three the most. One was going completely crazy at a world conference beating people to a nice and bloody pulpy substance. Another very slow way of draining them dry of their money. Or even a slow meticulous payback to one very special person specifically. The one who had broke his heart many times. Never bothering to see if he was hurt never saying sorry until once. Now that sorry was not enough, not nearly enough.