Cries were the only thing heard within the place. It bounced off the wooden walls and surrounded the two men where they sat. Cries weren't an uncommon thing to hear in the apocalypse. No, it was quite normal for people to cry. It would be more uncommon to not hear people cry. However, this cry was certainly a rare one to hear during the new world. It wasn't a grieving, saddened cry. It was a cry coated in joy.

"P-Papa...P-Papa.. It's you.. It's really you." Matthew cried, burying his face into Francis's shoulder. Francis let out a shaky laugh between his tears as he held his son close to his chest.

"Oui, mon doux garçon." Francis said softly, gently stroking Matthew's hair with his shaking fingers. This hair so much like his own. This voice that was sobbing in his ears. This person holding onto him tightly as if he were afraid of what would happen if let go. The Frenchman never thought he'd see this boy again. "I'm here. I'm here."

Matthew felt more cries break forth from him as he heard the reassuring words he had only dreamed of hearing again. Every second passed he had to accept the hard to believe fact that Francis was, indeed, right here with him. His Papa. The man who cared for him since he was little. The man who was always there to provide comfort and love.

"I-I didn't think I would ever see you again!" The Canadian choked out, pulling away from the hug to look up at the other. "We couldn't contact you guys a-and everything was in ch-chaos. There was s-so much going on and those things.. th-those things are everywhere.. A-Al and I barely got out of th-that ship we sailed over to get here. We j-just barely made it. We-"

"Shh, shh. Hush, now. It's okay, it's okay. You both are okay now. You're okay. You're here with us, you're okay." Francis repeated those words soothingly, wiping the tears off of Matthew's face. The other nodded silently, his lips wobbling into a small smile. That was true. They were going to be okay now. They were no longer alone. "Papa is here. Nothing is going to hurt you. Everything will be all right."

Well, that statement could be determined. As he spoke this, Francis glanced over at the bloody American that was lying unconciously across from where Arthur lied. His shirt had been removed due to his injuries that needed to be tended to. According to Matthew, they tried raiding a small drugstore off the corner of a road nearby and ran into some other survivors. Of course Alfred, being Alfred, tried to crack jokes and all that 'I'm witty and can kick your ass' attitude to get what they needed. Apparently the other people didn't buy it and ended up drawing their weapons on them. Alfred was cut deeply on the side and beaten pretty badly and Matthew only with some bad bruises across the cheek and back. How the Canadian managed to drag the American away and to safety was still a blur in his eyes.

When Matthew explained what happened with Alfred, it was only time before he asked Francis about Arthur. Francis merely replied with a smile and said all will be fine. Will it? Uncertainty lingered around the Frenchman's thoughts towards his beloved Brit. No, he did not believe he was dead. The male hadn't turned into a biter. However, he wasn't breathing or showed any signs of life so death could still be probable. Nonetheless, Francis couldn't say the exact situation Arthur was in.

After a few minutes of comforting and tears, Matthew pulled away and let out a sigh.

"We should check on Alfred." He said quietly, glancing over at his brother. Of course, it had only been about ten minutes since he had checked over him but that was ten minutes too long. Ever since the start of it all, Matthew had been very keen on keeping Alfred safe. Before running into Francis, the Canadian and American only had each other. So, both were extremely cautious and protective of one another.

Francis scooted over to the resting American, looking over him. Bloodied bandages wrapped around his torso multiple times, the deep crimson darker around his side and shoulder. There was a dried trail of blood from his forehead that connected to a purple bruise on his cheek. The whole image of the American resembled a broken doll. The wounds on his body appeared like cracks on precious porcelain. His expression was a resting mask distraught and woe. This wasn't like how Alfred was perceived. He always presented himself very strongly and lively. This... was the exact opposite.

"I-I think he's waking up." Matthew whispered, quickly scooting over to the American's left. Alfred's brows furrowed together ever so slightly as his twitched with life.

"M-Matt.. Matthew?.." Alfred's voice was soft and weak as he called out to his brother. Matthew let out a sigh of relief as he heard himself be called out. Oh, he was okay. Alfred was okay. He was awake. He was talking. He remembered. He was okay. He was going to be okay.

"I'm here, Alfred. I'm here." The Canadian reassured, tucking some of the American's hair out of his face. Alfred slowly and hesitantly cracked open his eyes, his sapphire orbs taking in the scene around him. At first, they locked onto Matthew, causing the corners of his mouth to up turn into smile. Matthew smiled back, giving a little nod to Francis. "Look who I found."

Alfred blinked, a confused expression crossing his eyes when Matthew said that. Found? Who was it? He turned his head over to where his brother nodded to and saw Francis come into view. His smile disappeared out of shock as he stared in disbelief at the man sitting before him. He weakly lifted up his hand and went to touch Francis, half believing he was just a hallucination his mind made him see.

Francis chuckled, tears welling up in his eyes at the sight. "Oui, it's me, Alfred. I'm here." He replied gently, taking the American's outstretched hand in his own, squeezing it softly to reassure him. At the touch, Alfred felt tears suddenly pour down his cheeks. It was him. It was family. Someone else. Francis. His papa. It was family.

A weak sob escaped Alfred's lips as Francis held tightly to his hand and stroked his dirty hair ever so gently. "Y-You.. It's y-you.. You're here.. You're h-here..." The male couldn't say anything else. Those words just repeated in between his cries as he never let go of the Frenchman's hand. Oh God, it really was him. Matthew laughed happily as he saw his brother cry with joy towards their dad. They both came a long way. They both went through a lot when they last saw their fathers. And, they both needed them in their life right now. And, the world was kind enough to show them to them.

"Shh, shh.. It's okay, Alfred, it's okay. Calm down." Francis said calmly, leaning down to press a soft kiss on the sobbing American's forehead. Alfred nodded silently, sniffing back some more tears as he stared up at Francis. He just couldn't believe it. He was there.. He was- wait. Francis was here. So where was...

"Arthur." Alfred said suddenly, blinking away his tears. "Wh-Where's Arthur?"

Silence.

Francis blinked, his smile slowly vanishing. Matthew gulped, unsure how to respond. At the silence given, Alfred felt his hope once again drain from him.

"Wh-Where's... Arthur?" He asked once again, begging silence wasn't the answer again. Thankfully, it was not.

"Alfred.." Francis's voice was hesitant and forcefully calm. He scooted back a bit, making Arthur's resting body visible. "please understand-"

Alfred's blue eyes locked onto the body of the British male, all focus being put on that view. He was lying down in the corner. Why? Alfred wanted to know. Ignoring what Francis was saying, the American forced himself up to crawl over to Arthur.

"Alfred, wait-" Matthew interjected, trying to hold Alfred back down. He didn't want the other to hurt himself further. However, as expected, Alfred pulled himself away as he shakily dragged himself over to Arthur.

"A-Arthur?" Alfred called out quietly, his hand reaching out to grasp Arthur's limp one.

No response from the gentleman. Francis and Matthew sat where they were, watching the wounded boy call out to the other.

"Arthur, i-it's me. Alfred.."

Silence.

Alfred finally made it over, grasping Arthur's hand in his own. His mouth opened to call out again but stopped suddenly when he felt his hand. It was cold. There was no warmth in his hand nor did the hand hold his back. It was a dead hand. It was a lifeless hand. It was a dead connected to a being who had no more life pulsing through his veins. Alfred felt his face pale as he shook Arthur's hand desperately. No, no. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead.

"A-Arthur.. Arthur.. Arthur! Arthur!" Alfred screamed now despite his incredibly fragile voice. He screamed for Arthur to answer him. He cried out for his first ever friend. He yelled for his past enemy. He sobbed for the one who taught him everything. He bawled for the one who made him who he was today. He wailed for the one he loved dearly. He pleaded for the one person who devoted so much to him at an early age. He screamed out for Arthur, the one who meant the world to him. Do you know what answer he got back in return?

Silence

Author's Note:

Yikes, I hope this chapter is good. I wanted to get another one out there because I don't know when I'd be able to write the next one (lol I'm so bad at being consistent) and really wanted to get this one done at least.

I hope you liked it! Please leave your feedback in the reviews/comments! I love to read them and they inspire me to keep going! :)