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oumaheroes · 3 years

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Reset Ch10:The Truth Comes Out

Whole story found on AO3 and FFnet (It’s a long boi, I warn you)

'Please, take a seat.'

England and France looked at each other, before back at the gun in Jean's hand. His hand was still and focused, pointed directly at England.

Jean gave a small smile. In any other situation, it would have been kind.

'Please. Don't make me ask again.'

He motioned his head towards the chairs again and England cautiously lowered himself into one, seeing France out of the corner or his eye do the same.

Jean nodded. 'Thank you. This will be so much easier if you comply.' He looked over their shoulders and nodded. Suddenly, England felt his hands being grabbed and forced behind him, rough cable ties being forced over them and tying them together. Then, pushed down further; they were attached to a pole in the back of his chair. Deciding not to put up a fight he allowed it, as he did when the same was done to each of his legs, and as the footsteps of whomever was behind him backed away again, he gently tested their give. They were tight, each slight movement dug into his skin. He could break out of them, but not without damage to his wrists or doing it inconspicuously.

He maintained eye contact with Jean and sat straight with shoulders back watching him slowly settle more comfortably on the bed. Behind him, an electrical generator, hooked up to the lamps, whirred gently.

Jean nodded to whomever was behind them and they stepped out of the room, shutting the door as they left. He then clapped his hands together and beamed at the both of them.

‘Well. I expected something but certainly not this.’

Neither France nor England replied. Jean didn’t seem too put out by this however, he nodded his head and gestured to the restraints. ‘I’m sure you can understand why this has to happen.’ The gun in his hand was fixed between the both of them. It glinted with each slight movement. England resisted the urge to glance at it.

‘Please believe me, I am not a violent man. Far from it in fact.’

France must have made some sort of face because Jean gave a small laugh. ‘Ah yes, well. I am not intentionally a violent man. When pushed, I do what is needed and things sometimes go out of my control. This will hopefully not be one such time.’

He looked at England.

‘Arthur, how nice to see you again.’

England said nothing.

Jean continued to smile.

‘I’m aware that this isn’t a situation either of you would like to be in. And I’m also aware that you’re not willing to tell me anything. So, let’s get this over with as quickly as possible.’ He leant forward in an impression of ease and geniality.

‘I know what you are.’

Neither France nor England said anything, neither moved.

Jean’s eyes flicked from one to the other, reading for movement, acknowledgement. ‘Well, rather, I know you’re not human. I have proof you’re not human. I also know that this information is not something you’re going to want to be made public.

Still, neither spoke. Jean frowned. ‘You’re both making this incredibly difficult.’

Quickly, without warning, he stood and swung the butt of the gun, cracking it against France’s temple. He gave a muffled cry of surprise and pain as white light dances across his eyes and agony erupted in his head. He slumped downwards, weight pulling at his restraints.

Jean sat back, regarding England’s unmoving expression, eyes still fixed on him. England didn’t glance at France, but out of his periphery saw him straighten back up.

‘You’re not new to these sorts of things, I take it.’ Jean gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Makes sense’.

Still silence, broken only by France’s breathing as he fought to get in control of the pain. Already, it was subsiding.

‘How long would it take you to heal, I wonder? If I did worse, I mean.’ Jean regarded France. ‘Arthur here was shot only the other day, in the chest, I believe.’

He glanced back to England, at his chest. ‘But it seems you’re already fine. That’s been recorded, you know.’

England fought to not let the cold chill of dread show as it flooded his body. Modern technology was nothing but a curse.

‘Tell you what. Let’s do an exchange.’ Jean opened his arms, gun flashing in the light as it moved. ‘I tell you something I know, and you nod yes or no. In return, you can ask a question.’

Still silence.

Jean sighed. ‘I am being incredibly generous; you’re not really in a position to argue.’ He got up and crossed the room, out of the pool of light and into a corner. He retrieved something, before making his way back.

It was England’s case.

This time, England couldn’t help the flash of emotion at seeing it. He knew he’d slipped by the way Jean’s mouth curled into something nasty.

‘Yes, this. I have this. But you knew that, didn’t you? It’s what you came back for.’ He sat back on the bed, case in his lap, and stroked the lip. ‘I know that you both can’t die. Or, rather, can’t truly die. I know you can heal extraordinarily fast, and recover from injuries no regular human can. You can live for years, centuries, without change. And this,’ he bobbed the case on his knee, ‘has something to do with it.’

He raised the gun and stroked the barrel along it. ‘I wonder what will happen, if I were to destroy it. Would you die? Or would you turn mortal? I thi-‘

‘Burn it.’

England’s voice cut across him. Jean paused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Burn it. Destroy it. Shoot it. I neither take kindly to blackmail, nor am intimidated by it.’

France coughed, twice. Short and sharp. ‘Now Arthur, wait a minute. Let’s not be too- ah, hasty, here. Do forgive him, Jean, I’m sure you’re more than aware of how difficult he can be.’

England fought to keep the incredulity from his face before France almost imperceptivity tapped his foot against the floor, again twice.

Ah. Okay then. He recognised the signal for what it was. Go along with it.

‘What? How can you say that?’ He shot back to France without hesitation, pulling at his restraints. ‘He’s only going to get the information from us and then kill us, keeping the case anyway.’

‘Ah, you would like to think so,’ Jean cut in swiftly, ‘I’m aware that killing you will only lead to you being born again.’ He snorted, a half laugh. ‘I’m not foolish enough to let you ‘go’ like that.’

England gave an incredulous laugh, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t mock me Arthur. Don’t sit there and lie.’ The last part was said in a drawled sneer. ‘I know that this man here,’ he threw a hand in the direction of France, ‘I know this man was the same Francis from the home. I know that he died, and was reborn, somehow, as a younger man. I know that you, too, are able to do this.’

Bingo thought France. Jean knows too much, but not the whole story.

‘He’s recorded you, Arthur.’ France said, softly, hoping for more. ‘This isn’t like other times.’

‘That could easily have been doctored.’ England shot back, ignoring Jean who watching their exchange silently, ‘Children do that all the time these days. That isn’t proof.’

‘Maybe not on its own.’ Jean let the comment hang for a second, letting it settle. ‘But I have photos, a birth certificate; other things. More importantly, however,’ He paused, glancing at them both, ‘I have medical records.’

A silence, thick and strained, filled the room.

Jean grinned, sensing his advantage. ‘Caught on, have you? A small benefit to my old employment.’

England’s mind began racing, thinking over his own medical history, stored under lock and key in the British government buildings. Does Nation DNA change when they reset? He had no idea, never thought about it; when he’d last been human these sorts of things weren’t even dreamt of. Had anyone else considered this? If this was as bad it had the potential to be, then this could be a worldwide security breach. Either that, or he was more of a fool than he’d thought.

France’s thoughts were running down a similar vein and was desperately trying to recall instances where Francis could have left records, growing increasingly more horrified. Dentist records, blood tests, chests scans, x-rays; all would have a file somewhere, especially stored at the home.

This wasn’t something they could easily explain away and he cursed himself for his stupidity, for listening to England, for running into this so soon. He was without government support. Sure, England’s government could step in, refute it, cover it all up. Even if it hit the internet, the fact was that none of England’s records were lost or held by someone without clearance.

France, meanwhile, had no such support. No government. This could hit the internet and would prompt an investigation from the president’s people as well as the general population, who would think and believed what they will. The process of introducing himself and proving the accusations were worth covering up would take weeks. Other nations would need to be pulled in for verification and that was even if France was even able to get out of here. Which, being tied to a chair, was currently highly unlikely.

He couldn’t believe it. A human had him. Had them both.

‘I have the feeling that you’re both willing to be a bit more cooperative.’ Jean crossed one leg over the other drummed his gun free hand on the case lid. A familiar madness gleamed behind his eyes and France suddenly understood.

.............................................................................................

After the call from Wales, Scotland had excused himself and Northern Ireland from the UN sessions citing some business issues and had flown them to France on the first flight he could get. North had found, through England’s bank records, that a credit card was last used in Luçon earlier that morning. With today’s technology of contactless payments, there was no way to say whether England himself had made the purchase, but it was a lead.

This sense of accomplishment, however, was short lived, broken by what North had found online whilst waiting to board their plane. There, in wonderfully readable black and white in a prominent French newspaper, was a photo of his brother under the headline ‘Care Home Kidnap’.

What a cunt.

England was a fucking idiot. A fucking inconsiderate prick who had stormed back off into a shit storm of his own making, leaving the rest of them to pick up the bloodied pieces and clean up the damage. He was such a selfish fucking arsehole; Scotland immediately lost of any sense of previous concern he had briefly had for his brother’s wellbeing as it was swiftly buried underneath cold fury and hurried planning of how he, Scotland, was going to have to dig England out of the fucking shit pit and prevent this from becoming an international scandal.

Aside from that clusterfuck, he was also furious at Wales, which was an odd enough occurrence that he didn’t really know how to process it. Normally Wales was the one cross with someone else, if anyone was angry at all. Wales himself was sensible, logical, quiet, and caring- all traits Scotland silently admired. Reliable to a fault, Wales was not, usually, the fuck up of the family; England handled that title quite well without any help.

When North found that article, however, and had pushed the phone under his nose in panic, Scotland’s controlled hold on his concern and serenity had imploded. Causing such a public scene and scandal as a nation was bad enough, but then to go back to the scene of the incident, when the public had access to all the wonderfully accurate modern technology that they had? And Wales had known and let him.

After an apoplectically furious phone call to Wales in an airport terminal, who had recently found similar information and was already in contact with the Prime Minister, Scotland had remained stony faced and white knuckled as they flew back to Europe, North sat as far away as he could get to avoid becoming the outlet for Scotland’s anger.

Now in France, he was calm enough again to focus.

Wales had caught him up via email that during their flight that the PM was already in contact with the French government to let them know that a British ‘agent’ had become embroiled in French news. It wasn’t the UK’s business or right to reveal France for who he was, so instead they were going to play the politics card. Ban more printing of stories, reverse any warrants out for England’s arrest, prevent news channels from mentioning it and readying a story from Britain’s perspective, should anything break out back home.

That was the messy, admin part under control. Likely due to his mortifying part in this nonsense, Wales was working incredibly efficiently from the sound of things and Scotland trusted that his brother would be doing all he could to rectify the problem.

Panic and rage under control, Scotland could focus on the task at hand.

He’d hired a car upon arrival and bundled North, who had refused to fly back home and insisted on coming with him, inside to drive to Luçon. North was going to continue his online searching and fend off questions from other Nations whilst Scotland drove, which, grudgingly, he had to admit to himself was helpful. Being so accustomed to the internet did have its advantages, although he wasn’t ever going to tell North that.

If all went well, in around 4 to 5 hours they’d find England safe and sound and Scotland could happily beat the spit out of him.

.............................................................................................

Jean rebalanced England’s old case on his lap, eyes cold and hard despite his smile. There was a void behind his eyes, an emptiness. That note of something dangerous and sharp, something lacking a soul. The sense of a man who had nothing to lose in battle and was winning.

‘If you know as much as you do,’ Began France slowly, working through what he knew in his head, turning over each piece of information carefully, ‘then why on earth do you need us? What’s the point of all of this? Go to the authorities and be done with it, tell the public, sell what you know; what more can we tell you?’

‘I need to know why, know how. I am no fool, I know how crazy this is, how insane this will seem to people. I need proof, total, irrefutable proof. I need to know how this works, why it works, and all the ins and outs of things.’

‘And that’s because of Julien Durand, isn’t it? Your grandfather.’

Instantly, Jean’s lips pulled back, contorting his face. England looked shocked as the sight of it, so different from the co-worker he was used to, despite recent events. France pressed on, cultural knowledge tumbling through his mind, ‘His daughter was your mother. He killed me and they thought him mad. He lost all credibility and was deemed mentally unwell, not worth even thinking about.’

‘He was trying to do what was right!’ Jean stood, case falling to the ground with a muffled thump. England stared at it. ‘He believed-no, knew that he’d found something! He didn’t know enough, but he did what was right!’

France gave a dry laugh. ‘Yes, killing me was right?’ He looked Jean in the eye, ‘He was a fool. A fool who was getting involved in far more than he could ever have known and it backfired. Is that what this is for? To avenge him?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Jean was furious now, with the same roiling fury that sparked remembrance in France in the first place, a memory of Julien Durand’s similar switch in mood; one storm to another.

‘My family was ruined. His wife left him and my mother and uncle were raised to think of him as just that, as crazy, as something to be ashamed of, someone who couldn’t even hold down a job for long enough to save any money. No credit, no credence, no future.’ Jean breathed heavily, gulping breaths, ‘He’d tell us stories of that case, of what he found, of what he tried to do but our whole family were disgusted by him, thought so little of him. Blamed him.’

As the volume of the conversation increased England worked on his restraints, all the while listening for the door. He was surprised that whoever was working with Jean hadn’t come in to check on them when the shouting begun, although perhaps this was usual behaviour. A concerning thought in itself. Had he attempted this before?

As Jean begun to speak again, England felt the one binding his wrists dig further into the skin. He needed to work on weakening the cable tie enough that one sharp snap of movement would do something.

‘Myself, Amélie and Charles all knew about that fucking thing growing up, all heard his goddamn stories about it, about you’. This last word was dripping in venom and directed solely at France. ‘Knew them as grandfather’s silly stories but also knew how much he desperately believed them, was desperate to be taken seriously. It bled through our childhoods, infected everything and everyone like a poison.’

Jean’s fists were clenched and shaking.

‘But I had a decent life, a decent job. I was happy with my lot. And then you moved into the home.’ A hateful look at France. ‘With that same name and an odd piece of fucking personal possession that I recognised immediately.’

Suddenly, he laughed, head tipped back. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Surely not, I thought, surely not. That would be too farfetched, too impossible. All that time growing up, hearing about this man called Francis Bonnefoy and a case? Someone my grandfather considered worth killing, worth throwing away his life and the lives of his family for? A potentially immortal man? But there you were.’

Jean shook his head, almost as if he were in disbelief still. ‘That’s fine, I thought, perfect. I would try to open it, find out what was in it. Try to make sense of what drove Grandfather to do something so desperate for it. But it was locked, of course. And you,‘ he looked France hard in the eyes, ‘didn’t know anything about it, or you weren’t going to tell me.’

He gave another short laugh, ‘Again, that was fine. All I had to do was wait for you to die, and then I could grab it up and take it away. But then,’ he swivelled round to England, who just in time stopped his efforts on his restraints, ‘You showed up. Out of nowhere, and with that name. That same name. Then I knew, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, knew it wasn’t something made up; a story. Whatever it was, it was real. It was real, and there you both were.’ There was a hungry quality to him, the way he moved and spoke, that sickened France to look at.

Jean stepped closer to England, back fully to France now, who had begun to work on his own restraints, pulling his legs away from the chair and rubbing the cord of the cable tie up and down the pole of the chair back.

‘I realised then that it must not be the case that was important, it was you. Both of you. The case had something to do with it, oh yes, but that wasn’t the real deal here. Grandfather was so close but he was looking in the wrong direction, focusing on the wrong thing.’

Jean whirled round and grabbed the case again from the floor, brandishing it before England. ‘That’s what I still don’t know. What I need to know. Which is why I was serious about talking to the both of you.’

Suddenly, he was calm again. He shook himself, a small movement on the head and shoulders and a deep breath. ‘Tell me what you are. Tell me how you work. I go to the government, and you help me clear my grandfather’s and my family’s name. That’s all.’

That was never all. England knew that, knew mortals and knew this type of one too. You gave an inch and eventually the mile started to look obtainable too. Expected, even. There was no bargaining, no reasoning. His stance on this was always the same, one did not negotiate with criminals. No matter what they offered, no matter how promising it looked; the main thing you were negotiating was your respect, your pride and as soon as you struck a deal, you’d lost. You were malleable.

And this mortal in front of him, knowing what he knew, was dangerous enough without giving him more. There could be no second day of this, there could be no deals struck or agreements promised. No, there would be nothing. All they needed was a chance.

England had the beginnings of an idea and hoped that France would catch on.

England appraised him, eyes flicking to the case and back to his eyes and his too calm expression. ‘Ask.’

Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Ask? Is that all? I must admit I’m surprise at your quick turn around.’

England shrugged nonchalantly as best as he could whilst tied to a chair. ‘As you’ve said, there’s not much we can do, is there? If that’s the inevitable end I’d rather not make things more difficult for myself in getting there.’

Jean hesitated, suspicious.

‘Obviously you’re going to have to trust what answers I give,’ England offered, ‘But like you said. You have proof, and proof that modern science cannot deny. The main reason you want us is to fill in the blanks and go with you when you present it. I’m willing to do that if, as you say, that will be all.’

‘So, it seems we’re both in the same position,’ England continued drily, watching Jean process this information, ‘We have to trust your word, as you’ll have to trust ours.’

‘What’s in here?’ Jean asked quickly, mind seemingly made up for now.

‘Arthur-‘ France, a note of caution in his voice.

‘Items precious to the nation of England.’ Ignoring him, England bumped his bound hands against the pole they were tied to, three quick jolts. He hoped France would read it correctly. Get out.

‘Such as?’

‘My turn.’ England quickly considered the things he needed to know, prioritising them and filtering away ones that he could live without. ‘Who else knows what you do?’

‘Amélie and Charles. Although, I know you’re both aware of what happened to them now.’

‘Not the men outside?’

A small shrug, uncaring. ‘They’re hired. They didn’t ask questions and telling them wouldn’t have them respecting me enough to do what I wanted without question. They’re well paid.’

How on earth do you have the money to hire them? England thought, but that was a question he could ask France later.

‘Why are the cases important to what you are?’ Jean asked next.

England considered his words. ‘They help bring us back to ourselves, once we’re reborn. We have a lot to remember; looking through old objects we’ve owned or are important to our lives in some way help us to remember faster. Come back to ourselves quicker.’

Jean seemed pleased with this, making a noise of interest. ‘So, I was right; the case has nothing to do with your immortality.’

England shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

‘When my grandfather killed Francis back then, he had caught you searching through French archives, had seen you exchange a case.’

‘I was looking for things to jog Francis’ memory, and he had done the same for me. Things lose their impact if they are used too often.’

Jean regarded the case again in his hands, its old cracked leather. ‘Then, the one Francis had in the home was for when he died. You were there to take him away, hide him from medical authorities and show it to him.’

‘Correct.’

‘Sadly, I made that more difficult?’ Jean chuckled. It was strange, what they were discussing. Something so private, so unhuman, and Jean was suddenly acting like how both England and France remembered him in the home. Warm and unassuming and made all the strange that they were sitting in Francis’ old bedroom. They could have been discussing anything.

‘It sped up the process.’ England acknowledged.

Cable tie dug into France’s skin.

‘Why work together with Amélie and Charles just to kill them? They’re your cousins, I assume.’

Jean nodded. ‘They were, yes. I needed them as scapegoats, I suppose you could say. I offered Charles a job in the gardens and once a job opened up for staff inside, I mentioned it to him. I knew Amélie was unemployed and knew Charles would tell his sister.’

‘So, you couldn’t even be blamed for bringing them there.’

Jean smiled, seemingly impressed. ‘Exactly. They’d grown up with the same stories as myself, I knew they’d put two and two together in the same way. Once you arrived,’ a hand casually flicked towards England, ‘and I understood more of what I had found myself involved in, I knew I needed to step back if I was ever going to be able to get a chance of getting close. I knew you’d be on guard for anything or anyone getting involved and so I knew I needed a cover, a distraction.’

‘I’d become interested in them, which would take my attention away from anything you were doing.’

‘Exactly,’ Jean nodded, happily, ‘And it worked. As soon as Amélie arrived and found the case in Francis’ room, she and Charles started thinking of ways to look inside it as much as I did. Became suspicious too. Even Francis knew something was going on, which lead to him becoming more paranoid and thus more medicated. All I needed to do was wait and watch.’

A quick glance towards France, who was looking slightly sick.

‘You were staying with Amélie?’

‘Yes. We weren’t close, growing up.’ Jean looked somewhat sad to admit this, ‘Our family truly never recovered from what our grandfather did. We knew each other, but not enough for her or her brother to involve me in whatever they were planning. Which is how I wanted it. I just needed to know that they were doing something. So, when things started getting more intense, I made up an excuse to stay with her. See if I could find out what they were up to and take advantage of it.’

England clamped his mouth shut, next question hot on his tongue. Don’t push him too far, not yet.

Jean’s next question came quick. ‘Can I do this?’ he gestured to both nations, ‘What you do? Come back again?’

France and England looked at each other, wary. England, wanting to continue to divert attention away from France, sighed, making himself look torn and paused.

‘Well?’ Jean sounded almost, desperate, England would say. Pleading, hungry. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, eventually, ‘It is difficult-painful. Extremely painful but yes, it is possible. You may die in the process, but it is possible.’

‘Well, that’d be convenient, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m not too interested in trying, especially not before talking to the authorities.’

The unspoken ‘yet’ fell heavy between them.

Greed would get to him before too long, either that or the fear of death; it always did. It was one of the main reasons why very few humans knew of the nations.

England next asked a question that had been bothering him for a while. ‘Did you have something to do with the staff becoming sick?’

‘I did,’ Jean still looked completely calm, no guilt for anyone else other than himself, it seemed. ‘I wanted to give Charles and Amélie an opportunity, make it easier for them to find out or do something. With so many people about, you especially, I knew that’d be hard. And it worked, when I stayed at Amélie’s I found out that they were planning on doing something on that night. I just had to be there, waiting.’

‘How…?’

‘The tea. Coffee. Whatever. A little bit of laxatives mixed with some strong over the counter medicines that would put someone down for a few days at least.’

England thought back through his memories to the many times Jean had offered to make drinks for staff members, himself included. The cups of coffee he kept trying to make him drink. England had thought him kind, friendly. A concerned co-worker. He mentally kicked himself, he had believed his ability to read people was better than this.

‘You,’ Jean continued, a pointed look at England, ‘were difficult. I didn’t know about your healing abilities then but had a suspicion that whatever you were was preventing you from getting affected. But then, you become unwell anyway.’

Kent. A rotten coincidence; terrible, perfect timing.

‘I checked Amélie’s phone; I knew what they were planning. I took advantage of it and went there that night myself. Unfortunately, you arrived back in time to prevent Charles from fully killing Francis.’

Jean sighed. ‘I was planning on cleaning up the pieces, offering my help to them and escaping with the body and the case. I’d hired a van and everything, should it be needed. Instead,’ he glared at Arthur, ‘You arrived back. Killed Charles instead. With the lack of staff and the panic, at least me and Amélie were able to smuggle his body out and to the family home in Luçon.’

‘As a message for us?’

‘Not entirely. It’s out of the way and far away from the home enough to prevent police from searching there until they discovered that the gardener was missing and deemed it worth their time to investigate. But,’ he inclined his head, ‘you’re right, also for you. If you went there following the same trail.’

‘Why kill her? Why not use her to help you, after all wasn’t it to help restore your family?’

‘First,’ Jean stopped him, holding up a hand. ‘Why were you ill? If you can heal so well and not die, shouldn’t you be immune to things like that?’

England thought quickly. ‘We are still…human. We still age, and die. We just return. We can heal well, yes, but we still get hurt. In the same vein, we can still become ill, but we recover faster.’

Jean accepted his explanation with a small incline of his head and a noise of consideration. ‘But it wasn’t the drugs?’

‘It may have been. They may have affected me, disrupted my body in some way.’

Jean seemed satisfied with this. ‘For your question, I needed someone to take the fall for what happened. Amélie had all the text messages on her phone, both of their fingerprints were on the case, hers on Charles’ body. Our last names are different, and on the surface I don’t appear involved at all. But she might speak, so I needed her to die. I hired men and continued alone. We managed to track your movements t-‘

Suddenly there was a loud snap and a burst of movement from France. Despite his legs still bound to the chair, his arms were free and he propelled himself towards Jean, hands outstretched.

Jean gave a yelp of surprise, dropping England’s case back to the floor. France managed to reach his shirt and he grabbed hold, momentum propelling him downwards and dragging Jean with him. There was a fierce struggle, during which England gave a huge tug and broke the tie around his own hands, ignoring the sharp burning sensation in his wrists. He had reached down to tug his legs free when there was an almighty crack of a gun as the doors behind them burst open. Hands seized his shoulders, pulling him back flush against the chair.

‘Stop!’ Jean roared, ‘Stop! Don’t shoot him!’

England looked down to see Jean under France’s prone body by the foot of the bed, a gunshot wound blooming red from between the nation’s shoulders.

The room was silent again, punctured only by Jean’s heavy breathing as he struggled underneath France’s now dead weight. His face was stricken, thunderous. The hands on England’s shoulders tightened, but he heard a gun being holstered behind him.

Jean pushed France off with a grunt and stood, checking himself for injuries. Then, in a sudden burst of fury, he kicked France’s side.

‘FUCK!’ he screamed, ‘FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!’ Each shout was accentuated with a kick, causing France’s body to jolt. With one last kick, Jean looked up back to England, furious.

‘You planned this! You planned this all along, you areshole. We had a deal; we were going to do this like men!’

England couldn’t help himself, he grinned. ‘I’m afraid, Jean, that we are not men.’ He looked down at France. ‘You may as well chuck him outside. He’ll decompose soon and will be born again where his case is. Which, I’m sure you’ve guessed, is hidden.’

Jean crossed the room in quick strides and punched England hard on the cheek. His head whipped back, stars popping in front of him. Leaning forward, he spat blood and a tooth at the ground. Jean punched him again, once more across the face and then hard in the stomach. England gasped as the air was knocked out of him, wheezing for oxygen.

‘You bastard.’

England looked up, made himself ignore his gasping need for oxygen to look this human, this pitiful man in the eye. He grinned, ‘Nice to finally make your acquaintance.’

.............................................................................................

AN:

Well.

If the You-Know-What that’s causing worldwide havoc and mayhem is good for anything, it’s good for getting me to write again. Only took three national lockdowns to prod me into activity…

If anyone is still about to read this, thank you. Thank you to new readers, who are still out there and have stumbled across this dinosaur and a bigger thank you to anyone who came back for this, who got a notification in their inbox and clicked it. I hope it made you happy to see.

There have been many points where I wanted to abandon this thing, leave it to rot in the dust. But I’ve always said I will finish this story and finish it I will. Every year that passes I grow more determined and I improve enough at writing that I want to keep going, to keep pushing myself to get it done.

No matter what, this story will get an end and BOY are we close now.

As always, please do let me know that you’re there by leaving a comment letting me know what you thought. I hope the build-up and suspense was worth it!

Much love and thanks, as always <3

Heroes

#fruk #aph #aph france #aph england #aph wales #aph scotland #aph northern ireland #reset #allheroeswearhats #ahwh #fic #hetalia #dear god what am i doing #why am i still doing this #Feels like shouting into a long dead void #I WILL FINISH THIS FIC EVEN IF IT KILLS ME #au #my writing

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