[The last vestiges of a smile vanish without a trace from France's lips. That's as good a confirmation as any. He's been hurt a scarce few times in the Tower, and France doubts America was ever in the form of a murderous little teddy bear, so that leaves only the incident with the masked monsters. A part of him wants to find reasons to doubt it, but that doubt would be for his own sake, his own peace of mind.
For once, France doesn't have the heart to continue on the path of denial out of pure selfishness.]
Oh, mon pet- petit...
[France bends down the rest of the way and scoops America into his arms, hugging him tightly like it has any chance of making those shivers stop. America's not the only one trembling, though, and France already has his face buried in America's hair when the implications of the situation settle in.
He attacked America. America was forced to change into a horrible, gangling beast, and France attacked him without a second thought. He attacked him with a sword, he felt that blade sink into America's skin-
He wants to vomit. A choked, breathless sound escapes his throat in one harsh puff, and his shoulders begin to shake with strangled sobs that he tries and fails to reign in. It's impossible to stay as strong as he'd like when faced with the terrible reality that he helped kill America.]
This means I- I- You- Dieu me donner la force, I am so sorry, little darling, please forgive me...!
[America wasn't expecting to be asked for forgiveness himself. He's clinging to France already, but that makes him try to see the other nation properly through his tears. He wipes his eyes several times to try and see, but the tears keep flowing.]
It's no-not your fault! I was a m-monster, and you h-have to kill monsters or they kill you, so i-it wasn't, it wasn't-- [And then his words dissolve into more tears and sobs.]
[If he had known America was behind that mask, he never would have attacked him at all. Not America at that age, not like this. Even though he's spent years and years as a nation, faced with so many wars and so much death, he can't bring himself to lose touch with the human part of himself. While his instincts as a nation tell him that this is nothing to get worked up over, he still finds himself overwhelmed with emotions.
America's just a child. A child. He had a hand in killing a child, and that truth spreads in his gut like the ache from a punch.]
Oh, mon bébé, shh, shh... [Though he tries to keep some semblance of calm, his voice quivers with every gentle coo.
He reaches up to rub at his own eyes, then pulls back and cups America's face. Though he knows it to be a futile task, he tries to wipe the tears from the boy's chubby cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.]
I- [He draws in a shaky breath and blinks more tears from his own eyes, forcing his lips into as perky a smile as he can manage.] -am not mad. All right? I will never be mad at you for doing some- something... [He falters and has to fight to keep that trembling smile on his face.] ...that you cannot control.
[America swallows down his tears as best he can, though it's not entirely successful. Still, France's refusal to be angry at him is comforting in and of itself, so he can find it in him to calm down little by little.]
D'you think--will some people-- [Still, it's hard to form a coherent sentence.] Some people might be--be mad.
[While France wants to assure America that nobody could possibly be mad at him, he knows that's not the case. There are certainly people out there who would hold something like this against a person even if it wasn't their fault. He's stuck between wanting to tell America the truth so that he doesn't have unrealistic expectations, and wanting to lie to make him feel better.
Raising a kid sure is hard work. He's almost relieved that England got stuck with the bulk of this.]
Well... They might be. [He chews on the inside of his lip.] But not at you. A lot of people are very confused and scared, so they get mad at a lot of things, no? But they are really only mad at the people who put us all into this mess.
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no subject
For once, France doesn't have the heart to continue on the path of denial out of pure selfishness.]
Oh, mon pet- petit...
[France bends down the rest of the way and scoops America into his arms, hugging him tightly like it has any chance of making those shivers stop. America's not the only one trembling, though, and France already has his face buried in America's hair when the implications of the situation settle in.
He attacked America. America was forced to change into a horrible, gangling beast, and France attacked him without a second thought. He attacked him with a sword, he felt that blade sink into America's skin-
He wants to vomit. A choked, breathless sound escapes his throat in one harsh puff, and his shoulders begin to shake with strangled sobs that he tries and fails to reign in. It's impossible to stay as strong as he'd like when faced with the terrible reality that he helped kill America.]
This means I- I- You- Dieu me donner la force, I am so sorry, little darling, please forgive me...!
no subject
It's no-not your fault! I was a m-monster, and you h-have to kill monsters or they kill you, so i-it wasn't, it wasn't-- [And then his words dissolve into more tears and sobs.]
no subject
America's just a child. A child. He had a hand in killing a child, and that truth spreads in his gut like the ache from a punch.]
Oh, mon bébé, shh, shh... [Though he tries to keep some semblance of calm, his voice quivers with every gentle coo.
He reaches up to rub at his own eyes, then pulls back and cups America's face. Though he knows it to be a futile task, he tries to wipe the tears from the boy's chubby cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.]
I- [He draws in a shaky breath and blinks more tears from his own eyes, forcing his lips into as perky a smile as he can manage.] -am not mad. All right? I will never be mad at you for doing some- something... [He falters and has to fight to keep that trembling smile on his face.] ...that you cannot control.
no subject
D'you think--will some people-- [Still, it's hard to form a coherent sentence.] Some people might be--be mad.
no subject
Raising a kid sure is hard work. He's almost relieved that England got stuck with the bulk of this.]
Well... They might be. [He chews on the inside of his lip.] But not at you. A lot of people are very confused and scared, so they get mad at a lot of things, no? But they are really only mad at the people who put us all into this mess.