Chapter 8: Things Fall Apart
"And as reports continue to come in about the acute, mania-like symptoms affecting local residents in Wiltshire, activists have renewed criticism of the Government's cuts to local social services. The incidents have been likened to medieval dancing plagues by experts, with-"
"Are you sure about this?" India turns the radio off, switching back to his phone's home screen, before facing Bengal. Sun streams through the window as she sips her tea. It gives a golden, hazy look to everything, like the air is soaked in honey.
"Shouldn't I be?" He says, hand pausing over his coat before leaving it on the rack and only pocketing his car keys. Pain flickers across her face- he sighs. "Look, I know they're lying about something. And you're right, we can't waste time." He translates the news report before continuing. "Those villages are near Stonehenge. If that's not a high magic area I don't know what is. What the Thakurs are hiding… it could help us."
She doesn't reply, but her face is twisted into an unhappy look. His phone buzzes and he turns from her to unlock it with a flick of his thumb. Norway.
Transformations are extremely rough on the body. Memory loss, body pain, balance issues- unless someone really knows what they're doing you can badly hurt someone. You don't have to worry so much with nations, but humans? Aren't that sturdy.
He frowns and takes a bite of his dosa.
The birds chirp as Bengal sips her tea on the steps. Absentmindedly, India shifts from one foot to another, as he finishes his food. He would normally eat at the table but he'd woken up solidly energetic- he'd not stopped researching all morning. On the floor above, England kicks his feet back and forth through the railings, head hanging in a doze.
"I want to take Arthur with me." India says eventually. Bengal is startled, then her forehead creases in concern. "As a thankyou- and sorry. For leaving you in that state."
"Do you think you'll be ok?" he shrugs, drawing on that well of...strength? Purpose. That had been replenished. He glances up at the boy above.
"Yes. I do."
The car is so stifling hot, even India has to open a window. Next to him sits England, bright red from heat but otherwise alert. He'd been in a funny mood the whole journey, tracking India's movements almost nervously, and jumping at roundabouts. Perhaps India's dissociative driving had been scarier than he'd thought. He suppresses a twinge of guilt.
He feels a bit incongruous parking on the Thakur's driveway. He'd not really noticed before, but the street was incredibly normal- redbrick semi's with a few potted plants outside. The other cars are decent to shabby hatchback type things- with the occasional big piped, innocuously small young man's racer to break it up. His own shiny government car sticks out like a sore thumb.
He double checks his phone- 14.55. Just five minutes before they'd planned. That was ok.
"We're only here to get information." He re-explains to England. "I'll lead- you can support me. Just act natural and we'll be fine." Sit still, be quiet, is what he doesn't say- it's not like the child will be able to understand what's being said. But the kid is so on edge from the journey India needs to soothe his ruffled feathers.
The boy just stiffens up more. So India breaks out a cocky grin as he cracks the car door open.
"Don't worry! We won't leave without answers."
They swan up the drive, past the potted coriander bush together. It's not long, but it does the trick. Confidence flows up India's legs and shakes out into his shoulders, and his open posture becomes as natural and light as air. England shifts behind him, serious and dour. India straightens his shirt. Then knocks.
"Come in!" Arjun throws open the door, smiling and rumpled all over. His green shirt is streaked with flour. Despite his smile, his eyes are creased with worry lines. "Mum's out, so there's not much cake- but I've made tea and scones."
"Please." India replies, as both of them follow him through to the livingroom and settle on the sofa. Tea pots are already on the table, joined by half a dozen lumpy scones with cream and jam. India's own practiced smile comes much more naturally than Arjun's. Ishaan smiles back at him, already sat across from them on the other sofa, legs crossed and Alice in Wonderland open on his lap.
"If you want biscuits, there's some in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself" India nods, and relays the message to England, who immediately perks up and slips away. Arjun snorts, soft face still settled into a warm smile. However, it slips away as he sits next to his husband and meets India's eyes.
"So what did you want to talk about, Vihaan?" His eyes are nervous.
"I just wanted to go over a few things regarding the night of the fire… and the month before, if that's possible."
Arjun gives him a confused, uncomfortable smile. "Why so formal? Just ask us whatever, you know?"
India forces himself to relax his shoulders. "I was going to ask if anyone had access to your house in the month before the fire? Break ins, unexpected guests?"
"No." They both look surprised, and Arjun glances at Ishaan. "Should we?"
India bites his lip for a moment before deciding to tell them. "The arrays used on your house were spontaneous- rather than being drawn by someone then activated- which is pretty rare." One of a kind. "Are you sure there wasn't anyone at all? Especially in February - anyone who might have been upset with you."
They shake their heads. Ishaan speaks up, deep voice ringing with sincerity. "You mean the fire? I can't imagine anyone- obviously a lot of people get upset with me at the hospital because they're under a lot of stress. But nothing like that. I mean even the police haven't found anyone with a grudge."
"The police?" The last India had heard the fire had been written off as faulty wiring.
Ishaan freezes for a half second. Unless you were looking for it, you'd have never noticed. Mentally, India files it away. "They carried out a full investigation, obviously, to determine if it was suspicious. It was actually them that made me aware of the array in the first place. They showed me the pictures in victim support."
His brow creases in confusion. "Really? Seems a bit harsh. Why go into the house for another picture after that?"
Ishaan meets his eyes with a level stare. "They clearly had no idea what they were looking at- the picture wasn't very good. Besides-" he shrugs, "-it's not like I could just walk out with their evidence and hand it to Arthur is it?"
India's reply is interrupted by England walking in, laden with biscuits. He walks into the living room carrying a plate of them, pockets noticeably bulging. He freezes for a moment and eyes the adults suspiciously. India shuts his mouth and redirects.
"It's ok, come and sit down." He says in French, and pats the seat next to him. England nods, puts the plate on the table and joins him before fishing a custard cream out of his pocket.
"Kids." Arjun shakes his head with a strained smile.
"You have no idea," India jokes back. The tension hasn't diminished at all. He scratches the back of his neck as he turns back to Ishaan. "Is there anything on the night you could have missed?"
Ishaan frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe? Like he-" he pats Arjun's knee, "-told you, I don't remember much. I went to bed early, I remember that because this one's crosswords were still all over the place, I had to remove like- five of them to lie down." A small smile twitches his lips. "After that- it was cold, and terribly painful all over. The next thing I can remember is waking up in an alley and scrambling out to see the house on fire."
Again there's a small hitch that has India tensing automatically, besides him, he notices England do the same- even without understanding the conversation. Maybe it's his Connection, or maybe he's just picking up on India's body language.
Arjun squeezes Ishaan's hand as the man miserably rubs his brow. "Arjun was crying, and handed me his dressing gown. Good job too because the ambulance and that didn't take long to get there." He laughs unhappily. "I don't particularly want to get done for streaking."
India quirks his lips into a sympathetic smile as he lets Ishaan gather himself. He backs off a little too. "And nothing else outside the house was odd or unusual in any way?"
"Not unless you count the weather," says Arjun, half joking. Ishaan squeezes his hand again.
"Yeah, I was back at work the next day. Felt like a sauna." Ishaan says, and looks at his husband. "Some places are getting rain though."
"Like Surry." Arjun smiles and nudges him. India gives them a confused look. "We went to visit my Aunt." says Arjun. Again, an uncertainty- more noticeable this time. India and England tense.
"I thought Padma left all her relatives back in India?" She'd certainly implied it. Arjuns face freezes.
"My Aunt, there are two of us after all." Ishaan's voice is light but notably cool. Arjun visibly relaxes. India shrugs apologetically before moving on.
"Did the spell leave you feeling sick? Or disoriented at all?"
Ishaan laughs bitterly, "Which one?"
"Any."
Ishaan gives him a long look. "All of them. Why does it matter?"
India shakes his head. "Are you sure?"
Ishaan gives him a long look. "Yes, of course I am. Why."
"Because that's not possible." Ishaan opens his mouth, India beats him to it. "Transformations are brutal on the twists and warps. And a human mind doesn't fit neatly into a goats brain. The resulting trauma is somewhat like a concussion, apparently. And agonising body pain unless the caster really knows you and what they're doing. You wouldn't have been able to crawl out of that alley on your own. Or remember that the bed was covered in crosswords right before. And you certainly wouldn't have been at work the next day."
Ishaans reply is quick. "Well maybe it wasn't the next day, maybe it was a few days- like you said I was sick."
India shakes his head. "I phoned and checked with your work. You were in the next morning."
"You- You called my work?" Ishaan rocks backwards. "How?"
India keeps his voice level. "I told you, I'm Arthurs co-worker. I have to get to the bottom of this." He doesn't say- I pulled strings with the civil service - he doesn't have to. Ishaan's head sinks into his hands.
"Holy shit." Arjun is white as a sheet, but squeezes his husband close as he continues. "Fucking fuck."
India ignores him.
"The spell didn't actually transform you, did it?"
"No." Ishaan still has his head in his hands. "I got flung to some godforsaken field in Surrey. Nearly got arrested for streaking."
"It's not like it even matters." He lowers his hands from his face. "The police aren't going to believe me if I told them the truth. And even if I did they'd still want to know why I was even in Surry that night instead of at home. And while Arjun nearly burned to death I was being useless in some stupid bloody feild in the rain nicking clothes so my bolloks didn't freeze off! And the police still think I did it! You want the truth? Fine! The police think I burned the house down! They think I did it! It doesn't even matter if they prove it because the suspicion could make me lose my job! Being a nurse..it's my whole life! Happy now?! Even streaking will fuck me over. So a fat fucking lot of good this does me-"
Ishaan slams his hand into the table- more bite than bark. India jumps reflexively. There's a flash of silver- and Ishaan screams.
There's a knife sticking out of his hand. Blood everywhere.
It seems to impale him to the table. India can only stare in shock as England leaps up and grabs it smoothly from flesh. He then levels it back at Ishaan- who's coiled on the sofa around his hand, looking small- or maybe that's just because India is standing now? Before changing targets to Arjun, who's also on his feet. England's hand doesn't even waver.
"PUT IT DOWN!"
"GET AWAY FROM MY HUSBAND!"
India turns the tables over in a crash and shoves Arjun out of the way as the knife misses him by inches. England's face is stone and he handles the knife with practiced ease. India puts himself between this madman and the Thakurs- hands open. England's eyes widen in shock.
"Get out of the way!" He says in French.
"England. Arthur. Put the knife down. You don't want to do this." His own voice is shockingly steady, though it feels like it comes from a different person, somewhere in front of his mouth, rather than in it. The boy looks at him blankly.
"Why? I'm doing my job." The knife gleams as he readjusts his grip. It was a kitchen knife, with a black handle, and an inhuman, wicked thin, sharp blade. With no _it wasn't suited for this stabbing and Arthur had already cut himself on it. A thin line of blood ran from his hand, down the handle to join the rest staining the blade. India felt sick.
"You don't want to do this though. Right?" India waves his hand at- everything. Broken crockery and furniture. Blood. Vaguely he's aware that Arjun and Ishaan have retreated to the back of the room- perhaps even the kitchen. He thinks he can hear someone on the phone- Arjun. Good. He'll call the police. Or an ambulance. Both.
He takes a step closer to England. If he can, he'll grab his arms. There are some options that are only open to nations. England takes a step back, looking frustrated.
"That's not the point!" England says it like India's the unreasonable one. He waves the blade around emphatically. India waves his hands to calm him.
"What are you talking about?" Hurt flickers across the boys face.
"You wanted them to talk, and they threatened you." India's mouth drops open as his hearing suddenly went muffled, like his whole head hand been dunked underwater. The information hit this interior wall inside his head and just.. Bounced off. He took it and wrapped it around until it was balled up and buried. Outside himself, he can hear England still talking.
For a long while he can't respond. It's strange, but from the inside he can see England's face change as his green eyes sweep over India's face. As he gets no verbal response. He must not look too good. The boy looks confused, then worried, his eyes darting around the room then back to India. He wonders if it's finally dawning on England that something is very, very wrong.
"Arthur." It takes a lot of work to make his mouth move, and his voice croaks. "Put the knife down, please."
He creeps forward by millimeters. And it feels like aeons. Finally his hands close on England's. They're warm and tiny and England's eyes flick down to look at them before staring back at India. He applies the barest pressure to get him to lower his weapon.
When the police barge through the door, the knife is already on the table.
The police station smells of vomit and bleach.
India is sat in the waiting room, on a hard plastic chair. Between diplomatic immunity and the Thakurs testimony he'd been quickly released.
England is in custody.
The shock had faded to numbness, then anger. It started as a small simmer in the toes and fingers and worked its way up- until it burned over his legs, arms, face and chest. The kind of bone deep, gut wrenching rage that burned long, rather than hot. Which was good, because he'd been wrong - the knife hadn't missed Arjun. He'd needed stitches. India hadn't- benefits of being a nation. His ears are ringing.
It's my job!
India glowers at his phone, the face still showing the number of the Brittish Prime Minister. His lip curls in disgust. Apparently no one at the Home Office had thought that their miniaturized nation might need documents. Or diplomatic immunity. He takes some small satisfaction in forcing the obstinate bastards to actually do something for once.
The relief was temporary.
Squeaking door hinges make him jerk his head up to see an old, paternal looking policeman guiding England towards the front desk with a hand on his shoulder. The boy spots him, and pauses for a moment- wounded pride and fear flit across his face. Any other day it would have made his heart flinch. Not today. After a moment Arthur's face closes up, hardening into a look of aloof disinterest. India endured the police officers pointless lecture stoically, barely taking it in. The boys face is extremely familiar.
He doesn't care.
He holds his anger tight to his chest on the drive home. They'd been lucky, apparently the civil service could cook some documents pretty fast when someone gave them the right incentive. He hopes they haven't been gone long enough to worry Bengal. He glances at his watch and scowls. 16 hours. Fat chance. England fidgets when he thinks India isn't looking. India ignores him. The silence in the car is ice.
He pulls into the drive, sweeps out of the car and into the house to the sound of crunching gravel. Once they're both in the house he closes and locks the door. Then, and only then, does he turn to look at England.
"What," he hisses, "was that."
For a half-second the boy freezes again, then eyes narrow and he hisses back.
"My job. If you didn't want my doing it you should have said."
"No. I shouldn't." His heart is throbbing in his ears. "I should be able to trust that when I send you into our hosts kitchen you won't steal a knife and fucking stab them with it!"
"I only stabbed one of th-"
"I DON'T CARE!"
The boy flushes and balls his fists. "Why?! It's not like you know them! They're not even yours! They were hiding things! The skinny one was going to hurt you, why can't you see that. Why are you being so stupid!"
Blood drains from Indias face so fast it leaves him dizzy. "You what..." He tries to focus on the boy in front of him, not the swimming overlay of red coat and musket. He can't. He's not sure why he even bothers. "You... You vicious, evil little shit- how dare-"
"AHHH!"
They freeze. The scream is short, high pitched and female. India looks at the stairs in horror, then back to England's shocked eyes. Bengal.
Upstairs, the fit is still in progress. India begins to count, and slips a pillow behind Bengals head. Her body twists, long painful seizures interspaced with floppiness. Her scarf has got caught under one shoulder. At every twist it draws tighter around her neck. His fingers are shaky and unsure but he manages to slip a finger underneath and pull it away from her throat. England steps over the threshold.
"Stay there!" He does, one had outstretched and eyes wide as saucers.
India focuses on his sister. His hands struggle to find a way to fully loosen her hijab- his fingers slip over the cloth. And when he thinks he does grip the cotton and pull it completely loose, she's not breathing. Carefully, he waits, heart in his throat. She breathes again when she goes limp, then stops when another fit takes her. It punches her gasping breath straight out of her.
It happens twice more before the seizures finally pass. He gently rolls her onto her side, her eyelids flutter for a moment, but she doesn't wake. Gently, he rubs her hand. Her face is relaxed, but so so tired, even asleep. Or unconscious. They're not really the same. He checks his watch. Four minutes. Ish. He has a sinking feeling he's in for a long wait.
That they're in for a long wait
He glances back at the boy. He's standing rigid at the entrance to the room, eyes not straying from India. India holds his gaze- he doesn't know what else to do - other than keep the boy away from his sister.
"Is she alright?" England's voice is quiet. India shrugs. He doesn't have the energy to lie. As he shifts his knee, paper crackles.
He looks down. The floor- from door to bed- is coated with paper. If it had ever been in any order, Bengals seizure and India's ruh to help her had destroyed it. He picks up two halves of a page that had ripped in the chaos and turns them over. They're covered in Arabic- they look like passages from the Quran.
His head is buzzing too much to make sense of it. Instead he focuses back on Bengal, and clears away only the papers that could make him slip. He opens his mouth. Pauses.
"England." He says eventually. "Could you prepare her bed for me?"
The boy jumps to comply, skittering carefully around the edge so he doesn't tread on her outstretched fingers. As he busies himself fluffing pillows and pulling back the duvet. India tries to figure out how best to lift his sister into bed. Carefully he bends her knees, loops his arms around her in a bridal hold and lifts her. It's ungainly, and he struggles to put her down on the bed gently, and his back hurts. But he manages.
England tries to help. India's glare cuts him off before he can open his mouth and the boy backs away.
He gets his sister tucked into her bed and strokes a stray hair back from her forehead. It's wet. For a moment he just stares at it. Then he fluffs her pillows, wraps her up in the plain white duvet. He shudders. In this state it reminds him of a funerary shroud.
Eventually he turns back to England.
"You can help me tidy this up." He gestures to the general chaos of the room. The boy immediately starts gathering papers. Between them it doesn't take long to pile up pages and pages of quotes, ideas and theological arguments on the chest of draws. He even fishes her phone out from under the chest of draws. After the rustling stops, the silence is deafening.
"I didn't mean to upset-"
"Don't." The child flinches. But India is dizzy from emotion, and can barely stand to look at the child right now. He can't do this. "I need to sort out food. Stay here, and think about what you did. We'll talk about this later."
He waits for the child to nod before taking the mess downstairs.
In the kitchen, he can breathe again. He leans against the wall to hold himself up as his limbs shake. Gently, he lay the papers on the table. There were twenty of them, with at least double that number upstairs. Bangladesh had always been devout, but never like this.
Mixed in with the direct quotes were theological theories- ramblings really. Her writing had suffered the same as her texts from sleep deprivation. Sentences were disjointed, changing subjects randomly or ending without conclusion. It was difficult to follow but it all revolves around a small range of passages.
I seek refuge with Allah and with His Power from the evil that I find and that I fear.
In the name of Allah I perform Ruqyah upon myself from everything that harms me and from the evil of every soul, or from every envious eye, may Allah cure me.
It didn't take a genius to realise she'd attempted to exorcise herself. And botched it.
He clenched his jaw, if that was the case then why was she now unconscious? An excorsism in Islam either worked, or it didn't. Or perhaps he was way off base, England had done nothing to trigger his own fit. Perhaps this is just the same.
Her phone buzzes. Three missed messages.
Bengal? Are you feeling a bit better?
Bengal?
Are you ignoring me, Bengal?
He stares at the lock screen for a long while, they're most definitely private. Even as he watches it buzzes again. Four missed messages.
Seriously bengal stop scaring me like this.
Bengal?
Bengal!
He doesn't open them up, even as the phone keeps buzzing. Instead he messages Norway.
Norway, I'm just back from the Thakurs. Not a transformation, it's a translocation. Total translocations now 4. Transformations 0. Also some fires- failures maybe?
My sister just had a seizure.
He pauses for a moment, thumb hovering over send. He adds more.
Also you were wrong. England not safe around adults either.
SEND.
He puts the phone down and heads upstairs again. His feet are heavy on the stairs, and when he stands outside of Bengals room his whole body is stiff. The door is still open. England is slumped next to Bengal, not touching her. India fights the urge to drag him away. Instead-
"England."
The child looks at him, eyebrows scrunched in stress, then stands. India steps aside to let him into the corridor before shutting the door, closing them in.
"Why was it your job to stab him." His voice is quiet and controlled. His hands are in his pockets and his arms close in with a relaxed spine. Deliberately unthreatening. The child shrinks in on himself- though he adopts India's posture. Mirroring him. Silently.
"Eng-"
"I'll pack my bags, yeah?" his voice is flat and unemotional, and he stares past India's shoulder rather than look him in the face.
"You're going nowhere until you tell me why you hurt Ishaan." England's face doesn't change.
"Because I did."
"England-" India growls. The child's eyes suddenly flash angrily.
"He was going to hurt you! If that's what you want, fine- I don't care! But you told me they were going to give you information" England isn't shouting, but only by force of will. "And they didn't! They were lying to you. If you're going to be weird, fine. But you're the one who didn't tell me!"
India splutters and barely holds his own voice in check. "This is not my fault. I shouldn't have to worry about you going mad if someone twitches the wrong way!"
England's eyes widen in shock. "I'm not mad!"
India can't help himself, he waves a hand in frustration. England flinches. "Aren't you? Who does that?"
"Then just chuck me out right now! I did what was right. I know it. I was taught it! If you don't want me then just do it. I don't care!" India's ears ring as England gives up on keeping his voice down. "You knew it! You told me that we weren't going to leave without the information!-"
"To keep you calm! Not so you'd stab him!"
They stand across from each other screaming. India's heart is thumping fast against his rib cage as his throat burns. Endland stands across from him eyes screwed narrow and fists balled, face sun-burn red. All pretense at keeping their voices down had failed.
"Who taught you!" It's a demand. Not a question. England's laugh is choked off with a dry sob.
"Why! So you can shout at them before you get rid of me? It doesn't even matter. I didn't even do anything bad."
"You stabbed a man!"
England's eyes are wide and hopeless. "He deserved it!"
India lets out a ragged yell and waves both his hands above his head. "Why!"
"He was going to hurt you! So I hurt him first." England's voice has descended into a furious growl. "If he didn't want to get hurt he should have got out of the way." Suddenly England leaned back and his face closes off into pained contempt as he blinks rapidly. "My king would have at least said thank you."
India's heart stopped and plummeted into his stomach. "What."
England suddenly pales and squeezes his eyes shut and for a moment India thinks he'll clam up. Then he meets India's eyes directly. They bore into him.
"My king would have understood what was needed. He would have known I was doing it for him. He would have been proud that I wasn't being weak.!" England's voice chokes off for a second, his shoulders shake, and his hands clench and relax repeatedly. He visibly fights to stay in control.
"And unlike you he actually cares about me. He understands he can't protect me from anything- they'll always be a scarier fish, and if I'm not ready it'll crush me. And I'd deserve it." England spits it like venom. "So if keeping me safe means making sure I can fight, or making sure prisoners don't run away, or - or waking up at sunrise to practice or even executing people! I don't care. It'll make me strong and safe and that's all that matters. And do you know what!" He flings an arm out viciously and snarls.
"I'm good at it. I'm tougher than any actual person. I can train harder, I mend faster - even if I break bones." India's entire body goes cold from shock. The child draws himself up to his full height. He barely comes up to India's chest. His eyes are cold as ice, even as his hands shake and tremble.
"I enjoy it. And if you can't handle that you can take your bulshit and shove it up your arse!" England's voice cracks and squeaks- and he grabs his mouth with bruising force. But he can't seem to stop himself, even though the tears are being held back by shear force. It just comes out muffled.
India is frozen. The hard lump of horror has tangled itself into a painful knot of pity which scrapes itself along his insides every time he swallows. It takes a moment to gather his thoughts as the child fights against his own instincts.
"You don't like doing that, do you?" He says eventually. England freezes, audibly choking on a sob. In his youth, India was never interested in what happened outside his borders- if it didn't happen to his family or China, he ignored it. He almost regrets that now, because the only nation he can think to compare this to is Russia. He doesn't know if it's close enough to be useful.
The boy doesn't say anything, but turns his face away. The knot in India's stomach sinks even lower. Suddenly the kid mutters to himself in his own language.
"It's not like it's a secret." He doesn't look at India when he speaks, and his French is thick with distress. "I protect the king. I fight in their wars. I serve their food. I dress them." He pauses for a second. "I keep peace in their house. In return they - make sure I can learn. It protects me."
His voice falters, and India knows if he lets it lie the boy will never speak of it again. The adult hadn't.
"From?"
"Everything-" His voice is breathy and panicked. "-I could be captured, or overrun again, or sold into slavery, or hurt, or tortured, or killed - not normal killed but killed forever and-"
"And that makes it ok?"
England looks at him, finally, imploring. His lip was shaking. "It's the only thing I'm good for. I'm too stupid to be a diplomat and too nasty to be a monk. And some one has to keep Wales in line."
India takes a sharp breath through his teeth. He knows this side of the story. "So as long as it's for your king you can hurt anyone you like? Even your brother." His voice is very careful and flat, trying to keep the child talking but unable to prevent his feelings showing completely. In his mind's eye he sees Ishaan bleeding. He very carefully does not think about who the 'king' in that situation was. For all sorts of reasons.
Headless of his tone England nods, eyes distant, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Not anyone I like. Just anyone who needs it."
"And you think that works do you." England jumps at his tone. Then he says something that immediately shatters it.
"Worked on me, didn't it?"
He doesn't sound blase, like he doesn't understand what he's saying. Instead he sounds...exhausted. Like he'd long since accepted something ugly and painful and learned to live with it. As much as India didn't want to think it, or wanted to think the adult would have told him, it fit. It didn't sound like a lie. And what he'd already described- being a child servant and soldier- wasn't so very different.
It's a thought all at once too alien and too obvious. He doesn't know what to do with it.
"Who." he almost jumps at his own voice. England gives him a despairing look.
"Lots of people. It doesn't matter. I got less weak." The last sentence is a dagger in India's heart, He doesn't know enough to fix this. But he remembers the things people would say to him. It's not the same. But.
"It still hurt you though, didn't it?"
England shrugs, tear tracks dried on his face, which is perfectly blank. "And? It's not like I can die from it. Not really."
"That's not the point." Vaguely India wonder who said that to him. Correction. He wonders who said it to him first.
England shrugs, and silence falls again. After a moment a thought clearly crosses his mind. His lip wobbles before he bites it and squeezes his eyes shut. "Can I at least say goodbye to Bengal before I leave?"
India stares at him before kneeling down to his level. The boy turns away. "England, look at me." He does. "I'm not getting rid of you."
Tears spring up in those large green eyes. "Why? I failed you."
India opens his mouth and swallows his pride. "You did the best you could. But please, please, promise me you won't hurt anyone else again. Even if they look like they might hurt me. That's not your job." England stares at him like he's an alien. Maybe to him, he is..
"But it is." England whispers. "Why do you even care. I hurt you didn't I? Even my older self hurt you didn't he?"
India's skin goes cold. He hadn't even considered that the child might pick up on that.
"Your older self...he used to hurt people to control them, to make them do what he thought was best. I'm not going to lie to you." England turns his face away, clearly in pain. India reaches out and touches his chin. The boy flinches. "But no one deserves to be treated that way. Not Ishaan, not Wales," on the second attempt he turns England's face towards him. "And not you, either."
England's face crumples and his eyes fill with tears. India opens his arms in a silent offer and England flung himself into the hug, burrowing himself into his chest and finally, finally. Cries.
The exorcism Bengal uses is based off the Ruqyah I could find online. I tried to cross reference it with several sources, but as I don't speak Arabic at a certain point I just have to trust that the translations are accurate. Hopefully I haven't butchered the scene too badly. The quotes were from this site nine-ways-to-perform-ruqyah-on-yourself-for-ailments-evil-eye-jinn-magic-etc-ruqyah-series-2/ Please tell me if it's wrong and I can edit it!
England attacking Ishaan is based off something called the Civic Discipline model of torture (because that was the more way of using torture in the medieval period). It's more to do with control and punishment than extracting information. Which is good for my story because torture can't extract acurate information. I got my information from a tumblr called ScriptTorture, who do a lot of research, and a book called Torture and Democracy by Darius Rejali.
Poor India. He didn't ask for this shit :P