Hetalia (c) Himaruya
Doctor Who (c) BBC
Warnings: Rape is discussed, however does not occur.
This fanfiction is based off the concept of a Doctor Who episode called "The God Complex". People are stuck in a hotel that keeps changing its hallways. Where they are located, the length; it is a labyrinth of ever changing hallways. There is no way out, not even a front door. Along with that, in this hotel there is a room for each person who comes to stay. A room with their deepest and darkest fears. At the same time, there is a creature that roams the halls, searching from those who have found their way into its dungeon. The only safe area is the lobby, away from the halls and rooms.
In this fanfiction, the creature is not the same as in Doctor Who, nor is its reason for hunting. However, that will not be explained because this a one shot based around France.
Just before the story start Francis, Arthur and Alfred have watched a few humans find their own rooms and die by the creature. Now Francis has just found his room, but the creature is making its way to the three of them.
"France, do NOT open that door," Arthur said, standing with his back facing the wall as he held his gun in wait for the monster. Francis did not reply, and held his hand firmly on the doorknob. He knew that opening the door was dangerous, that it was a horrible idea, but the temptation to see what was inside beckoned him. What was his deepest and darkest fear? What exactly was it; and how did this THING know. . ? That horrible killing machine was on its way, however, and the three of them needed to hide, but how could they leave Francis. . ? He wouldn't move from that door.
The Frenchman stared at the door handle, his body shaking in fear and curiosity. He didn't know what was behind that door, but he knew it was his room. Something told him that it was, and he was terrified but couldn't help but want to open that door.
"France!" Arthur shouted again, glancing back at him, "Do NOT open it! Do you hear me?!"
"But. . ." Francis mumbled, slowly twisting the doorknob, "I. . . I have to see. . ." The door slid slightly open.
"Francis!" Alfred yelled from down the hall, "Listen to Iggy! Close the frickin door!" A loud growl came from the hall that Alfred was looking down, it voice echoing off the walls. The American jumped away from the corner and began rushing back to the other two, "Go! Go, go, go! It's coming!"
"What do you mean its coming?!" Arthur screamed, "Did you see it or-"
"Yes, I saw it, damn it!" Alfred yelled, still running down the hall, "Do you think I would be joking at a time like this?!"
"France!" The Englishman tucked his gun away and quickly turned to the Frenchman, "We have to go!"
Francis gave no reaction as he stared into the room, his heart racing. There. . . In that room. . . There were. . . bodies. . ? Were those bodies? Why bodies? What was this? The emerald-eyed man grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away.
"We have to go now!"
Alfred reached the other two men, and quickly turning to check behind him he noticed that it hadn't made it to this hallway yet. But it was on its way. Oh, it was on its way and it wasn't going to pass them. Not if they stayed here. Panic over took him. They all could hear it getting closer and closer, and they had to move. Francis, what were you thinking?!
"Francis!" Alfred grabbed the Frenchman's shoulder, shaking him violently, "We have to move! It's going to kill us!"
"A-Alfred. . ." Arthur stuttered, his hand pointing down the hall, "I-Its here. . ."
The teenager jerked his head around only to see the monster making its appearance into the hallway. His heart jumped as he froze. It was to late to run. It was far to late. It would catch them and eat them just like it did the others. Damn it. What now? What could they do now?!
Quickly the Englishman shook himself free of his fear and pushed the door of the room open, "In!" he yelled, Alfred hesitating as he continued to hold Francis shoulder, "Now! It's the only chance we have! Go!"
After a few seconds Alfred followed the command, pushing Francis in with him. Arthur rushed into the room and slammed the door shut, locking it. He held onto the handle for a few moments, placing his head on the door to hear the monster pass by. As soon as it passed Arthur looked back around at the other two, only to find himself staring in horror at what laid in the room.
Francis stood, appalled and frozen. His lips would not move as his eyes darted around at the figures laying bloodied and naked on the floor and bed. He was shaking, oh God was he shaking. It was as they all said, you don't know what it could be until you enter that room. . . And then you realize it could be nothing else. . .
"What. . . Is this. . ?" Alfred managed to say, the same horror striking him as much as it had Arthur. Though the most affected by this was, of course, Francis, who couldn't even be bothered to move. He had fallen to his knees, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, his breath choked, his mind racing with thoughts. Such horrible thoughts. . .
The naked bodies that laid on the floor resembled those of his dearest friends. There was one of Alfred, of Arthur, Matthew, Gilbert, Antonio, and the list continued. . . On and on. . . So many people he loved. . . all lying on the floor, naked, dead. . . stabbed, abused. . . Pools of blood, mutilated flesh, and. . . What had he done here. . ? No, he knew what he had done. He knew it far to well. . . This was he deepest, darkest fear. It always had been.
"France. . ." Arthur said slowly, taking quick glances around the room and then back to his friends.
"Non. . ." Francis mumbled, shaking his head, "Non. . . Comment ai-je pu. . .(No. . . No, how could I. . .)"
"France," Arthur said again, rushing over the the Frenchman and grabbing his shoulders, "this is not you! You did not do this!"
Francis shook his head again, bringing his hands to his face, "Non, non. . . C'est de ma faute. . . Toute est de ma faute. . .(It's my fault. . . It's all my fault. . .)"
"Francis! You would never do this," Arthur tried once again to comfort him, "You would never ever do this. It's not you. It's not you!"
""Ils sont morts. . . et j'ai. . . j'ai-"(They're dead. . . and I. . . I-)"
A loud rustling from beside the bed caught their attention. All three men froze in silence, waiting to see what was to come out from beside that bed.
"Ha. . . Haha. . ." A familiar laugh echoed through the silent room as a figure slowly rose from the side of the bed. Dirty, blood stained, shoulder length blonde hair fell in front of the man's face as he rose. He wore a rather fancy dress shirt. However, it too was stained with blood. It was torn and ragged, obviously old as if the man had not bothered to change in quite a long while. Soon they saw that the man was not wearing anything other than that torn shirt and carried a dagger in his hand. A bloody dagger. This was the man who had killed all these people. . .
The man lifted his face. Francis let out a loud gasp and covered his ears, shaking his head furiously. That man was Francis too. He was Francis! Or a copy of him. A copy of him that this stupid, stupid place had made of him. He looked so evil, so angry! So. . . lonely. . .
Arthur glared at this dark version of his friend, rushing over to the real Francis and held him close to him. He wasn't going to let this cheap copy near him. Never would he let that happen. They never should have come here. They never should have entered this room. . .
This new Francis began to slowly make his way over to the real Frenchman, tilting his head and stumbling as if he was possessed by something.
"Tu sais(You know)," it said, "Ceci a été fait de notre proper main(this was all our doing)~"
"Non!" Francis yelled, closing his eyes, "Jamais je ne ferais du mal à mes amis comme ça! J'ai jamais-(I would never hurt my friends like this! I never-)"
""Mais nous l'avons fait! (But we have)!"
Francis's eyes shot open, staring down in fear at the floor.
"On l'a fait! On a réussi! Tous! Et ils le méritent! Ils l'ont toujours mérité, ces salopards. Ils méritent tout ces derniers moments. ( We have! We did it! All of it! And they deserved it! They always deserved it, those bastards. They deserved every last moment of it.)"
"Iggy," Alfred whispered, "Wh-what are they saying?"
Arthur glanced at his brother, "What makes you think I know what they're saying. . ?"
"This is not time to be prideful, Arthur!" Alfred shouted in a whisper, "I know you can understand them. I see it in your eyes. You know what they're saying. Tell me. Translate. I don't know that much French."
The Englishman looked at his feet then back to the American, "That. . . thing. . . it's telling France that. . . his friends deserved this. . ."
"Non!" Francis tried to deny the man's words, "Pourquoi?! Pourquoi mériteraient-ils quelque chose comme ça?! (Why?! Why would they deserve anything like this?!)" his voice cracked as he screamed.
"Parce qu'ils nous haïssaient!(They never loved us!)," this other Francis dropped the dagger, showing his bloody hands to them, "Ils nous ont toujours détesté! L'amour? Quel amour?! Ils n'étaient jamais nos amis! Ils n'étaient jamais présent pour nous! Jamais!(They always, always hated us! Love? What love?! They were never our friends! They were never there for us! Never! )" Francis shook his head wildly, mumbling under his breath as he began crying harder. Arthur held him tighter and tighter, his evil glare set on the illusion of his friend.
"Shut up! You're not-!" the Englishman made an attempt to yell, but the illusion went on as if nothing was ever said.
""Oh, ces gens étaients si prochent de nous. C'est ce que nous croyons. C'est ce que nous voulons penser! Mais ce n'était jamais réel! Ils nous détestaient silencieusemnt, ils se moquaient de nous silencieusement. Nous n'avons jamais eu d'amis! Nous n'avons jamais eu quelqu'un qui nous aimait réellement! Ces traitres. Ceci est ce qu'ils méritent! (Oh, these people were so close to us. That's what we thought. That's what we wanted to think! But it was never true! They silently hated us, silently mocked us. We never had friends! We never had people who truly loved us! Those backstabbers. This is what they deserved!)"
With every word Francis' cries got louder and louder. Out of everything, everything in the world that he was scared of- "M-Mais. . . Je. . . I-ils. . . aimaient. . . moi!(B-but. . . I. . . T-they. . . loved. . . me!)" he managed to say between his tears.
"Non. Tout ce que nous étions pour eux était des violeurs! C'est comme ça qu'ils nous appelaient. Tout le temps. Violeur. 'Tu es un violeur, Francis!' Violeur, violeur, violeur!(No. All we were to them was a rapist! That's what they called as. All the time. Rapist. 'Francis, you're a rapist!' Rapist, rapist, rapist)!"
Francis' blue eyes shot open, his breathing becoming heavier. He wasn't- No. He wasn't. He wasn't a rapist! He wasn't! He tried to tell this to himself over and over and over, but his sobbing became stronger still, unable to believe his own thoughts any longer. Fear had over taken him, and all he could do now was weep as his listen to the words that crippled him most.
"Ils ne sauriont jamais comment ça nous faisait du mal! Ils nous ont causé tant de souffrances! Tellement. De. Souffrances. Ils n'ont jamais pensé comment on pourrait se sentir! Ils ne se sont jamais sentis concernés! C'est comme s'ils voulaient cette réalité! Alors nous l'avons réalisés. Et, oh, comme c'était plaisant leurs donner ce qu'ils méritent! Nous avons savouré chaques petits moments! (They never knew how much that hurt! They caused us so much pain! So. Much. Pain. They never thought about how it might have felt! They never cared! It was like they wanted it to be true! So we made it true. And, oh, how much fun we did have giving them what they deserved! We enjoyed every single moment of it!)"
Alfred could only pick out a word here and there, but he did know violeur. That was enough for him to move.
"Arthur!" the American yelled, dashing over to the two older men, "Move!"
As Alfred locked his arms around Francis', the Brit stood up. So that was Alfred's intention. He knew Francis couldn't move. Not right now, and not even Arthur could manage to move him either. The only option was the force him to get up, which Arthur didn't have the strength to do. But Alfred did.
Alfred quickly dragged the Frenchman to his feet, "Francis, we're leaving! Move your feet!"
Arthur ran to the door and threw it open, trying to ignore the naked bodies that were on the floor.
""Nous avons adoré chaques crie qu'ils ont fait! (We enjoyed every scream they made!)" the evil copy kept yelling, however he did not try to stop them from leaving.
Francis was now on his feet, but he could not see in front of him. His vision was blinded by his tears, and all he could do now was hold to Alfred to lead him. The America took his shoulders and shoved him towards the door.
""Chaques cries étaient de la musique à mes oreilles! (Every cry to stop!)"
The Frenchman stumbled but Arthur caught him and finished pushing him outside the room. However, Francis was only able to stand and cry. The thought of running did not occur to him for he was to lost in fear.
""Je me sentait tellement bien lorsque je les violait! (Raping them felt so good!)"
It was then that Arthur took Francis' hand and began pulling him down the hall. Alfred ran out after them, slamming the door shut behind him. They ran down the hall, trying to find their way back to the main room. The room where they could rest and not have to worry of a creature killing them, or wander into rooms that crippled you within the sights of your worst fears. Francis continued to weep as they ran. He did his best to make attempts to stop, but no matter how hard he tried the tears kept coming.
After a few minutes they reached the safe room, the lobby. The slowed down and stopped, Arthur releasing Francis' hand from his grip. He was still crying; more quietly now, but it was easy to see he was forcing it back.
"France." Arthur said, placing his hands on the Frenchman's shoulders. Francis' blue eyes glanced up into Arthur's bright green ones. There were still tears rolling down his cheeks and his eyes full of water. He kept trying to look away, trying to keep himself from sobbing again, "Francis," Arthur continued, his voice beginning to crack. He was doing his best not to cry himself, seeing his friend like this was something that. . . That never happened, "nothing in that room. . . You would never do such a thing. Never. I-I. . . You're not that kind of man."
Francis shook his head and wailed, "Je suis désolé(I'm sorry), Arthur!" he slid to the floor, holding onto Arthur's clothes, "D-désolé, désolé, désolé, d-désolé, désolé! Je s-suis désolé!" he began weeping again. It was impossible to keep it all in, "I don't w-want to h-hurt any of you! I-I just w-want to- to- be l-loved. . . Je s-suis désolé. . . Je s-suis désolé!"
Arthur stood there, biting his lip. He was clueless. There was nothing he could do. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to comfort him. He just knew his friend was hurting, horrified, and untrusting of himself right now. How could anyone fix that? Arthur quickly looked over at Alfred who stood next to both of them. He seemed to be keeping it together best out of all of them. But, then again he didn't know all of what was said. . . But did that matter when it was obvious what had occurred in that room?
The American looked up at his former caretaker. The Brit shook his head slightly, eyebrows furled. 'I don't know what to do!' was said without sound from his mouth as tears pricked the edges of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Alfred nodded. He bent down and took Francis' hands, forcing him to let go of Arthur's shirt.
"Francis," he said, holding onto the Frenchman's hands, "Francis, look at me." At first he shook his head, but eventually raised his head, "No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter what happens, we will always love you. You're like family to me, and to Arthur, even though he won't admit it."
Arthur's eyes widened at this statement, and then he looked away. It was true, yes. . .
"We love you, Francis, and nothing will change that. You're family, and family loves each other no matter what. Don't ever feel unloved, because we will always love you."
Francis tried to speak up, but choked on his words; it only ended in more wailing as he threw his arms around Alfred. He wanted to tell Alfred how much he needed those words, how much being loved meant to him, but he couldn't. He could only cry, and cry, and keep crying.
Alfred returned the hug, doing his best to comfort him.
"Don't ever doubt how much you are loved. . ."
You won't believe how much I cried writing this. So many tears. Anyways, thank you to all of you who read this! A lot of my headcannons for France are present here, and I wanted to address how everyone calls him a 'rapist' in a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy this very angsty, tearful fanfic!