!

holy. flying. cows.

3300 views?! are you kidding me?! and 66 reviews?! *gasps*

THANK YOU ALL! Oh my god!

anyway i'm glad you liked the previous chapter! ^^ (and yes, the cat is named 'cat', very original, no?)

oh and i made two other drawings too! (i'm not getting obsessed with this story now, am i? nooooooooooooo)

here they are on deviantart if you are interested! the first one is francis in the previous chapter, while in the second there are the REDs in general :3

/art/Nightmare-Apocalypse-Hetalia-France-361850141

/art/Nightmare-Apocalypse-Hetalia-REDs-361849372

..

i hope this chapter isn't that confusing...

anyway!

ENJOY

Ludwig carried the unconscious Italian to the back seats of the jeep, while the man with the bat and Romano followed him. The man was carrying not only a knocked-out Arthur, but the unconscious RED too. Romano had tried to patch his stomach wound up the best he could, but Ludwig could see the blood already seeping through. They had to hurry, not only because of his wound, but also because of the sun setting, fast.

He sighed when he laid down Feliciano in the car, and stepped aside so the man could to the same with Arthur and Francis.

"Who ze hell are you, anyway?" asked Ludwig, not bothering to be polite.

The man huffed after letting slide down the RED from his shoulder and after putting him in the car. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and then gave Ludwig his hand. "I'm the hero, Alfred F. Jones! Pleased to meet'cha!"

Ludwig took the hand, on his guard. You never knew. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. What are you doing here?"
Alfred looked astonished for a moment, but composed himself quickly. "I was hunting that bastard the whole day. Nevermind that. Now I'm gonna ask you something…" his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, "…why do you want to carry him away with the others?! Isn't he a RED? Shouldn't you kill him already?"

Ludwig tensed. "Ja, actually I should. But I'm not going to."
"Why?"

Ludwig glanced towards the unconscious Feliciano. His right hand was glowing under the bandages, and the light pulsed a little. "Because maybe he was saved."

Warm. He was feeling warm. It was a comfortable feeling.

Like when you wake up and you snuggle in your covers.

Hmm…it was getting too warm.

Why was he so warm?

Hot.

Hot.

Hot. Hot.

Was someone cooking him?! That was what he felt like.

Hot. Too hot.

Hothothothothothot. Hot!

Burn.

He was burning now.

Correction, his hand was burning. So hot…

What was going on?!

The hand burned as if he had put it directly in the furnaces of hell.

The warmth spread up his arm like molten lead, and reached his chest.

Great, now he couldn't breathe.

He was burning…

"Hey!"

"What is it?"

"Feliciano stopped breathing!"

"Vhat?!"

"Quick dude, make him breathe somehow!"
"I don't know how, damnit!"

"Like, you don't know the mouth-to-mouth thing?"
"I-I know that! Feliciano! Breathe!"

Did someone knock somewhere?

It sure sounded like it…
There it was again. He needed to answer, whoever it was!

Oh, it was gone now.

But he still was burning. His heart was on fire. And still he couldn't breathe.

Someone suddenly opened a window. Was that even a window? He heard air whoosh, and some coolness. Oh! He could breathe again.

He cooled down a little.

But it still was too hot.

He got some feeling back, beside the burning, but it wasn't pleasant. His heart ached with every pulse, and so did his hand.

What was going on…?

"He's breathing again!"

"Gott sei Dank…"

"Dude watch out for that bump!"

"Sheiße!"

"Ouch! Potato bastard, watch where you're driving!"

"The sun is setting, it's getting difficult to see!"

"How is he?"
"He's feverish. Fuck. What happened?!"

"I don't know. I think he managed to cure the RED, but maybe it took a toll on him…"
"You're shitting me, right?"

Was he floating now? He felt less hot, but it was still too warm. His hand didn't hurt anymore, but his heart still did.

He stopped floating. But he stopped breathing too, again. And again someone opened the unseen window, and he breathed once more.

He heard a clap of thunder somewhere.

Wait, was it someone's voice?

The thunder clap became rain pour.

Many voices.

The warmth did not give any sign of leaving him. His heart throbbed most painfully, as if it was pumping scorching lead instead of blood.

He was moved a little.

Hey, what happened?

An earthquake? What…?

"Feliciano! Wake up!" Mathias shook the small Italian's shoulders. His eyes didn't open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Ludwig pulled the Dane away from Feliciano.

"What does it look like?! I'm waking him up! And what happened to his hand?!"

"The potato bastard is right this time, moron. Feliciano needs his rest." Romano growled, appearing beside the German and standing between the Dane and Feliciano.

Feliciano was currently lying on one of the couches in the dining cave. He had stopped breathing two times, and was feverish. His right hand was glowing brightly under the bandages, and it appeared to be pulsing.
Arthur had been set down on a sofa, and Francis on the low wooden table. The latter had been tied down with some leather belts, though. Ludwig had a hard time trying to explain all of it to the almost-panicking Rock inhabitants.

However, once Mathias had been restrained by Berwald's headlock, he could talk freely. He told them about Arthur's theory, of Feliciano's hand, their battle with Francis, about Alfred joining them and about Feliciano passing out and having a tough time now.

"Hey, Arthur's regaining consciousness!" Tino noticed, as he was the nearest to the Brit.

"Hnnnng. Oh bloody hell, my head…" Arthur complained. He brought a hand to his forehead, and then blinked. "Francis-!" he suddenly stood up, but black spots danced in front of his vision, and he collapsed on the sofa again.

"Arthur-san! Are you alright?" Kiku asked, suddenly appearing beside the Englishman.

The Brit groaned. "Kiku…? Does this mean I'm at the Rock?"

"Yes, you are!" Tino said.

Arthur groaned again and glanced around. First he saw Feliciano feverish on the couch, and then Francis, strapped to the table. "Wait, what happened?"

Ludwig shook his head. "That's what we're trying to find out. I'm no medic, you're the only one here. Feliciano lost consciousness after fighting the RED and stopped breathing twice. The RED…I don't know about him."

Arthur stood up, and noticed a new face. "And who might you be?"

"Yo, I'm Alfred F. Jones, pleased to meet'cha!" the American said loudly.

Arthur groaned yet again, the booming voice was like a knife to his head. Great, a dumb, loud American was just what they needed, after a dumb, loud and obnoxious Dane.

He rubbed his eyes to get the black spots away from his vision. He ought to check on Feliciano first. The French arsehole could wait…even if his theory had worked.

Ludwig told him how Feliciano had fought on when he had fallen unconscious, and how he had punched the RED.

He neared the Italian on the couch, everyone closely watching him. They were all worried. Arthur unwrapped the bandages to look at his hand. Because, if they had won, the hand would have something to do with that, right? Everyone gasped when he finished unwrapping it. The thing on the back of Feliciano's hand had grown even more, and was pulsating in a white bright light.

"Hmm."

He touched the Italian's head, and found it beaded with sweat. "Could someone get him a wet cloth? He's burning hot." Bella ran off to get one.

He checked Feliciano's pulse. It was irregular, and his breathing was erratic. Something was affecting him from the inside. Could it be the thing on the hand? He pondered for a moment. No, even his fingers are twitching. It isn't the thing on the hand's fault. But what then?

He observed the hand closer. The knuckles were bruised, Arthur assumed, because he had hit Francis.

Wait.

Bruised. RED. He looked even more closer, and saw a tiny black smear between Feliciano's fingers. It resembled Nightmare goo.

He suddenly got up and started observing Francis. Arthur immediately noticed the crack in the middle of the RED's chest. Presumably where Feliciano had hit him. He looked closer, and saw another small smear of black substance between the cracks.

"Oh bugger, I think I know why Feliciano is like this." Arthur concluded.

"What is it?! Spill it, bastard!" Romano spat.

Arthur ignored the Italian as he continued inspecting Francis. The chest armour had cracked, he was scorched in many places on his whole body and his left wing was in a bad shape. He couldn't help but notice that it looked as if the armour was becoming brittle. The leather wings were almost withering, turning into fragile paper-like leaves.

"Well?!" Romano repeated.

Arthur didn't look up from the Frenchman's pale face. "I think Feliciano absorbed Francis' RED infection through his hand. Now he is trying to work it out of his system as if it were a poison. We can only wait."

Bella returned with the towel and put it on Feliciano's head. His eyes moved under the eyelids, but otherwise he did not move.

Ludwig stared at the Brit, incredulous. "Are you sure?"

Arthur straightened his back up. "Look at him. The RED appearance is slowly crumbling and withering. My conclusion is he's… actually healing. And Feliciano's having arrhythmia, as well as respiratory problems. That can only be if a poison is messing with his blood system, who in turn messes the lungs up. I think said poison is the RED infection."

Romano gulped. "He will survive, right?"

Arthur shrugged. "That, sadly, I'm not able to know."

It was fresh. Something fresh.

Aaah, it was a heavenly feeling.

It helped him forget about the fire in his heart and hand. A little.

So hot…

…Meanwhile, somewhere else…

"Where is Francis?" the voice said softly, but with a distinct threat hidden behind it.

None of the three shadows answered.

"I'll say it nicely one more time… Where. Is. Francis."

The shadows shivered. "W…we don't know…" one of the shadows said.

"What do you MEAN, you don't KNOW?" the first shadow, the 'master', roared.

"He went to check the western area alone, like we did ourselves with the other areas! But he didn't come back!" the shadow tried to explain. Said shadow got hit hard by the 'master'.

"Well, he didn't die. I would have noticed that. Stupid mistake…" the voice started muttering.

A third shadow spoke, while the fourth went to help the fallen one. "We could go and look for him."

"NO. Not for Francis. You must continue your previous mission. And since Francis was eliminated by doing that…" the voice continued reasoning "You will narrow your search to the western area. The one I'm looking for will most likely be there. And he will probably be the reason of Francis' disappearance…" he turned towards the three shadows again.

"Do not let me down, understood?"

"Yes, master."

Two shadows left, and again one stayed behind, glaring at the 'master'.

'Master' chuckled. "Ooh, you don't have to glare at me like that, Antonio... You can hate me, but it's all your own fault, after all."

The shadow named Antonio growled angrily.

The 'master''s eyes narrowed. "Now follow your comrades, before I change my mind and make a necklace with those pretty teeth of yours, да?"

The shadow left swiftly, leaving the 'master' alone.

... Unknown place...

He stood in darkness.

What was he actually standing on? He couldn't see. It was completely dark. Was he even standing? Or was he floating…?

Where was he?

…

Who was he?

Something moved in front of him. A hand appeared out of nowhere.

He wondered how he could even see that hand. It was as pitch-black as the background. And was it…clawed?

A set of eyes appeared. Violet eyes. They were welcoming him.

"Come with me…" a voice said.

He felt like he was under a spell. Something didn't feel right. But he took the hand nonetheless, his pale hand contrasting with the black. He suddenly felt very heavy, and his back itched.

Another hand appeared. It had a normal skin colour, and it slapped the black hand away from his.

"Don't do that!"

What…?

Another set of eyes appeared. Emerald green eyes. The normal hand stretched out to him. "Don't do that." the voice repeated.

Something felt familiar about those eyes. And were those…eyebrows? They looked more like caterpillars, they were huge.

The two sets of eyes stared at him, both with hands outstretched. To the left was the black hand, to the right the normal one.

They both called to him.

"…Francis…" "…Francis…!"

Oh, so that was his name.

The violet eyes were slowly filling with anger.

He didn't like that.

He looked at the green eyes. Those were filled with worry.

It felt more right to take the normal hand. He was about to grab it… But his hand wasn't normal anymore. It was… clawed. Like the black hand. But of another colour…

He hesitated.

Should he take the normal hand the green eyes were offering him?

Wouldn't he hurt the hand?

He wasn't normal anymore…

…Or had he always been like that?

He couldn't remember.

While he was thinking, the normal hand got impatient and grabbed his.

Suddenly in his mind there was a flood of memories.

His parents. His friends. School. High school. His friends again. The disaster. The Nightmares… The deal. Him…doing horrible things. Him fighting one of his old friends. Him being punched by somebody. A sunset…

His chest hurt a little, but it immediately vanished. He felt lighter, somehow.

He looked down at the holding hands. His hand had become normal again.

He glanced up at the green eyes. They were happy.

"…Wake up, you arsehole!"

Wait, he recognized that voice, now.

"Arthur, you branleur…" he found his voice again.

The violet eyes had not disappeared, however. They were very angry. And the owner of that black hand and those eyes howled in rage.

Francis got scared, and he finally woke up.

...Back at the Rock...

Something was happening to Francis, everyone noticed that.

The Frenchman's pale face was serene, but he was sweating. Suddenly a crack appeared on the light blue mask, exactly in the middle.

Everyone was holding their breaths.

The wings withered even more, shrinking and wilting, and then they became dust.

"He's…he's…!" Mathias gasped, astounded.

Arthur finished the sentence for him. "He really has been…cured." He watched the scene wide-eyed, not believing himself what was happening.

Ever since Francis had sealed that wretched deal, Arthur had thought his friend would never, ever recover. Even better, he had convinced himself that what once was his friend had died that day. That thing walking around with Francis' face was not his friend.

But now new hope bloomed in his chest, awakened by that incredible sight. His friend was healing and recovering right in front of his eyes.

Of course Arthur wasn't the only one to think that. Everyone in that room who had lost someone, because of him becoming a Nightmare or a RED, was regaining hope, watching in awe.

The crack on the mask spread, as did the one on the Frenchman's chest. The whole armour soon was covered in cracks, becoming brittle, and started crumbling slowly into pieces, becoming light blue dust and then disappearing.

The mask was the last one to crumble, but even that became dust after some minutes.

All that was left on that table was Francis.

Not the RED.

Francis.

Arthur did not know what to say. What to do. Hell, he did not know what to think! He was simply overjoyed. His friend had come back from the dead! Well, technically not dead, but you know what I mean.

"Dude are you crying?" Alfred shattered the atmosphere.

"Bugger off!" he snapped at the American, trying to fight back the tears of joy. The Frenchman's chest was rising and falling regularly, but now the face was contorted in a small frown.

"What's going on?" Bella asked.

"I…I don't know." Arthur said sincerely.

Ludwig came nearer. "Shouldn't we try and wake him up?"

"Maybe it's not a good idea…" Tino murmured, still marvelling at the fact that the RED had been cured.

Francis frowned even more, not only furrowing his eyebrows but contorting his mouth too. Almost as he was having a bad dream…

"Oh bugger! I'm going to wake him. Francis…!" he shook the Frenchman's shoulder calling out to him, but gained no reaction. He started shaking him a little more. "Wake up, you big French frogface!"

Francis grimaced, but did not wake.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "Oh well." He slapped him across the cheek. Once, twice. Thrice. Still no reaction.

"Wake up, you arsehole!"
The Frenchman's lips parted, an mumbled something. "…Branleur…"

Arthur's eyes lit up. "Francis! You big fucking wanker! Wake up or I'll break your wine collection again!"

Francis' eyes suddenly shot open, and he took a sharp breath, as if he had stayed underwater for too long. He started coughing, and tried to sit up, but the leather straps prevented him from doing that.

"…Quoi?!" he managed to say, before going into another cough fit.

There was a moment of silence in the room, but then it was filled with cheers.

"He really is cured! Hurraa!" Tino clapped his hands and hugged Berwald, who was actually smiling (and not twitching the corners of his mouth, for once).

Mathias cheered by punching the air, joined by a certain American. "Wohooo!"

Bella excitedly cheered, trying to get Romano to cheer too by taking his hands and improvising a small dance. Romano only smiled, but agreed to make that silly dance.

Kiku smiled too, and patted Ludwig on the back. Ludwig was staring first at Francis and then at Feliciano, an astounded look on his face.

Arthur was furiously trying to wipe the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, but with no avail. His vision blurred, he tried to untie the leather straps on the Frenchman's torso.

Francis continued to cough, and once his chest was freed, he sat up.

So much noise…where am I? he thought.

A hand was patting on his back. "Get over it, frog."

He finally stopped coughing, and looked up at the person beside him. "…Arthur?"

Arthur smiled. "You had us all worried, you git."

Francis frowned. "Did you threaten my wine collection again?"
The Brit glanced elsewhere. "Maybe…"
The Frenchman looked around. "…Where am I? Who are all these people?"

"You're in a safe place. These are all friends, you don't have to worry." Arthur explained, his smile getting larger.

"They're making too much noise…" Francis winced.

"OI! Quiet down, will ya?" Arthur exclaimed to everyone in the room. The all stopped cheering/dancing and quickly came beside the table. They unstrapped the man from the belts, so he could move freely.

"How do you feel?" the Brit asked.

Francis frowned. "My head feels like a soccer ball in the middle of a world cup finale. But for the rest…peachy."

"Are you sure? It looked as if you were having a nightmare…" Arthur asked.

The Frenchman shook slowly his head. "Non, I was just having…a bad…dream…" he talked more slowly as he started remembering the dream. And all that had happened before too. His eyes widened, horrified, as the memories flashed before his eyes.

"Francis? Are you alright?"

Francis ignored his friend and stared down at his hands, blinking. They were back to normal. He closed them, and then reopened them. No, no clicking sound. No claws.

He had returned normal.

He was normal again.

He was normal again…!

"I'm normal again!" he exclaimed, smiling. "Je suis de noveau normal!" he stretched his arms out and flexed his fingers before his eyes. Tears began pooling in his wide sky-blue eyes, and he started laughing. No claws! No clicking sounds!

"Ha…haha… hahahahahaha! Oh, joie!" He then started touching his face, and did not feel any mask covering it. "I-I'm normal…!" he started crying, still smiling. He touched his back. No wings! He laughed again.

Then he brought both hands to his face, and started sobbing, bowing his head. "…N-normal…"

Arthur frowned, not expecting that reaction. He patted Francis on his back. "Hey, pull yourself together. It's alright." He murmured.

Francis' shoulders were shaking. "No…! It's not alright…!" He managed to say between the sobs. "What have I done…I…I…!" he looked up from his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Je suis si désolé, Arthur!"

The Brit smiled softly. "It's alright. Really. Now you're back. And act like it, frog."

Francis sniffled, and started crying again, smiling a bit. "You haven't changed a bit, sourcils…"

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise.

The Frenchman chuckled. "I bet your cooking hasn't improved either…oui?"

Mathias laughed. "Nej! He's as bad as ever!"

The Englishman glared at the Dane, and poked Francis weakly in his side. "Frog. I'm glad you're back."

Again, many voices. They were cheering.

What had happened?

He heard laughing, and then crying.

Had someone been hurt?

No, everyone was laughing again.

He was glad…

…but he still was too hot.

Hopefully he would cool down soon enough, he was kind of getting tired of the heat.

Hot…

I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing! it had a lot of jumps _

but i really enjoyed writing it!

d'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw, francis! :'3

i will be going away for a few days, so i wont be able to upload, sadly enough.

but as always, i will on friday!

until next chapter! ciao ciao!

Gott sei Dank : (german) thank God

Sheiße : (german) shit

да? : (russian) yes?

Branleur : (french) wanker

...Quoi?! : (french) ...what?!

Hurraa! : (finnish) hooray!

Je suis de noveau normal! : (french) I'm normal again!

Joie! : (french) joy!

Je suis si désolé : (french) i'm so sorry!

Sourcils : (french) eyebrows

Nej : (danish) no