Hetalia one-shots

All we got (FrUk)

**ZOMBIE / APOCALYPSE AU! Also: Cameron = Scotland; Owen = Wales; Angus = Northern Ireland; Maeve = Ireland; Peter = Sealand**

Arthur Kirkland is running. He's never been very athletic--no, the third-youngest Kirkland boy preferred as a child to sit in the attic and read books on magic. Now he can't help but regret it. But then again, Cameron and Owen and the twins are all gone. Little Peter too. And they-they were athletic, right? Owen, not so much, the good chap--and Peter was just a child--but Cam definitely was, and Maeve and Angus were fighters.

Arthur watched them all fall.

It doesn't seem real, even though they're gone now--in Heaven, if only he believed in that. And Arthur's son, Alfred...he doesn't know what happened to him but he's probably dead too. Alfred had been out of the country, visiting his dear friend in Moscow... Arthur wonders if Russia fell as fast as England did. He hopes not, desperately, for the sake of his son.

When the forest comes into view, he doesn't stop running. If he did, he'd be dead too. They'd catch them. And who are They? Well--before it'd sound disgustingly corny but now, now it's not a joke. Everyone he knows, everyone he loves, is dead or probably dead. And then there are the dead, who don't stay dead. Al would call them zombies if he were here. Arthur has decided to call them simply Them. They are not people anymore.

Easily, Arthur gets lost. He's never been this desperate to run before, never been in such a hurry for his life. He knows They are behind him, and They will not stop. But he can't go on for much longer--his breathing is heavy and weak, his muscles in his legs and back scream as he forces himself to go forward.

He's terrified that if he looks behind them, one of the monsters will have the face of his brothers, his sister...his son.

Arthur hides behind a tree, his breathing ragged. He stops himself by biting filthy knuckles from screaming, from sobbing, from swearing. They are coming, he can do nothing--he's going to die, and-and Al might still might be alive--!

Arthur screams shrilly when someone grabs his shoulder. He can't help it.

"Let go of me!" Arthur snaps, once he's gotten over the initial uncontrollable terror. It's not one of Them, oh thank god--it's a man, his age give or take a year, tall and willowy with longish blonde hair. His shirt is relatively clean, only sweaty; he's unshaven and bright blue eyes and full lips and...he is very, very handsome, even in this situation.

The man looks exhausted, too. But he doesn't let go. "Quiet." he hisses, and he has a soft fluttery voice. "They'll hear you. I do not want to hurt you, cher, but you need to shut up."

"I will not shut up! Let go of me, you-you bloody heathen!" Arthur growls. "You don't know who I am--besides, if you kill me, you'll be no better than The--"

"Of course I am better than them. I do not kill innocent people, I do not eat them." The man's eyes go out of focus like he's not really there; and Arthur wonders sickeningly if people he knows are dead as well. "...my wife," he all but whispers. "She's dead, I know that. My son Matthieu..." he shudders. "I-I do not know, but...I-I do not have much hope..."

"He could've run," Arthur says.

The man just keeps shaking his head. "Non, cher, non..."

"You're french?" he raises an eyebrow. The man takes a deep breath and forces a small smile.

"Oui. The name's Francis...Bonnefoy. Interested?"

"Wha--no!" Arthur yelps, his cheekbones reddening. How could this man think of flirting when his family was most likely dead, when the world was so destroyed...? Oh. He pauses; this might just be his way with dealing with everything... Still, it's a pretty bad way!

A noise sounds in the distance. They're getting closer. Arthur hesitates: he's kind of pissed off right now. But then again, does he really have a choice? He doesn't think he'll survive very long on his own. And his need to find Alfred is much greater than his dislike for this man, Francis. Besides, he understands the fear for your family.

"...I suppose we have to work together, Frog."

"We're all we got, Monsieur Eyebrows." Francis agrees, almost wistfully. "C'mon--we have to go now."

(( SHOULD I CONTINUE THIS??? I MIGHT ANYWAY -- ))