The waters lap at the shore, a gentle song in the wind as France stands near the wooden dock leading up to the ship that'll bring him back to his home country. He shuts his eyes, the wind rustling his shimmering blond hair as he takes a deep breath.

"Well, I should be going," he whispers, unable to make his voice cheery.

He should've been more prepared for this. After all, both him and Britain knew that as soon as their treaty was signed, there's no going back. Canada and all the colonies within his land have been given away.

He takes no more than one step towards the dock before a shrill cry echoes out and reaches his ears. He turns in surprise only for a smaller body to collide with his own. He looks down in surprise as Québec clings to his elegant clothing, his shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his face.

"Québec, what are you-"

"Please don't go!" he wails, looking up at him. "Don't leave me with the Englishman, France! S'il vous plaît!"

France doesn't say a word, slowly casting his gaze upwards. Britain stands at a distance, arms crossed and jaw set. Even so, France notes the way he swallows every now and then, his green eyes seeming to swim with emotion. Newfoundland stands to Britain's left, Canada on his right, and both boys look like they're about to burst into tears.

Newfoundland looks up at Britain, his big blue eyes teary, and Britain gives him a little nudge forwards. Without having to be told twice, the young maritime colony races towards France and wraps his arms around the country. France lowers himself to his knees, holding both boys close as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Now...you two be good for your big brother, okay?" he murmurs, pulling back to look at them.

"B-But, I like when both of you are here, eh?" Newfoundland whimpers. "I like having two big brothers to look after me..."

France remains silent, unsure of how to respond. Québec looks at his feet, rubbing the heel of his hand against his cheek in an attempt to wipe away the tears.

"He doesn't speak French. I like speaking French around you, papa," he sniffles in his native tongue.

"And you will still speak French," France responds. "I'm still your brother. I just won't...be your caretaker."

"That's not fair, bud...I love you both..." Newfoundland says, his accented voice thick.

Nearby, Britain looks away for a moment, cursing how choked up he feels. He never thought that seeing his old frenemy part from this land would be so emotional; it just shows Britain how much France has influenced the way things work around here. Canada looks up at his big brother, squeezing his hand a little tighter. The U.K. gives him a short glance, forcing a smile.

"Go on, you should say goodbye too," he whispers.

Canada nods, releasing Britain's hand and shuffling towards France. The older blond nation looks up as he hears his approaching feet, a tiny smile flicker across his face as he reaches a hand out to him. Newfoundland instantly shuffles to the side and allows Canada to have the space directly between him and Québec.

Canada hardly reaches France's arms before the tears start flowing, making him start to tremble as he snuggles his little body into France's strong chest. France returns the embrace, shutting his eyes as he strokes the distraught boy's hair.

"Mathieu, there's no need for you to be so sad," he soothes.

"Y-Yes there is," he stammers. "I don't want you to go."

"This is just a part of getting older. You have to learn to let people go. Do you understand?" he asks. The three boys nod. France releases Canada, his bright blue eyes looking over each of them for a moment before he smiles. "Laurent, Jonathan, Mathieu, you're all going to be just fine. Arthur is a good man, and I know he'll take good care of all of you. Be good for your big brother. Besides, think about the new little brothers you could be getting." He glances up at the country watching, the two of them sharing a brief moment of eye contact before France's attention returns to the boys. "All of you have made me very proud. It was an honour."

He leans forwards and kisses Québec's forehead, then Canada's, then Newfoundland's. Québec sniffs and wipes his eyes, making Canada rest a comforting little hand on his shoulder for a moment.

"Je t'aime, papa," Québec whispers, hugging France one last time.

"Je t'aime," Newfoundland and Canada echo, joining in on the group hug.

France swallows the lump in his throat as he shuts his eyes, squeezing his little brothers tightly. "Je t'aime aussi."

He stands up, giving them a sad smile. Britain comes up behind the three boys and makes eye contact with France again, reaching his hand out to him. France accepts, giving the Brit a firm handshake before he turns and heads for the moored ship. The three young boys remain silent, although the tears still rolling down their faces don't want to stop.

"You'll see him again," Britain says, attempting comfort. "Don't worry."

France keeps a strong face as he heads towards the ship, his boots slapping against the wooden dock with every step closer. He forces himself not to look back at the four people he's leaving behind, knowing that that'll only make his departure harder to deal with.

"WAIT!"

The nation stops short as the feminine voice rings out across the early morning air. He slowly turns around, his eyes widening as he sees Métis running towards him, her big brown eyes surprisingly teary and her hair loose and windswept.

"Adalene?" he asks, shocked by her appearance.

She doesn't stop running until she's close enough to wrap her arms around his middle. He stiffens out of pure shock, unsure of whether to return the embrace or not.

"Please don't forget to come visit," she begs, her voice wavering. "Mother will miss you too much."

France's thoughts flicker to First Nation for a split second, his heart twisting with painful longing. He lowers himself, carefully hugging the little girl as he laughs softly.

"I will try and find the time," he says. "But...I can't make any promises."

"I understand," she responds, burying her face in his shoulder. "But you will try? Mother loves you a lot...I don't want her to be sad."

"Tell her that I love her too, d'accord?" he asks, earning a tiny nod. He pulls away and gets back to his feet, patting the top of her head lovingly. "Be good, Adalene."

She nods again.

As France boards the ship and the large vessel begins to sail away, the future provinces and countries watch without saying a word, their silent tears saying more than words ever could. Métis stays on the dock, the wind rustling her little dress as she slowly raises her arm up, her fingertips lit with the oncoming sunrise.

"Au revoir, papa," she whispers.