Haha, you lucky dogs. You get two lemons back to back!

Warning: Sad stuff, lemon, and fluff.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Never Trust a Frog

When they had arrived back at camp, Marge had immediately rushed up to Ruby Red, thinking she had just been injured, but broke out in tears when she discovered it was not so. Alfred had left Arthur's side to comfort his daughter and Ivan had laid the Coonhound's body beneath a blooming smoketree, clusters of soft purple petals cascading down onto her ruddy body every time the warm breeze disturbed the branches.

"She'd like it here," Marge sniffed, giving her pet a couple of pats. "Ruby always liked chasing the petals."

Eventually, Alfred convinced Marge that they should put Ruby to rest and allowed everyone to give her a pat or a rub or a scratch behind the ears. Feliciano was crying the whole time, even after Marge had stopped, saying when it was his turn to see Ruby, "Addio, cucciolo."

Lovino had then guided him away to calm him down, glaring at Ludwig when he got close.

When all the goodbyes had been said, Ivan took a shovel out of his coat (much to the surprise and horror of many) and began digging a pit beneath the tree. Once the grave was deep enough, Ivan scooped the dog into his arms and laid her gently down into it. She fit perfectly.

Ivan peered down at Ruby for a few moments before saying, "Good dog," and shoveling the disturbed earth over her body.

They all stood there around the tree for a while when Ivan had finally patted the dirt into place and stepped away. Then, Matthew parted the crowd along with Francis, laying wildflowers upon her grave. Once they were gone, Ludwig came forward, knife in hand, and proceeded to carve words into the trunk of the smoketree above the grave. When he stepped away, it read:

Here Lies Ruby Red

A Brave Dog, Loyal Companion, and Best Friend

You Will Be Missed

March 16 2005—September 15 2013

Rest In Peace

Alfred looked questioningly at Marge and she muttered, "He asked how old she was earlier. I told him everything. He's very fond of dogs."

There was silence for a few more minutes, all studying the grave and makeshift headstone. Then, Marge said, "She was a good dog. A very good dog. I got her when she was just a couple months old. A few months later, she'd killed her first sparrow. Ruby Red was my best friend, and she got me through many lonely days and nights. She caught food when I didn't have the energy, eating none for herself unless I gave some to her. She laid by my side when I was sick. She chased away any animal who tried to confront me. And she always greeted me with tail wags and kisses." She paused to wipe a couple tears from her eyes and sniffed. "Ruby was there when no one else could be. Now the angels will get the pleasure of knowing her and her radiant spirit."

Another stretch of silence, and then: "Ruby did what any friend would." Alfred began awkwardly, consoling Marge who was now crying softly into his shoulder. "She saved our lives, and I will never forget that. Her life on earth was short, but well-lived. Ruby Red was loyal to the very end—One of the last of the loyals in the world. If I could make everyone in the world like her, I would. She was an example of how everyone should be in times of great hardship: hopeful and strong. Your namesake would be proud of how far you've come. We all are. Goodbye, girl."

"Farewell," Arthur muttered. "And thank you so very much."

"You did what I could not." Francis said. "Your sacrifice won't be in vain, cher."

Matthew sniffed and sighed. "All I have now are memories of you. But they are good ones. I'll think about you everyday, I promise."

"She died as she lived, as any dog should live and die." Ludwig said. "Eternally loyal."

"Ja," Gilbert said. "Our debt to you is great. We will live as you wanted us to, that we solemnly swear."

"You remind me of Hachikō." Kiku said. "He was an Akita Inu who waited for his owner at a train station for nine years after his master's death. Loyalty, it seems, did not die with him." He then he stepped forward, sitting on his knees and said, "For the samurai to learn, there's only one thing, one last thing—to face death unflinchingly. You have done just that, my friend." He bowed his head, pulling something from his pocket and putting it up to his forehead before scattering it on the grave. He stood and faced them. "Usually we give money at funerals, but since I didn't have any, I settled with incense instead."

Yao nodded. "A very kind gesture, xiǎodì." Then Yao stepped forward and pulled a small white candle from his bag, setting it down on the grave and lit a match. The candle flame smoked elegantly while Yao burned some incense of his own in it. He then tore the red arm band from off his uniform and dropped it into the flame. "Red is the color of happiness." He explained grimly. "This is not a happy time." Then he turned and said, "Nín jiāng bèi jiēshòu jìnrù tiāntáng. Ānxí." Dipped his head and stepped back into the circle of grievers.

"Grief is the price we pay for love." Arthur quoted. "But in this case, grief is priceless, for our love for you must cost a fortune."

"Sei stato molto amato." Lovino muttered. "Addio,"

They all gave their farewells and walked away slowly, one-by-one, until the only ones left were Alfred and Marge.

"Come on," Alfred said. "It's getting dark. We'd better set up camp."

"Yeah," Marge scrubbed at her face and exhaled shakily. "Yeah, we'd better do that."

They were all silent as they set up the tents Arthur had managed to grab. Sadiq's leg was tended to by Matthew and Lovino was still trying to console Feliciano. Just as the sun had dipped below the horizon, seven tents had been set up. Alfred had convinced Marge to go to sleep as soon as her's was up, assuring her that he would be sharing a tent with someone else.

"So," Ivan had been the first one to speak after the funeral. "There are twelve of us. That means two to each tent. Who will pair with who?"

Lovino quickly grabbed Feliciano. "I will stay with my fratello."

"I don't think so," Gilbert said. "You two work each other up too much. I can imagine what it would be like if one of you had a nightmare."

"Shut up, potato bastard!"

Eventually, Ludwig and Gilbert pried both brothers apart with much swearing and kicking on Lovino's part. When it was over, Gilbert had a firm hold of Lovino, while Ludwig had Feliciano who was whimpering and clinging to him.

"No!" Feliciano said. "I-I want… I want…" He looked from Ludwig to Lovino then back again. "C-can't you and Lovino share the tent with me?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No room."

Lovino scoffed. "I wouldn't sleep anywhere near the bastard. Will probably be jerking his wurst off in the middle of the—"

"Honhon, something on your mind, Lovi?" Francis leered. "If it bothers you so much, maybe you can share a tent with moi?" He gave a playful wink.

"Fuck no!" Lovino said, practically jumping into Gilbert's arms.

Gilbert smirked down at him, and said, "Eager, ja?"

Lovino tried to get away, but the Prussian grabbed him and carried him to the nearest tent, tossing him inside. "We'll take this tent." Gilbert said, zipping up the flap. "Gute Nacht!"

"Okay," Matthew said quietly. "Who wants to pair with me? I'm not picky." He shrunk back pointedly when Ivan looked at him.

"I will, you have to care for my leg anyway." Sadiq volunteered and followed Matthew into their tent. Alfred huffed at not being quick enough to volunteer himself and instead turned to Arthur.

"Artie…?"

"No," Arthur said firmly and Alfred frowned.

"You will share with me, da?" Ivan said. "I much liked sharing last time. Is nice, da?"

When no one still said nothing, Alfred sighed and followed Ivan gloomily back to one of the tents.

Arthur then turned to Yao and Kiku. "So, which one of you chaps will pair with me?"

Yao and Kiku looked at each other once before racing off to one of the tents and bolting inside, zipping up the flap.

Arthur frowned. Francis leered. "It looks like it will be you and me, amour~"

"I'd rather sleep outside, thank you."

"I wouldn't say that, ami."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"Because," Francis pointed upward. "It is about to rain."

"How do you know th—?" Arthur was cut off as a fat raindrop plopped on his nose. "Well… it can't be that big of a storm, can it?"

"If it's anything like that one that set the cabin on fire, you are out of luck, cher."

"Whatever. I've had to brave gales and storms on the open sea as a captain and fight wars in the rain. What's the difference sleeping in it?"

Francis shrugged. "It is up to you, amour." And he slipped inside his tent, leaving the flap open.

Arthur snorted as he rolled out his sleeping bag. Can't sleep in the rain? Bah! What can a little water do to me? It's not like it's hail or anything…

And he stretched out in his sleeping back, feeling the rain pick up and hearing the trees sway and creak with the force of the wind. After about five minutes, drops were pounding the ground and Arthur's sleeping bag was soaked completely through, making him shiver. And all the while, the flap on the tent was waving at him, mocking him…

Francis opened his eyes as he heard a dragging sound just outside the tent. He sat up and smirked when he saw Arthur pulling his wet sleeping bag through the tent flap. He was sopping wet and looked absolutely murderous as he placed his sleeping bag as far away from Francis as possible, on the other side of the tent.

"It is nice of you to finally join me, ami."

"Shut it, frog."

Alfred settled into Ivan's sleeping bag since he still didn't have one for himself. It was annoying, but it comforted him to feel a body against his own, no matter how cold or cruel, to know he wasn't alone…

Ivan was staring up at the roof of the tent as the rain began, pummeling the fabric, hoping it wouldn't seep through. Alfred, meanwhile, had stripped down to his boxers and had his back to him. But even though his posture was indifferent, Ivan appreciated the fact that he could now feel Alfred's warm skin against his own.

But there was something that kept him from appreciating the situation fully.

"You almost died today." The statement was barely a whisper.

But Alfred heard. He stiffened and said, "So? I wasn't the only one who almost died."

"Nyet," Ivan now turned onto his side, head propped up by his hand. "You almost died."

"Yeah?" Alfred still didn't move, but Ivan could tell from his voice that he was a little uneasy. "So? What's your point?"

Ivan sighed. Alfred was so thick-headed. "My point is," He grabbed Alfred's shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face him. Alfred's blue eyes were wide and he was still as stiff as ever as he now lay on his side, avoiding Ivan's gaze. "I would have been sad."

"Why? 'Cause you wouldn't have anyone to bicker with anymore?"

"Nyet," Ivan said, now wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him so that they were chest-to-chest. "Because I would have missed you."

Alfred gasped as cold arms closed around him and held him tighter than was necessary. Seriously, the sleeping bag was already doing that job for them because Ivan took up most of it. "And why would that be?" Alfred muttered, knowing where this was going and felt his heart begin to pound.

"You are… special to me."

"Special as in…?"

"Special as in I want to keep you." Ivan went on, kissing Alfred on the forehead. "Special as in if I lost you I wouldn't know what to do."

Alfred hoped it was dark enough that Ivan didn't see his blush. "Uh… yeah, right. I guess I would… miss you too…" The last three words were barely audible.

"Da," Ivan said, rubbing his back. "I think I will keep you, if you will keep me. Just us. No one else."

Ivan's sayings were vague, but Alfred knew what he was trying to say and he knew why he couldn't say it because it was same reason Alfred couldn't. Knowing this, he wrapped his arms around Ivan too and lifted his head, planting a couple of kisses on his neck. He felt his chest swell with warmth when he heard the Russian purr appreciatively.

"Of course I'll keep you." Alfred whispered. "I've wanted to keep you for a long time."

"Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us."

There was silence and then: "I never really knew how long I waited until I saw you nearly killed today."

Alfred smiled against his chest, his embrace tightening. "Then you know we've waited too long."

"Da," Ivan said, taking in the scent of Alfred's wheat-blond hair. Sure, it smelled of dirt and sweat and blood, but it was still distinctly Alfred, the smell of the man he both hated and loved… "But now the wait is over."

Arthur couldn't properly sleep for two reasons.

One: He was soaking wet.

Two: Alfred had almost died today and he couldn't get it off his mind.

Oh, and there was also the fact that Francis was sleeping in the same tent with him.

Francis made a noise between a sigh and a snore and Arthur huffed. Hopefully Francis wouldn't start talking in his sleep. His dreams were something Arthur never wanted to hear about.

He shifted in his sleeping bag and examined the tent which was now being pelted with raindrops. He fucking got the tents, but no one yet had thanked him… ungrateful gits.

Arthur didn't know why he felt so grumpy all of a sudden. Maybe it was because he was angry with himself for letting Alfred save him or because he hadn't had…

Arthur's hand dipped into his pants, but he quickly caught himself, extracting it as if a whole crowd of people were watching. He looked over at Francis, but the man was still asleep. No. No, he couldn't, not in here with Francis of all people. What if he was caught? Frogface would never let me live it down…

… But, God, do I need it…

He had to be honest with himself no matter how humiliating his claims: he hadn't jerked off for weeks. It was not like he didn't like to, he just… hadn't had the time.

But now's not the time to do it. Arthur settled and shoved his hands under his pillow so if temptation arose, he would not be able to satisfy it.

But it didn't help that Francis was making those… sounds. It was like the Frenchman was trying to arouse him. Surely Francis must be having a very sexy dream, because his moans were heightening by the second. And he was shifting in his sleeping bag—moving his hips in a familiar motion…

Arthur drew his eyes away, disgusted at himself. Really? he mused. Am I really going to watch this now? He was motionless for a minute, his eyes closed. But then Francis gave one of those sexy moans…

Ah, fuck it. Arthur said, turning onto his side so he could see Francis through the dark of the stormy night. He doesn't ever have to know. And Arthur's hand once again slithered down his pants and into his shorts. He gave a pull to his cock and it hardened immediately. Damn, he didn't know how long he truly waited until he started stroking it…

And Francis kept making those noises. Arthur hated to admit it, but they were starting to turn him on. He just dismissed it as being desperate. Never again, he told himself. Never again—

And then he saw it. A shadow moving up and down. It was small movement, but he was sure he saw it. He connected the dots and figured out that… he wasn't the only one desperate for a wank.

He suddenly couldn't stop himself from watching every move the Frenchman made, and he soon found that his own hand was in sync with Francis's before long. And he found he didn't feel disgusted or ashamed—God, he just wanted off.

Then Francis looked at him, but Arthur had already closed his eyes and stopped moving, though they were cracked enough to continue watching Francis. The Frenchman kept looking at him, his eyes half-lidded, his hand still moving now with urgency.

Arthur felt his cock twitch when he finally pinpointed the reason: Francis was wanking off to him. Sure, it wasn't a surprise—Francis wanked off to everyone—but it didn't fail to arouse the Briton.

Arthur longed to continue his movements, but Francis was watching too closely for them to go unnoticed. So he just lay there, hoping he wouldn't come just from that because, he had to admit this, it would be humiliating even if Francis didn't know.

And then something Arthur didn't expect: Francis got up, cock still out, and made his way over to him. Arthur squinted his eyes shut, and there was no time to right himself, as Francis rolled him onto his back, then straddled him, wanking off in front of him. Just as Arthur couldn't believe what was happening—and seriously hoped Francis wouldn't come on him, that would be awkward—Francis leaned down and muttered, "I know you are awake, cher."

When Arthur didn't answer, Francis began tugging down his sleeping bag. Arthur forced himself to be quiet as Francis uncovered his erection, his hand still wrapped around it.

"Honhon," Francis tsked. "You have been up to something, I see." And the Frenchman slid down his clothed body, making sure the Briton could feel the state of his swollen length. "Mmm, I'll just have to take care of it for you since you are 'asleep.'"

And before Arthur could do or say anything, Francis had taken his cock into his mouth.

Arthur couldn't pretend that he was sleeping any longer. He grunted, biting his lip and covering his mouth with the back of his hand, looking everywhere else but at Francis. He could feel his face heat up and he sincerely hoped that it was dark enough that Francis couldn't tell.

Francis gave that annoying laugh—a laugh that curiously made Arthur's cock twitch. "Bon matin, chéri. It is nice to see you have finally joined me. This wouldn't nearly be as exciting with you sleeping."

Arthur quickly sat up and began to back away. "Get away from me, frog!"

Francis smirked. "You do not seem to entirely want me to." He gave Arthur's cock a deep-fisted pump as proof.

Arthur couldn't help himself. He hadn't come for so long, his dick was extra sensitive to any touch—even the frog's. He moaned and bucked his hips into the hand.

"You see," Francis went on, continuing to pump Arthur's dick slowly, teasingly. "I need to get off, but I have no intention of being the only one if I am not alone."

Even though Arthur wanted that hand to keep moving along his shaft, he knew he would regret it if he just let this happen without a fight. Going on that, Arthur pushed Francis away from him with both hands. "And why do you possibly fucking think I would let that happen?"

"Parce que," Francis leered, his position unyielding. He reached up and snagged both of Arthur's hands with his own, pinning them to his sides. "I know you want it too."

"W-wait, get the hell away—!"

But the rest of Arthur's words were lost as Francis's mouth once again enveloped his cock. Arthur couldn't believe what he was seeing: Francis, the frog, fucking France, his enemy since forever, was sucking him off. It enraged and aroused him at the same time. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd always wanted to see Francis's face covered in his cum, nor that he sometimes imagined taking the man captive and forcing him to give him head.

But he wasn't forcing him. Francis had willingly, willingly,crawled over and agreed to it. Well… more like took Arthur by surprise. And Francis had trapped him. Arthur tried not to think about how sexy the situation seemed. His many fantasies were warped: Francis was the dominating one now.

And Arthur fought. He squirmed and growled and cursed—though only half-heartedly—to make sure the Frenchman knew he was still opposed to this. Francis, though, seemed not to notice, too busy pleasuring him.

So Arthur went still. He had tried (and failed), oh well, he'd just go through with it. He kept telling himself that as Francis got more vigorous with his blowjob. Arthur bit his lip so hard it bled to keep his voice in, but it soon became unbearable as Francis began teasing the head of his dick, his talented tongue probing the slit. He resorted to biting the back of his hand, and Francis noticed his restraint with a chuckle that did wonders on his shaft.

Francis took three-quarters of his length into his hot mouth without warning, making a circle with his index finger and thumb to tease the rest of his shaft. At this, Arthur couldn't contain himself. He let out a moan, hips bucking up into the mouth, heat suffusing his whole body. Francis hummed around him, and Arthur lost it. He didn't care if he fucked Francis's mouth. The bloody git deserved it!

And so he did. He thrust up into the blond's mouth, into his throat, holding the back of his head down, no longer caring about his reputation. He hadn't felt this good for so long… and he damn well deserved something for risking his life for tents and medicine today!

Francis's tongue trailed from base to tip, applying just enough pressure to make the Briton squirm. There was no doubt he loved sucking people off. He was the best after all. But the heady smell of Arthur's arousal intoxicated him more than his other lover's and the fact that he could finally witness Arthur's sexy expressions and moaning was adding to his own pleasure.

In fact, Francis doubted he could last much longer.

As so, he increased his speed, moving his own hips against the sleeping bag, this time taking all of Arthur's length into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. At this, Arthur arched and moaned, "Oh God—!"

Francis chuckled, releasing Arthur's cock and said, "'Francis' is fine, amant."

Arthur glowered down at him, and Francis concluded that it was the sexiest angry look he had ever received from him. To show his appreciation, Francis lifted one of his hands to trail up his shirt and tweak one of the Briton's pert nipples, releasing the other of Arthur's hands in the process. And that hand caught him by the wrist and that oh-so arousing glare was given.

"Don't you dare stop now, bastard."

Francis laughed and retracted his hand, placing it softly over Arthur's. "Of course not, amour."

And he took Arthur into his mouth again. The Briton threw back his head and moaned, bucking his hips into that hot, wet mouth. "Uhn, shit…"

Francis continued his teasing, anticipating Arthur's orgasm with eagerness. But then… he got an idea.

He didn't want this to end quite yet.

So he went as hard as he could, hollowing out his cheeks, his tongue pressing. And just as soon as he felt Arthur's cock twitch with impending climax…

… he stopped.

Well, he didn't exactly stop—he continued but slowly, teasingly, just like he had before.

Arthur looked curiously down at him, but didn't say anything.

After a minute or so, he sped up and once again… stopped.

This time, the Briton did respond. He lifted himself up on his elbows and glared down at Francis murderously. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't tell me you don't know how close I am!"

Francis gave him an innocent look and Arthur dropped back down onto the sleeping bag with an aggravated huff.

And Francis continued, bringing Arthur to the brink and stopping. He kept Arthur's hips from moving with his hands.

Arthur's hand shot down to lodge in Francis's hair and he growled, "Fucking suck me off already, you bloody sod!"

Seriously, for their first time Francis wasn't making a very good impression.

Francis smirked around his length. "Do you want it, cher?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I want it, git!"

"Do you really want it?"

"Yes, I—!" But Arthur paused, catching on. Then he shook his head and said furiously, "No way in hell! I am not begging!"

"D'accord," Francis said skeptically, and he returned to his ministrations.

He brought him to the precipice and stopped a few more times before Arthur couldn't take it. The Briton arched and moaned, saying, "All right, fuck, frog! I-I fucking need it, okay? … ahn, let me come." When Francis looked up at him, raising an expectant eyebrow, Arthur added, "Please! … fuck…"

"Well," Francis said, smirking. "Since you said 'please'…"

Francis set to sucking him off again, hollowing his cheeks and pressing on his length with his tongue like before. But this time, he allowed Arthur to go further than before. Arthur was fisting the sleeping bag and panting. The sight was delicious to Francis, who was close to climax himself. Seeing Arthur in such a weakened and willing state made him increase his speed, and pretty soon, he was deep-throating his rival.

All worry flew from Arthur's mind as he was pleasured like he hadn't been in months—years. He hated to admit it, but the Frenchman was good. And when Francis locked eyes with him, Arthur was pushed over the edge. He arched and was coming in molten-hot spurts, thrusting through his orgasm, pulling Francis by the hair so that his dick was shoved down his throat. His orgasm seemed to last forever, and he was so lost in his pleasure that he failed to notice Francis rolling his hips into the sleeping bag.

When it was over, the reality of what had just conspired hit Arthur like a sledgehammer to the face. Oh shit, he thought. Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! What the hell have I done? And he sat up, still breathing heavily, watching his length pull out of Francis's mouth, a trail of saliva and cum following. Arthur's whole body heated when he realized that Francis had swallowed all of his cum.

Francis's face was flushed with obvious arousal and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the trail of cum on his chin vanishing. "Honhon, you performed well, mon Angleterre."

Arthur scoffed and felt a bit… exposed. He surreptitiously folded his legs to hide his softened cock and scoffed, "Only because you wouldn't properly suck me the hell off."

Francis leered. "Non, chéri, I needed it."

"Needed it…?" Arthur began, but paused mid-sentence to examine Francis's cock. It was flaccid… but surely it would be erect if Francis's libido was anything to go by. Then Arthur began piecing it all together, spotting something white pooled at the foot of his sleeping bag. Disgust and arousal filled him at the same time. "You… you came on my sleeping bag, you sod!" Arthur glared and turned his back to him. Great, now everyone would know…

"Oh, don't be like that, amant." Francis said stretching out alongside Arthur on the sleeping bag. "We can clean it off. Besides, no one would be surprised, oui?"

"Damn idiot," Arthur grumbled, draping his jacket over himself. "Everyone will be surprised. We're enemies, for Christ's sake!"

"I know," Francis said, curling up against him, spooning him—much to Arthur's displeasure. He felt exposed in his state of undress, especially with the feeling of Francis's softened cock pressed against his ass. "But I wouldn't care."

Arthur scoffed. "Of course you wouldn't. You wouldn't have any shame even if you shagged a donkey."

Francis winced, but pulled Arthur closer to him nonetheless. "I wouldn't care because I love you, chéri."

Arthur stiffened. "You're just saying that to get in my trousers."

"Don't you think I would have done so earlier if that was the case?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. "Why did you do that?"

Francis breathed out against Arthur's neck, making the Briton shiver. "When I saw that I could lose you any day, I decided I had better let you know."

Silence, then: "You're a little late then, aren't you?"

Francis laughed. "Very late, oui. But obviously early enough." The Frenchman planted a line of kisses down the back of Arthur's neck.

"Er…" Arthur wanted something to do to end the awkward moment, so he began to shift uncomfortably. "We should probably clean up and… you know… clothe ourselves."

But Francis held him tighter still, Arthur's back melding perfectly into the Frenchman's. It was strangely comforting to Arthur. Rarely had anyone held him in this manner. "Non, amour. You are tired. I know you have not slept at all tonight, for I have not slept either."

Arthur yawned, feeling drowsy by Francis's warm embrace. "Why… why did you wank off today? How could you after what happened?"

The question seemed to catch Francis by surprise, but he wasted no time in answering, "It relaxes me… helps me sleep. And if I'm not mistaken, you were doing it too." Arthur could feel Francis smirk into his neck.

"Hopefully we won't encounter more days like today." Arthur's mutter was barely audible, as if he feared it would be contradicted if he said it any louder.

Francis sighed. "All we can do is hope now. All we have done is hope. Perhaps relying solely upon hope has led to this problem—we must make our own stand to right the wrong that we have caused. It is our responsibility; our job."

"True," And for the first time in his life, Arthur found himself agreeing with Francis—though he didn't care so much now. "I'm just happy we're all together. It may not be everyone we want to be here," Arthur's throat constricted and he coughed. "but I'm still grateful I'm not the only one left."

Francis pulled the sleeping bag over them. "You will never be alone, cher. You never were." Francis kissed him on the cheek and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck. "Bon nuit, mon belle Angleterre."

And, without a care in the world, Arthur slipped into slumber, the warmth of Francis's body against his chasing away nightmares that he would have had if he were otherwise alone.

Translations:

Addio, cucciolo-Farewell, puppy

Nín jiāng bèi jiēshòu jìnrù tiāntáng. Ānxí-You will be accepted into heaven. Rest in peace.

Sei stato molto amato-You have been loved.

Gute Nacht-Goodnight

Bon matin, chéri-Good morning, darling

Parce que-Because

amant-lover

D'accord-Okay

Bon nuit, mon belle Angleterre-Goodnight my beautiful England

A Word From the Writer: Yup, the pairs are starting to form. First RusAme, now FrUK. But honestly what else were you expecting when France and England were sharing tents?

By the way... I have already written the first major character death. It's happened, one of them is gone. I'll just let your paranoia run free until then. XD