Author Commentary; Just something for October and the anniversary of the October Crisis. Hope you like it.
Title; October Crisis
Characters; Ontario, Quebec
Pairs; none
Rating; T
Warnings; Slight shonen-ai, mild insanity, Quebec's potty mouth, mild violence, my fail attempt at French
Disclaimer; I don't own Hetalia or the characters of the I am Matthewian Project.
Oliver wasn't sure when it had really started, the whole separatist thing. He had seen plenty of signs, and Jean had no trouble telling him that he wasn't happy within the Confederation. Still, the bombs had been a big surprise, but not as much as the hostages. Oliver knew that during times of extreme duress, Jean liked to be left alone, but this was going to have to be an exception.
"Jean! I know you're home!" Oliver called, banging a fist on the door, "Open up! We need to talk about this!"
"L'enfer nous faisons! Congé! Je ne veux pas vous voir! [The hell we do! Leave! I don't want to see you!]" Jean screeched from somewhere inside the house.
Oliver scowled, "We need to talk! I know you've been going crazy in there!"
"Cassez-vous! [Fuck off!]" was his answer, along with a few other Québecois swear words.
Oliver growled. If Jean wanted to be difficult, then fine, two could play at that game. Oliver pulled out a spare key he always kept with him. Knowing Jean, he hadn't bothered to changed the locks, even though he always said he would. Oliver pushed the key into the lock and twisted, glad to hear the little 'click' that signalled that Jean had indeed not changed the locks yet. He turned the knob and walked straight inside.
"Jean! Come out! We have to talk about what you're doing!" Oliver called.
There was no answer, so Oliver started wandering around the house, looking for the absentee Frenchie. The first floor was devoid of life, so he made his way up the stairs. After checking the guest room and the bathroom, Oliver turned into the bedroom.
Something cold and hard pressed against his temple, "Que faites-vous ici? [What are you doing here?]" Jean snarled somewhere to his left.
"To see you." Oliver said, not turning to try and see what Jean was doing.
What Oliver now identified as to be the barrel of a gun, pressed harder into his temple, "Connerie. Pourquoi êtes-vous vraiment ici? [Bullshit. Why are you really here?]" Jean snarled next to his ear.
Oliver licked his lips, trying to keep his breathing even, "I just want to talk."
Jean cussed, "Je ne veux pas te parler à moins qu'il soit de séparer! [I don't want to talk to you unless it's to separate!]" he shouted, making Oliver flinch away from the noise next to his ear.
The world spun for a moment and Oliver found himself pinned to the wall by his jersey and an enraged Quebec staring him down. The gun was now pressed against his lips, preventing him from speaking, lest he get a mouthful of gun.
"Vous Anglais gosse. Vous me pensez que vous pouvez me supprimer, ou ignorez? Bien vous avez tort. Nous ne serons pas ignorés plus. Les personnes de Québecois refusent de faire partie de ce pays plus longtemps. [You English brat. You think you can suppress me, or ignore me? Well you're wrong. We won't be ignored any more. The Québecois people refuse to be part of this country any longer.]" Jean snarled. He shifted his grip so his forearm was pressed into Oliver's throat, "Je refuse de faire partie d'un pays qui favorise vos 'Anglais-Canadiens' précieux au-dessus de mon propre Français-Canadiens quand ils sont juste comme qualifiés en tant que n'importe qui autrement! [I refuse to be part of a country that favours your precious 'English-Canadians' over my own French-Canadiens when they are just as qualified!]"
"I n-never said they weren't." Oliver choked out, struggling against Jeans arm.
"Tais-toi! [Shut up!]" Jean cried pressing his arm more forcefully into Ontario's neck. He leaned closer so his mouth was right next to Oliver's ear, "Comment se sent-il pour être sur l'autre extrémité? [How does it feel to be on the other end?]"
Oliver gasped and choked, trying to get air into his lungs. No matter how hard he shoved against the other man, he couldn't get him to budge. This was not the Jean he knew. Sure, Jean was impulsive and brash, sometimes to the point of violence, but he was better than choking someone to death with a gun pressed to their head. He prided himself to be above such cowardly measures.
Oliver's eyes began to swim, "J-Jean." he choked, "St-stop . . . y-you're hu-hurting me."
Jean only pressed harder, finger twitching on the trigger of the gun.
"Jean! Vous allez me tuer! [You're going to kill me!]" Oliver shouted.
Suddenly, the arm and the gun were gun were gone. Oliver crumpled to the ground, choking and gasping as air rushed back into his lungs. A shaky hand raised to rub at his tender neck, feeling the already bruising flesh. He looked up to see Jean standing a few feet away from him, trembling and looking at Oliver in horror.
"Je n'ai pas voulu dire pour que ceci se produise. [I didn't mean for this to happen.]" he said, tears starting to form in his eyes, "Je n'ai pas voulu dire pour que n'importe qui devienne blessé. [I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.]" he said, sinking to his knees and burying his face in his hands, bashing his forehead against the gun.
Once his breathing had almost returned to normal, Oliver crawled toward his sobbing neighbour, "Jean?" he called quietly, "Jean, give me the gun."
Jean jerked away when Oliver reached for him, but relaxed after a moment and eventually released his death grip on the firearm. Oliver held it carefully and placed it off to the side, out of Jean's reach. Once that was taken care of, he wrapped his arms gently around Jean's shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly.
"It's okay." he cooed, "I know you didn't mean for it to go this far. I know you didn't want to hurt anyone. It's okay, I don't blame you." he calmed.
Jean clung to the front of that God-awful jersey he hated and soaked Oliver's shoulder with his tears, "Il blesse Oliver. Il se sent comme je suis déchiré du à l'envers. [It hurts Oliver. It feels like I'm being torn apart from the inside out.]" he sobbed out.
Oliver squeezed him tighter, "It's okay. J'aiderai vous ai remis ensemble. [I'll help put you back together.]" he soothed.
Jean seemed to visibly relax, his shoulders untensing and his breathing evening out a little. At this point, it wasn't about politics, history, or anything that had set them apart in the past, or would set them apart in the future. Right now, all it was was a broken man and someone who wanted to help him.
Author Commentary; Well, this turned out rather depressing. Sorry if I made these guys a little OOC, but dark times do strange things to us all I suppose.
Please excuse my fail French. I had to use a translator.