The final chapter! Will it end the way you hoped? Regardless, please enjoy!

Tales of Wolves and Rabbits.

Just after New Year, Britain and France saw the boys off at the airport. It was a sad goodbye, full of tears and hugs and promises to call as soon as they landed before disappearing into the terminal. France couldn't help but hug himself as he watched their backs disappear from sight. Rock-sturdy Hungary had come through spectacularly, not only talking to the four of them for quite some time on Skype the day after Boxing Day, but arranging a good doctor for Canada to visit when he returned home. Austria also chipped in advice every now and again, more aimed to America, and it was surprisingly pragmatic – although he was Austria, so maybe it wasn't that surprising.

Canada confessed later that he kept his secret so long not because he was too proud to ask for help, but because he was afraid of being judged. His fears were dispelled by the fussing of his parents and the quiet support of his brother – even the older nations he didn't know too well were helping, not judging. He wasn't being compared to his brother. No-one had said 'why can't you be more like America?' That was his worst fear – being discarded because he couldn't compare. Britain nodded sagely, but America seemed genuinely hurt by this confession. Canada didn't dislike him, not at all, but he cast a large shadow, and it was difficult for him to be seen behind it.

France had fussed over the boys more than usual, just like when they were children, filling them up with sweets and wrapping them up in scarfs and hats when they went outside. Canada didn't seem to mind the attention, but Britain could see America start to get irked when France practically re-dressed him the hallway before letting him outside. Now they were leaving, the desolation was practically flowing from him. Britain laid a gentle hand on his friends back.

"Come on, old chap, let's head off before the rush hour." He urged gently.

France ignored him, still staring at the gate they had disappeared into.

"Where did I go wrong?" he asked quietly.

"What's that?"

"First you, now Canada… all those I love most are suffering. Is it something I did? Is it my fault?"

Britain punched him in the stomach, hard enough to bring him to his knees. The people made a good space around them as the Frenchman clutched his stomach and coughed, looking up at his attacker with shock and confusion.

"I don't want to hear that ever again." Britain declared "What this is isn't in your control – if it was, I'd have killed you myself. You haven't done anything. None of us have any control over this – not me, not Canada, not you."

Britain held out his hand to France. The Frenchman stared at him a moment before taking it, letting Britain pull him up. He immediately hugged the smaller man.

"Merci, mon petit lapin."

Despite his harsh words with the prime minister, Britain did go back to work soon, but on far reduced hours, working from 10 until 3 so as not to stress himself out. France was a little lonely without him in the house all day, and made himself busy walking the pig, cleaning the house and cooking delicious food for when Britain got home. He talked with Canada practically every day, calling him over the Skype and sometimes chatting away for hours, sometimes important things, sometimes just stuff and nonsense. Occasionally America was there as well – it seemed to France that America had matured a little recently; he was calmer, at least with his brother, and actually seemed to listen when France spoke to him.

Winter lasted a long time in London. January became February, but the concrete sky remained firmly overhead. Fifi grew a little bigger and chewed up some of Britain's shoes – threats of micro-pig bacon were rife for a good week after. Prussia and Spain came to London and crashed with them for two weeks, and hijinks naturally ensued as the trio made their way around the sites of London. Bidding them farewell at the end of their say wasn't nearly as difficult for France as saying goodbye to his boys at New Year, but he could admit to himself the being further away from his friends than usual was a little lonely.

"Then why don't you go and visit them sometimes?" Britain had suggested when he got home from work that day "It's not like you're bound and chained here, you know."

An awkward silence followed. Talk of France going home hadn't come up in some time – Britain couldn't put up a fight forever, afteral, and since he had a better handle on his condition, even his doctor thought that France didn't need to stay there anymore. It played on France's mind as he did the dishes after lunch one day: he didn't need to stay, but Britain wasn't kicking him out either.

The hall phone rang. He had already talked to Canada today, so he was confused as to who could be calling him – people knew Britain was back at work. He dried his hands and sprinted down the hall to catch it.

"Allo?"

"Ah, Monsieur France!" A familiar voice greeted.

"Monsieur President!" France realised "Good afternoon, sir!"

"Good afternoon. How are things over in England?"

"The weather is miserable and the food is terrible."

"Same as always, then!"

The two laughed.

"But seriously," the president went on "You've been in England for a long time. I've heard that Monsieur Britain has returned to work, and he seems much improved, but I have yet to hear of your return."

"Yes… my return…"

France trailed off. The president picked up on this pretty quickly.

"Things are not so simple?" he asked.

"No sir." France confirmed "They are not so simple."

"Why is that, if I may ask?"

He thought about what best to say. He didn't want to get too candid with his boss, but the patient white noise on the end started to grow louder.

"I cannot leave." he said finally "I cannot bear it. I can't leave him alone. I'm scared of what will happen."

The president listened patiently.

"It's true that I miss France. I miss my beautiful homeland and all my people, but I cannot leave Britain when he needs me. I cannot leave him again."

"Again?"

France caught himself, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

"I see." Was his bosses reply "Well, truth be told, having you in England hasn't been bad for us – our diplomatic relations have improved considerably, which in this recession puts us in a good position."

"Ah, is that so?"

"If you feel you need to stay in England a little longer, I can just forward your work to you. The internet has made the world so much smaller, afteral."

"Monsieur President…"

"We'll need you in July, of course, but we can discuss that closer to the time. The last thing we need is our closest ally going downhill, so you take good care of Monsieur Britain, okay?"

All the lights were off when Britain returned home, a couple of hours later than he intended. The usual smell of cooking that greeted him when he got home was conspicuously absent, and it was all but silent except for the faint sound of the BBC news coming from the living room. Fifi was immediately at his feet, demanding to be fed, and raced off to the kitchen as soon as Britain took off his shoes. Britain found France sleeping on the couch, wine glass laying empty on the coffee table. It wasn't like him to take a nap in the middle of the day. His laptop lay open on the floor, a slideshow of beautiful Paris sites and picturesque vineyards playing to itself. Each picture was full of people – his friends, his children, random beautiful women…

Britain sighed. Of course, France was a part of a vast continent, it was only natural he would be lonely, stuck on this little island. Britain was used to the solitary nature of islandhood. He could tell that France hadn't been his usual self lately, especially since his friends had left: he was quiet, and constantly wore a sad expression, even when he tried to smile. Britain knew that France was the sensitive type, and the situation was probably getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

Britain gently swept the hair away from France's face, causing the Frenchman to wake up.

"Ah…lapin." France realised, rubbing his eyes and sat up "Dinner's not ready. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." Britain assured "What were you planning? I'll get started."

"It was…ah, chicken, but I didn't take it out of the freezer." He sighed "What else is there?"

"Why don't we go out?" Britain suggested "You're always cooking, it wouldn't hurt us to go to a restaurant every now and then. I'll even let you pick the place."

France looked at him a moment, clearly still half asleep.

"That sounds nice." He said finally, hauling himself up from the couch "I'll go get changed."

France stumbled down the dark hall. Behind him, Britain picked up the phone.

"Oh, guess who's getting married." Britain said as they tucked into their dinner as the fancy restaurant France had picked.

"Oh? Um… Spain and Romano?"

"Nope, try again."

Britain chewed on his potatoes, France stopping cutting his vegetables as he thought. He pulled a horrid face.

"Has Belarus finally got Russia in chains?"

"Thankfully, no." Britain answered after swallowing "Austria and Hungary are getting married."

"Mon ami, they are already married." France pointed out.

"Yes." Britain admitted "They're renewing their vows. A lot of the world was at war with each other when they married the first time, so they want to do it again with all their friends there."

"Oh, that sounds nice."

"Glad you think so. They're holding it in France."

"What? Why? Not that I mind, of course, France is the country of love." He said as he went back to cutting his vegetables "But I do wish they had asked me first."

"They asked your boss, apparently."

"Hm."

"Oh, don't pull such a long face." Britain urged "It's not like we aren't invited! It's two weeks from today."

"Mon dieu, is that enough time to plan a wedding?"

"Between Austria and Germany, you wonder if two weeks is enough?"

"Oui, I retract the question."

"We'll both need new suits, though. The theme is 'Paris in Spring', it seems. Can I leave that up to you?"

"But of course! I have the perfect ensemble in mind already!"

"Perfect. I'll leave everything up to you, then."

"It's left here."

"Non, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Non, it's not."

"Look, the sat nav is telling you to go left!"

"I have lived here all my life, Britain, I remember when this entire city was nothing more than fields! I know where I am going!"

They drove into a dead end. France swore and put the car into reverse.

"Not a word." He hissed at Britain.

"Mm-hm."

Britain thought that being back home would put France in a better mood, but the past two weeks the Frenchman had been getting grumpier and grumpier, saying nothing on the ferry over and burying himself in a paperback. He barrelled about the Paris streets with more abandon than usual, perhaps even recklessly, as they made their way to the country villa where the ceremony was being held.

Prussia met them at the front door of the hotel, dressed to the nines in his best tux, looking extremely irate.

"You idiots are late!" he scorned as they jumped out of the car "The ceremony's about to start!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Britain apologised as France pulled their bags out of the boot "The ferry was delayed!"

"Learn to fly like a normal person!" Prussia ordered "And get your arses changed quick! We don't have time to hang around!"

France swore again, shoving a clean and preened Fifi into Prussia's arms and dragging Britain down the hall to the closest changing room. They changed in a flash and bolted to the banquet room, but Britain pulled France back before he opened the door.

"For fucks sake, britain, what?" he spat.

"Your fucking tie is crooked, git!" was the answer.

Britain adjusted the bowtie, giving France a moment to calm down.

"You're the host country, remember?" Britain pointed out "So don't show such a sour face to the bride and groom."

"Oui, oui."

"France!"

With a tight grip on France's tie, Britain pulled him down so they were eye to eye.

"I mean it." He said certainly.

After a moments hard look, France sighed, his body relaxing.

"Oui." He said again "I'll be fine. Thank you."

Britain released him, and the Frenchman stood strait, smoothing out his shirt and swishing back his hair. He put on his best (fake) smile and opened the doors.

"~SURPRISE~!"

Party poppers exploded all about, stopping France dead in his tracks. Whistles blew, glasses clinked and the band kicked into gear as France gaped at the accumulated nations. He looked back at Britain, who just smiled at him, before looking back at the crowd.

"Get in here, you loser!" Prussia shrieked at him, pulling him further into the room by his arm "The awesome me didn't put all this together just so you could stare at it!"

"Wha… you did this?" France stammered.

"Of course!"

A series of loud throat clears drained the colour from the Prussians face.

"Well, I had a little help, here and there." He admitted "But it was eyebrows who paid for it all – who knew the cheapskate could be so generous?"

"Amigo, I made you the most delicious paella you ever ate!" Spain called form the buffet table "Guaranteed!"

"Why would he want to eat your tomato soup goo?!" China demanded in his usual exasperation "I have bought delicious dim sum all the way from my home!"

"I bought vodka!"

"Yeah, let's make Bloody Marys! It'll be AWESOME!"

As he was pulled into the crowd, France looked around for Britain, but he had disappeared.

Outside, Britain sat on the old wooden swings under the tree with Hungary, sipping their champagne.

"Thanks again for your help, Hungary."

"Oh, it's no problem." She assured "It's good to remind people how important they are to you every now and again. Besides, you paid for it."

"Haha, don't remind me."

They had a good view of the party where they were – some of the revellers were making their way into the spring sunshine, as the banquet hall wasn't really big enough for them to get rowdy in. They saw a great commotion as Canada and America arrived, and the noise level noticeably increasing. Hungary laughed.

"It's nice to get together." She said.

Austria walked out of the building into the garden, looking all around. Spotting Hungary on the swing, he raised his arm, hand stretched towards her, and smiled. She noticeably blushed.

"I should go." She said coyly, getting up from the swing.

Britain laughed and bid her adieu. She linked her arm with her husbands, and the two of them strolled around the garden. Before Britain could feel lonely, a heavy body dropped itself into the swing.

"You're late." Britain teased.

"The plane was delayed." America defended "Something about fog, or something."

"Mm-hm."

The two sat in silence a while. It seemed America still wasn't drinking.

"How are you feeling?" Britain asked him.

"I'm okay. You?"

"Same as always. Are you really fine?"

America finally looked at him, a little surprised.

"You've been awfully quiet, of late." Britain pointed out "It's a little worrying."

"Oh, I'm fine." America assured quickly "I'm just…" he searched for the words "Trying to be better."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm the older brother, but Canada's way more mature than me. One night with you and France helped him more than living with me for weeks did. I want to be the kind of person that my brother can rely on, you know?"

Britain nodded, patting America on the back.

"Don't force yourself." He urged "You're not even 300 years old yet." He smiled "I'm sure, in time, you'll become a reliable big brother."

"Thanks, man."

There was silence for a moment.

"Wow, that's not awkward!" America declared loudly "I'm gonna get some paella! What the hell's in that stuff anyway?"

The young nation sped off. Britain couldn't help but laugh. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind, arms linking under his and hands locking behind his head.

"What?!"

"West, grab his legs!"

With a sigh, Germany appeared from behind him, looking put out.

"Sorry, Britain."

"What the devil, you two?!"

Hauled away by the two Germans, Britain didn't see the point in fighting – he might beat one of them, but since they weren't exactly at war, he didn't see the point in trying too hard. The two carried him back into the party hall, to the delight of the baying crowd, and put him back on his feet in front of France, who stood with his arms crossed, looking stern. The two stared each other down, but France couldn't keep it up, and started laughing.

"I hate you, Britain!" he said between chuckles "You damn tea-drinking idiot!"

"Same to you, cheese-eating frog-monkey."

Britain started laughing as well. The crowd cheered and raised their glasses, declaring a toast to the day.

Laid on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, France hummed happily to himself. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow onto the antique furniture. The Germanics were so on top of things, they had even taken the time to give his dusty house a clean before the occupants got there, opening the windows and changing the sheets. He was tired, his body aching, but in the best possible way. He had been unhappy for a while, but he hadn't realised how unhappy.

What wonderful friends he had. What a lovely party. What a magical day. The thought made him smile, warming the very bottom of his heart. Downstairs, he could hear America and Canada bumbling about, arguing over who got to sleep in the top bunk in the guest room. The door to his room creaked open quietly.

"Good grief, you could at least take off your shoes." Britain scolded gently.

"My hands won't let me." France told him "They are preoccupied."

"Good grief."

He felt Britain grab his feet and pull off his shoes. He sat up suddenly, grabbing the small man and pulling him back down onto the bed, holding him tightly.

"What the hell?!"

"I told you, my hands were busy." France repeated "Laying traps for little rabbits. I caught one."

"You!… You idiot."

Britain went bright red, but didn't pull himself out of France's grip as he squeezed him gently.

"Merci, mon petit lapin." He purred.

"Wh-what are you thanking me for?"

"For today. It was a wonderful surprise. I didn't realise how much I needed it."

"You're an idiot." Briatin said plainly "This was my way of thanking you."

"Oh? What are you thanking me for, lapin?"

"What, you ask…"

Britain went red again. France gave him another squeeze.

"You do not have to thank me, lapin. This much is easy for someone you love."

"Lo-" Britain stumbled over his words, as his usually did when such talk came up "S-stop calling me a rabbit, you bloody idiot!"

France just laughed.

"But you are mon petit lapin!" he insisted.

"If I'm a rabbit, you're the bloody big bad wolf!"

"Oui!"

"Yipe!"

France spun them around so Britain was lying flat on his back, face still ablaze, and France sat on his belly. He took Britain's hand and kissed it gently.

"And I am about to eat you up." He purred.

He leaned forward intently, closing in on Britain's lips.

"DAAAD!" came a scream from downstairs "Tell America not to drink out of the bidet!"

Britain pushed France aside and leapt of the bed.

"Fucking hell, America, are you retarded?!"

Britain bolted from the room, leaving France alone on the bed. France smiled to himself.

"Run, run, little rabbit." He purred to himself "The big bad wolf will catch you eventually."

France got off the bed as the yelling downstairs increased, closing the door behind him as he went to help Britain with the boys.

Sorry, readers, no smut in this story! Did it end the way you thought? I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Despite always being about, none of the chapters really focused on France before this, so I thought it was about time he had something nice happen for him - good deeds should be rewarded, afterall. Where will it go from here? I'll leave that to your imaginations ~.

As for Britain and Canada - well, there's no magic cure for mental illness, you just learn how to cope, but doesn't it feel like things are improving for them?

Anyway, thank you for reading Sometimes Friends, Sometimes Enemies, Always Brothers. I've had a lot of great feedback, and I've enjoyed reading every word of it. Please look out for my other works in the future!