It had been a day since the herd invaded their cabin. A day since Francis had been scratched.

He was surprised to see he hadn't died yet, considering that it was a pretty deep gash. Certainly a wound like that would get infected quicker than the average scratch. However, he did feel different. Very different.

"We should start heading out again." Arthur mumbled, peering out the window. It was morning, heading on to the second day after the biters. Francis was leaning against the door, trying to shake away the aching in his body. All his bones felt like they were being constantly jabbed at with needles. But, he did his best to keep this hidden from the Briton.

"Oui, we should.." Francis replied softly, pushing himself off the wall. When was he going to tell Arthur? Would it be when the man found him dead? Or maybe when he could no longer hold it up any longer? Francis didn't know... He wasn't sure how to break the news to the Englishman.

Arthur adjusted the backpack on his back and looked outside of the opened door. The sun was just peaking over the trees around, causing him to squint the more he looked. It was a pretty sight, he had to admit, but pretty wasn't something he had any will or energy to stop and admire. That didn't matter in his eyes anymore.

"I always wondered why trees were always green." Arthur muttered absentmindedly, staring at the leaves. "I know there must be some scientific reasoning behind it, probably connecting to the nutrients in the soil and oxygen and all that, but-"

"Ah, Arthur..." Francis sighed, walking up to him. He placed a slightly shaky hand on his shoulder as a chuckle escaped his lips. "You always do seem to let your mind wander. I've always found it adorable."

At that statement, the Briton felt his cheeks flush red. "I-I am in no way adorable! Mind you, if I am anything I am a sophisticated and charming gentleman!" Francis snickered.

"You are sophisticated, but I, on the other hand, have all the charm. Not you."

Arthur pursed his lips angrily and huffed. Even in the midst of danger they'd be bickering. Francis wondered if Arthur would miss that when he was gone...

"Come on." The Englishman said after a moment. "It's morning so we'll be able to cover some ground before night falls." With that, Arthur strolled out the door and began walking away from the little cabin they had hid out in.

Francis watched him, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Would this be the last time he had a morning conversation with the man? Maybe he should've cherished that little bickering scene longer... It might've been their last. The Frenchman winced as a shot of pain stabbed through him. Those shots of pain had been happening more frequent now. Was that a sign of death? Was death trying to signal to him 'you're next'?

"Hurry up, frog! We haven't got all day you know." Arthur's persistent voice broke through his thoughts. Francis blinked and looked over and saw Arthur frowning at him outside. How cute his frown was to him...

"Alright, I'm coming-" The Frenchman called back, but stopped. Did those words even make it out of his mouth, or did he just imagine himself saying them? Either way, that didn't matter. The next thing he knew, Francis found himself lying face down in between the entry way of the door and outside.

"Francis?!" Came a shout from a distance, a very far distance. Francis blinked as his vision swayed in and out of focus. He was on the ground, that was clear. Had he fallen? His mind was in too much of a daze to figure that out. Suddenly, he felt someone push him over and the sun instantly blinded him. It was Arthur.

"Francis! Are you okay?! What's wrong?!" The Briton's worried voice was crisp to his ears; the only thing that was audible. Francis blinked once more and found himself staring up at a wide eyed and pale faced Arthur.

"Arthur-" The Frenchman made an attempt to speak but was quickly cut off by a fit of coughs. These coughs weren't no ordinary coughs though. Oh no. These were the coughs of the infected. If someone was coughing in such a way they would be deemed as pre-biters. As the man coughed, blood began to trickle down his mouth. This only made Arthur more worried.

"Bloody hell..." The Briton slipped an arm under the man and lifted him up a bit. He held him close, trying to help him in whatever way he can, even if he didn't know what was wrong. "Francis, are you hurt? What's wrong? Are you okay?" All these questions began spewing out of his mouth, leaving no time for Francis to answer- not like he could if he wanted to.

The Frenchman merely stared up at the concerned Briton, just stared. Blue eyes staring up at his beloved's face.

So... This was it. He didn't need someone to tell him. He didn't need to look at the different sides of things. He just knew that it was time. Time to...

"Arthur... Look at me." Francis mumbled, his eyes softening. Arthur stopped his questions and moving about and froze. Emerald eyes connected with the sapphire ones, and for a moment time stopped.

"Francis... What's going on?" Arthur questioned cautiously as he looked to see the Frenchman so calm. This wasn't natural. Something wasn't right. Francis would never act so relaxed when he was stressed out, especially during this time.

"I've always adored the way your eyes glistened in the light... Did you know that?" Francis said, his voice now fragile. "I always loved the way the green seemed to shine like lovely jewels in the sunlight and moonlight. Reminded me of our pirate days.. Ah, you were so much more brave and daring then-"

"Wh-Why are you speaking like this?" Arthur interrupted, now starting to fear of what he may receive as an answer. He knew this speech very well. This was the talk of someone who was leaving, or someone who was taking their last breath. Francis couldn't possibly be-

The Frenchman silenced at the question, his eyes dropping a bit but not breaking the stare. "I'm sorry, cher... But, my time here is over."

What was he saying? Why was he saying this? He couldn't be- this couldn't be happening. No, Arthur refused to believe this. He refused to believe the ridiculous yet true thought that came to mind. Francis was Francis! He was France! He was always there, no matter what the circumstances were!

"Wh-What? No! No, you can't be!" Arthur exclaimed rather loudly as he looked over the Frenchman. He held him closer as his breathing quickened. "Wh-Why are you saying this?! You can't die! I-I won't allow it! I won't! What makes you-" The Briton was suddenly cut off as a hand was placed on his cheek. A very gentle but shaky hand.

"Please don't make our last moments be of arguing... That would be horrible, non?" Francis spoke softly, a little smile crossing his face. He wondered how Arthur would be without him. Wondered how different it may be for the man. Sure, they had their fights and arguments, but in the end they always made up. Would he miss those arguments? Would he miss those constant throwing of insults?

"N-No... You can't be..." Arthur's lips moved silently as little snippets of what he was trying to say came out. It didn't take long before tears brimmed his eyes and slid down his face. "Y-You can't leave me.. Francis, t-tell me this is a joke! You can't b-be dying!" Secretly, he was hoping this would be one of those pranks the Frenchman played in order to mess with him. Now he actually wanted the man to joke with him.

Francis smiled weakly, his eyes drooping every now and then. Carefully, he used his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that fell down the Briton's cheeks. "Please don't cry, Angleterre... I hate to see you cry. Don't worry... You're going to live on, okay? Live on for me. I know that hard head of yours can make it through this merde." As he spoke, Francis couldn't help but feel himself begin to choke up. This certainly showed in his eyes which made Arthur cry even more.

"F-Francis... Please... I can't l-lose you." The gentleman sobbed as he held his dying partner in his arms. This wasn't supposed to happen. They both were supposed to make it to Berlin safely. They both were supposed to face the world together. That's the promise they made even before the world turned to shit.

"Désolé, mon amour... But, I have no choice. Death has its way and there's no way of changing its mind." A tear rolled down the side of Francis' face as he felt more of his strength drain. "Please, live on, Angleterre... Promise me that? Promise me you'll be okay; that you'll take care of yourself. Can you p-promise me that?"

Arthur took in a shaky breath as another cry fell from his lips. His emerald eyes now cracked as he stared down at the weakening Frenchman. "Wh-What about the boys?" The Briton brought up. "Alfred and M-Matthew... What about th-them? Th-They need you F-Francis... We all n-need you... Our family isn't complete w-without you..."

"Find them..." Francis breathed, his voice now hallow. "Make sure they're safe and bring them to Berlin..." His lips trembled as he forced another smile upon them. "I'm sure you and the boys will do fine... Besides, the only major loss you'll have is edible meals." An attempted chuckle tried to escape his lips but a cough drowned it out. More blood trickled down his chin as even more energy drained from him.

Arthur shifted his hold he had on the male, having him rest his head against his chest. His loud beating heart contrasted greatly with Francis' own. This couldn't be real... This couldn't be happening... Maybe this was a dream. Yes, all a dream and he would wake up next to Francis sleeping peacefully and this whole mess would be over. That certainly had to be it. However, the sane and reasonable part of his mind knew for a fact that this was indeed reality..

"Je t'aime... Angleterre..." The Frenchman said just above a whisper as his eyes slowly closed. "I love you... Never forget that. Even though my heart may cease to beat... My love for you is forevermore... Maybe in time, our paths will cross again... Live on for me, dear.. Live on and find the boys.. Tell them I love them as well... That Papa will forever be there for them in their hearts... I love you, Arthur. I will keep on loving you... no matter what."

It was as if everything in his body was cracking. Every bone giving way against the heaviness that was being set down upon him. Arthur stared down as he began to gradually feel Francis grow heavier in his arms. "F-Francis...? Francis... H-Hey.. Look at me. P-Please..? Francis..?" He shook him lightly but the Frenchman did not respond. His face was as still as stone... The little smile on his lips still frozen on his still face.

He was dead. The great country of love who always had a special place for everyone in his heart. The one who showed Arthur the true meaning and significance of that precious emotion. The one who opened his eyes in a whole new way of viewing the world. Francis... He was gone. The last bits of life drained out of him, sending another dagger through Arthur's heart. He was dead. Francis Bonnefoy was dead.

Alas, another country fallen-

"No... No, I can't let this happen." Arthur furrowed his eyebrows as endless tears streamed down his face. "I am not going to let this h-happen... I can't lose you."

Without thinking twice about the quick idea that came to mind, Arthur very gently set Francis down on the ground. Tears now wet the man's front shirt, but the Briton didn't care for that. The only thing on his mind was what he was about to do. Maybe it'll work... Maybe it won't. It was a worth a try.

Of course, the Englishman was slightly weary about doing what he was planning. Not once had he done it in the past, but he'd read stories about those who have. Chances of him messing up were high, but that didn't matter. It was drastic and undoable, but Arthur didn't care. If it saved Francis... he would do anything.

Arthur knelt down next to the Frenchman's still body, weeping silently at the sight. God, he hoped this worked. Slowly, he shakily took Francis' hand into his own, squeezing it gently. A shudder past through him as he felt the limpness in his lover's hand... That hand that used to squeeze back reassuringly. Pushing that away, Arthur took a nervous breath as he pressed both their hands over Francis' heart. This had to work.

"I'm sorry, love..." Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. With all the strength and energy he could muster, he tried his best to gather even the slightest bit of magic he had left. Maybe there was still some in him... Even if it was little, it would have to do. After two minutes of immense focus and desperation, a faint green glow began to surround their interlocked hands. The Briton opened his eyes and took in the sight of the glow, watching it brighten.

"Please forgive me when you wake..." Arthur spoke softly, already feeling himself becoming drowsy. "Hopefully, when you wake up, you know I'm doing this because I love you... and I can't bear the thought of you dead in this world. I love and care for you too much..."

Suddenly, Arthur felt himself sway where he knelt. A sad smile crossed his lips as he found himself crumpling to the ground. It was worth it. Performing this sacred magic and accepting the consequences was all worth it. Whenever a life was regained, another was taken away. A life for a life. That was the cost.

The Briton used the last of his energy to grip Francis' hand in his own.

I know you will resent me, maybe even hate me, for what I'm doing now. But, I do not care. You are going to be okay now. That is all I need to know... Hopefully, you know this is all an act for love. You are the country of love.. I pray you notice it when you see it, even in severe conditions like this.

Arthur looked at Francis' still face one more time as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. It was worth it... It was worth it...

I love you.

As the Briton's eyes closed forever, Francis opened his.

...

"Arthur?... Arthur!"

_
Author's Note:

I was very excited to write this chapter. Hopefully, it was sad and feelsy as I tried to make it, haha~

Anyways!
Please leave me your feedback in the comments/reviews! I love to hear them and they actually help me write!