Chapter 9 - Tea With Milk And Anger
43 AD- Invasion of the Romans
410 AD- Retreat of Romans in Britannia
5th century (?)- Anglo-Saxons
793 - Vikings
1066~
A quiet groan interrupts him- he jerks his head up, but it's not Bengal, it's England. He's sprawled against Bengals bed, head resting by her feet, but still on an uncomfortable wooden kitchen chair. He squirms and mewls - India pokes him. He wakes with a yelp, but nods sleepily at India before going back to sleep. This had happened three times now. England had pushed him away sharply after he'd cried himself out, and had turned away, clearly wrestling himself back into his normal. It hurt. But he'd stayed with Bengal all night and clearly let India see him sleep. It was something- trust.
But change? He just couldn't know yet. Maybe.
India sighs, setting down the history book and his notes to rub away stiffness in his back and neck. The phone reads 5.30am. No new messages. It's not a surprise- there's been no change all night. Bengal is still unconscious.
Aside from England's periodic nightmares (curse related? Personal? The child hadn't said and he hadn't asked) the pair had been still. He'd watched them, staving off sleep by reading Bengals papers- all Ruqyahs, until the words blurred across the pages. Despite what she believed, he could follow what was written and meant- and it should have been safe. Why hadn't she trusted him with it? What had been so terrible that she'd felt the need to hide? Had -
He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. Correlation is not causation. His stomach flips over and he swallows again, quickly, reflexively.
Stuck, he'd then picked up a book of England's history- privacy was good right up until a man got stabbed. Now he knew-
Well, what? He knew England had been in the battles and he knew he'd been expected to justify and engage in battering his siblings. He knew he'd been scared, and believed the shit that had been fed to him. But the rest was all lists- what could he say about the Anglo-Saxons or Rome or even the Vikings? The Normans were probably bad but…
Sleep overtakes him. Then his ringtone nearly kills him in shock. He stares at it uncomprehending before opening the message. 7.40. Norway. He flails at it it. It hangs up. He screams quitely.
Luckily, Norway rings again.
"Hello?" India winces at his own voice- he sounds like he's gargled a cheese grater.
"If I accept your time travel theory, will you set up a spare room for me?" Norway's voice is depressingly alert and- is that cars he can hear?
"Whuh?"
"...Obviously if you can't I can stay at my embassy but .." India cuts him off.
"No, we've got plenty of room, I hardly think England would mind," India's brain is slowly catching up to the rest of him, bringing the relief he should feel from being believed. Norway lets out a soft laugh.
"I'm not so sure of that," he sounds sad, and a little bitter. "I'm sorry about your sister. Is she still unconscious?"
"I...yeah, she hasn't stirred all night." Again with the swallowing. He should really get a glass of water, to at least wash away the fear. If nothing else.
"Are you ok? What happened with England?" Norway's voice is notably softened. India's not sure how to feel about that.
"Yeah. Thanks. What time are you arriving?" He avoids the final question, some things are best said in person. Suddenly a bolt of terror hits him. "You're not bringing his brothers are you?"
There's a moment of silence on the other end, and India hopes he isn't offended by his blatant avoidance. "No, I left them and Denmark at Sweden's place last night when I got your texts." India breathes a sigh of relief. "I should be with you by lunchtime, ok?"
India thanks him, signs off. Then leans back and stares at his charges. They looked like a painting in the weak, early morning light- he could almost fool himself that they were both asleep. His heart clenches.
He needs to get out of here.
His head is so fuzzy that it's a real fight to make it downstairs and to make a cup of tea without tumbling head over heels and into a cupboard or a wall. As it is he struggles to operate the kettle. Tea brings some life into him, but also brings the pain in his back and legs into sharp relief- even nations aren't built for all nighters in wooden chairs. He paces around the ground floor to gently stretch them off. It's on his second lap that it hits him. He marches back into the living room.
The living room is dark in the early morning sunlight, large windows letting in what little there was to no avail. Still it was nice, overstuffed chairs and sofa surrounded by little decorative coffee tables. And more bookshelves of course. And all of them had at least one ornament.
Apart from the mantelpiece.
Over the fire, at the heart of the room, it stood naked and empty. He hadn't rightly noticed before, between his sister and the little boy causing havoc everywhere he went- and the curse. But typically it was stuffed to bursting with family photos. Big ones, small ones, wartime ones, christmas ones, baby ones- much to the consternation of the younger nations. Even Victorian ones in black and white. And at the heart of it stood a big family photo that had been updated every few decades stretching back to the invention of the camera.
He runs his finger along the naked shelf. Dust. Thick dust.
'BrrBing!'
He jumps, head snapping back. The doorbell? He checks his phone for updates, nothing. As harsh as it was England didn't seem to have any friends who would check on him, and it was too late for it to be the milkman. He opens the door. Postman, maybe?
It's Pakistan.
He slams the door shut.
"Ow! Open the door! Fuck!"
In the split second the door had been open, the woman who was technically hissister had wedged her foot in the door. As far as India was concerned it was her own fault it had got caught. He lets the pressure off anyway and opens the door to glare at her. She meets it without flinching.
"Finished?" Pakistan is the same height as him, but being female lends her the frankly unfair advantage of high heels. Especially when he's still barefoot.
"What do you want."
"Oh you know, quiet, peace on Earth, my rights to my border resp-" She cuts herself off with a forced cough. The interruption to her habitual snark is uncharacteristic. His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. She shuffles uncomfortably in the doorway as her face- almost a mirror image of his own- rearranges itself into something more appropriate and subdued.
"Bengal tried to exorcise herself didn't she?" The eyebrow comes back down. Pakistan's face is barely changed, but he knows her better than that. She's afraid.
His eyes narrow. "How do you know that?"
Her eyes flick sideways to avoid them. "Can I come inside?"
Reluctantly he lets her in. In the hall she shrugs off her silver grey trench and slips off her unnecessary shoes. She avoids his stare, spending a few moments adjusting her skirt, shirt and scarf. They're impressive, gleaming iridescent green with gold embroidery. His comfy blue striped pajamas don't compare at all.
The thing that offended him most however, was the small, peacock blue suitcase she'd dragged in behind her. It was only a weekend case, but it fucking rankled.
At least without the heels she didn't tower over him anymore.
"Explain." His voice is icy cold. He's too tired for diplomacy. Pakistan looks unbalanced by the omission of their fighting -it only lasts a second.
"She asked me for help," her voice is calm and measured. "You know our sister, she's not normally one for Ruqyah. She wanted a second pair of eyes. You-" For a moment she pauses, before clearly biting her tongue, then she closes her eyes and starts again. "The sleep deprivation was messing with her, and I think she didn't want to put more on you."
There's a moment of silence where India tries to digest this. The first emotion is of course, frustration- he'd worked that out himself, thanks. Others boiled underneath- guilt, worry and a dash of betrayal. Pakistan shifts uncomfortably.
"Is she ok?" India looks at her, she's rubbing her hands nervously. "Did it work?"
"She had a seizure last night. She's been unconscious ever since." She pales.
"What? But that's not right - "
"I know." His voice is heavy, like his body, with tiredness. Up all night and he's no closer to that answer than before. "I don't know what happened."
"Can I see her?"
A chill runs down his spine- cutting through everything else. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
Pain flicks across her face and she clenches her jaw, visibly struggling with what she wants to say. Then she relaxes and proffers her open hands. Look, I don't want to fight. India tenses.
"I'm not here to hurt her ag-"
A door slams upstairs. Their heads snap round to the top of the staircase. England freezes. His eyes flick from India to Pakistan and back again. India pushes past her to stand on the bottom step.
"What is it?" Out of the corner of his eye he sees Pakistan blink at the French.
What? Did she really think it would be that simple?
"Bengal is awake!"
In a moment he bounds up the steps, Pakistan following behind. He has the presence of mind to order her to wait at the door before heading in himself. She ignores him. But as soon as he sees Bengal he doesn't care.
Because something is wrong.
She's sitting up, leaning doubled over and shaking in pain. Her hands are balled, white knuckled, in the sheets- still she turns and gives him a grimace-smile.
"India?" She laughs, gurgling wetly. Despite the baby face, that's modern Bengali coming out of her mouth.
A tentative smile crawls onto his own face.
"Bangladesh?"
Nose in the air she waves her hand like a queen, straightening up a little in defiance. "The one and only! Only took two weeks of judicious -" She stops, and pulls her hand down in front of her hand turning it this way and that. Smooth skin, unblemished and perfectly dark catches the sunlight. The smile slips away. A flurry of movement as her hands shoot under the covers and into her clothes, clearly feeling for something. Her eyebrows crease, then her eyes fill with worry.
"It didn't work."
"Sister?" Frightened eyes meet his.
"It only moved my mind didn't it? This is my younger body?" He nods. "Shit!" She shakes her head. "Shit! Shit! SHit! That's not right- I've been trying for weeks- fuck!" She turns back to him, face pale. "Pass me a pen and - ahh!"
She doubles over in pain- in an instant he's by her side and holds her but she flinches and waves him away. Then her hands go back to clenching in the duvet. Stomach coiling and blood freezing, he obeys.
"Paper!"
He sweeps Bengals notes aside and grabs the notebook as the pages scatter to the floor. He strips it back to a clean page and hands it to her with a pen. The fit has passed but she's sweaty and grey from pain. His heart pounds in his ears as she writes with trembling hands. As she writes, she talks.
"Here are my experiments. I was sent to thirteen sixty two, under the command of Ilah Shah. I know you don't like him but-" A wave of pain makes her yelp, and England is by her and grabs her hand. She snatches it away quick as thought- staring at him wide eyed. He flinches.
She looks up and her eyes narrow. Not at him, but past him. He follows her gaze-
"Brother." Her voice is icy calm. "What is she doing here." Pakistan is standing in the doorway like a green and gold statue, with a look of - the only word he can think is grief but surely that can't be right. Whatever it was vanishes under scrutiny leaving sharp faced disdain in its wake.
"Saving you from this spectacular mess you've made of yourself." India opens his mouth, anger swelling in his throat. His sister cuts him off.
"Fine. Do whatever you want." Pakistan's hands clench. Bangladesh ignores her and turns to him. "I trust you know what you're doing?"
His whole body freezes for a second. Eventually he grasps for words. "I'm trying to get rid of one of them, I promise." Which of the two would be worse to keep? Her face softens when it comes back to him.
"Don't worry about it." Her hands are stiff in the bed sheets. "They'll probably come in handy."
Then she shudders, leans over the side of the bed, and throws up. India leaps away to avoid it, it barely misses his shoes. His face contorts in shock. It's black.
For a while she just heaves, and he's rooted to the spot. There's a clank- England has grabbed a bucket and shoved it under her face. It's far too late to save the carpet but it's a gesture he didn't expect - and when Bangladesh stops throwing up he can see from stare that she didn't either.
She draws herself up, dignified if not for the shaking and the black drool slipping from her mouth- she wipes it away quickly, eyes closed.
She takes a deep breath.
"I've been using Ruqyah for weeks to try and undo the spell, with no success. I thought initially it was England-" Arthur jumps at his name but she doesn't notice. " - but that can't be true. No mortal- even a nation, can fight that. Whatever pulled me through-"She bends over and loses another wave of black vomit and as she straightens she suddenly cries out in pain- hands seizing around the blanket. India grabs a tissue and wipes away the mess she can't get for herself. Her teeth are clenched so hard only tiny wimpers escape. He grabs her hand- yelps and yanks it back.
It's burning hot- like fire.
She pants and coughs as the fit recedes. "It's not going to let me go this easily- I feel it tearing me in two." Her eyes are wide with despair. "It should have worked- I've been trying for weeks, I don't even know why it got me here now-"
"The exorcism," India breathes. "Your younger self tried Ruqyah last night - do you think?"
She nods. "It must be. I- It's almost like I'm on either side of a tunnel. One end here and the other in the thirteen hundreds. If we each tried at the same time then maybe it overrode whatever was keeping us trapped for a little while. But even then-" She gestures helplessly down at her young body. India nods.
"India, I don't think I can do it again." He stares at her, her voice is shaking and she swallows. "They won't let me." His stomach turns to lead.
"What?"
"The space, in between the two ends of the tunnel it's full of creatures-" She shudders and a wave of pain makes her yell. "These- I can't even explain them- it was so dark but I could feel them and - I got away but- !"
Suddenly she goes limp. India grabs her before she falls straight out of bed, Laying her back down onto the pillows he shakes her gently. A pained sound erupts from the base of his heart.
"Bangladesh? Sister? Come on, fight it!" She doesn't wake up.
He swipes his hands through his hair, giving up after only a second. Her breathing is shallow, but steady and her hands have relaxed. Under them, the blanket is burned. All around them is the sour stench of sick. She's trapped back in that tunnel - whatever it is- and there's nothing he can do.
"So you'll let me help?" India whirls around. Pakistan towers over him. He stands up sharply. She continues. "What do you think she meant by creatures?"
He stares at her blankly. Then the anger hits.
"You think that after that I'm going to let you stay?" England, who'd been crouched by Bengal, stands beside him - glaring at Pakistan. He flings a hand out. He hates Pakistan, but she doesn't deserve to be set on by the boy. Besides. He made a promise. Her face contorts in anger, but not shock.
"Oh give it up! What are you going to do? You're stumped. Stuck. Up Shit creek without a fucking paddle. She's my sister too and she is in danger, you have no right-"
"Nineteen seventy-one." He doesn't say it loud. He doesn't have to. Her face pales, and her body hunches in on itself in shame.
She doesn't apologize- but then again, he didn't expect her to.
"I told you, I'm not here to hurt her again." She whispers. "I swear on my soul- I'm not."
"India? England?" He whips around. His sister, still shrouded in pillows, has cracked her eyes open. Her voice is cracked and horse from Bangladesh's vomiting and yelling, but it is unmistakably Bengal. Dopey, she scans the room, her eyes widen in shock as she sees Pakistan. And she grins ear to fucking ear. "Shaha?"
Pakistan moves to take a step past him and he blocks her. The moment is awkward. Even England jumping in to check on Bengal doesn't help. Her replies permeate the room as he holds Pakistan's gaze.
"I'm fine. Tired. No it doesn't hurt too badly. The smell is pretty bad, but I'm not sure I can walk just yet." She laughs "No! He'll throw his back out completely. You bought the bucket? Thankyou. Of course I'm fine!"
Eventually, minutely, Pakistan steps back- but her eyes never leave his. It's enough.
He turns back to her to assess the truth of Bengals claims, and finds her eyes flicking back to him. Between him and Pakistan, in fact. He tries to smile reassuringly, but she scowls at him, for just a moment. It hurts his heart. But it's ok, he'll tell her the truth when she's well. He smiles at her and she does smile back. So.
He turns back to Pakistan. For a moment he watches her watch Bengal.
"Fine. You can stay." he says it in Urdu. Her shock is quickly, infuriatingly, stifled. "But if you so much as lay a finger-"
"I understand, India." There's a little hitch before she says his country name, and her eyes are tired. But he means it. It'll have to do. He stands aside so she can sit beside their baby sister.
Even though she's ignoring him, he nods. "I'll make some lunch." Not that he or his charges have had breakfast. At the door he turns back- England is glaring at Pakistan, much to Bengals whispered discomfort.
"England?" The child turns to him, but his body is facing Bengal. "Could you help me make dinner?" For a moment he thinks Arthur might refuse, but all he does is shoot another nasty look at Pakistan before joining him. India places a hand on his shoulder and switches to French.
"It's ok, she's safe now." The child nods, face firm and serious.
There is nothing, Bengal decides, quite like sunlight on cold skin, or family after nothingness. Or soft blankets. The fear of the inbetween place had burrowed itself straight into her bones . India's care and England's self-conscious worry root her on Earth, words filling up the space where anxiety would breed. And Sahadeva is here.
Which she hadn't expected.
India sweeps out of the room, England in tow, but Pakistan remains staring at her. Her face is surprisingly still, but her eyes are wide and worried. Warmth blossoms in her chest, entirely separate from the all over cold ache in her bones that the- whatever it had been, had put in her. Sick smell makes her stomach roll, but honestly she has no more to throw up. Laying down she can see Shaha's throat work, even though she remains silent. Desperate for the warmth of conversation she tries to relieve the pressure on her shoulders by sitting up. Mistake. She yelps. Everything hurts.
"Lie down, just rest ok?" Her sister reaches out to push her back down- but, honestly, she doesn't need the help because her back gives out on her. For a moment Bengal blinks uncomprehending at the ceiling. As the pain recedes, the world comes back- and her sister is hovering above her hands hovering above. Her own hands are shaking, still she gives her a smile.
Shaha smiles back, but it doesn't reach her eyes, which almost look through her. "Do you remember what happened?"
Bengal shuts her eyes. Cold. Black. A golden thread. Fear. "Yes. I went all the way back- home? I saw Ilah Shah again." And scared him witless with her yelling. "And then-" her throat swells up. She opens and closes her mouth. Nothing comes out. "Sorry - I don't want to-"
"Shh, it's ok." Her sister coos like Bengal is still a babe in arms, which should make her furious. But honestly she's so tired and in so much pain that it's nice to be babied for a moment. And this Shaha, with her sad eyes, knows her boundaries. She shouldn't need to fight to prove herself so much.
After a moment of soft, warm silence, her sister speaks again. "I'll mop up the sick, shall I?"
"Alright."
Bengal watches her elder sister tie up her glamorous skirts and grab a mop and bucket. Unbidden, tears fill her eyes. It's a ridiculous sight. Powerful, regal Shahadeva mopping up her baby sister's sick like a hand maid.
"What's wrong!" In an instant she's by her side fluffing pillows. It's so alien that despite the pain she starts giggling and can't stop. Her big sister cracks a smile, but she still looks so worried.
"Nothing! Nothing!" She hiccups. "I'm just so glad to see you!"
And Shaha smiles, real and genuine and swipes a hair away from her face. "Same to you, sister."
Down in the kitchen, India's phone is buzzing. He flicks it open- it's Norway.
Can you prepare beds for two, please? Scotlands coming.
Ire- so close to the surface right now, bubbles up only to be interrupted by another buzz.
Little shit stowed away in my boot - can't even send him back.
He sighs, frustrated and heavy. Though his shoulders relax.
"She's your sister isn't she?" And his shoulders hitch right back up again. England is staring up at him with those lamp like green eyes- but they're wide and serious, with not a trace of guile or scorn. India lets his shoulders relax again.
"Yes." He pauses for a moment. "She's my twin." England's eyes widen in shock- going comically bog eyed. He can't help but laugh a little. It comes out slightly choked. Sibling countries were pretty normal, stick in a border or a mountain range with plenty of trade and watch them sprout like mushrooms- but twins? For most of his life he'd thought they were the only ones. Right up until he'd met the Koreas. Against his own will tears build up behind his eyes. England's mouth immediately snaps shut, and he looks at the ceiling- clearly uncomfortable.
"It's ok, I don't like my siblings either." it's so heartfelt he laughs again- but it's a little warmer this time. He breathes and pushes the tears back. "If you like I could-"
"No." His voice is firm, and he hopes one day he'l get used to the rollercoaster of emotions. Instead, he places his hand on England's shoulder. "I meant what I said. It's not your job to fight my battles - never was, never will be. I'll deal with Pakistan, ok?"
The child nods, now looking at him again- his hand has coiled into India's rumpled shirt. He needs to tell him. "On the subject, Scotland and Norway are coming tomorrow. Will you be alright with that?"
England pales and nods, his hand tightening compulsively in India's shirt. "I'm gonna have to be, aren't I?" India says nothing, but draws the boy into a warm, strong hug. The only promise he can make.
AN:
...It's not the length but what you do with it that counts? (ducks tomatoes) Joking aside, I almost feel embarrassed by the length of this chapter. I wish I could say it'll mean less time for the next one but who am I kidding. Having said that Pakistan is here….fucking finally (grumble gumble). The trouble is only just beginning hehehe.
So Pakistan has a bad relationship with both of her siblings which is sadly consistent with modern politics. Now there's only one of those that's going to be dealt with in any detail- and whilst it's technically a spoiler I wouldn't feel right not warning people. 1971 is the date of the Bangladesh genocide at the hands of Pakistans forces. Again I'm not going to go super gory, the focus is going to be on the emotional impact on the characters- but I'm going to put trigger warnings here and on the tops of the next few chapters for topics to do with genocide. Also there will be mention of partition later- again to flesh out the emotional realities of the characters and their arcs.
Sadly, I think with the themes I'm writing about and the characters I'm writing there's no way around these topics. I will do my best to handle them with respect.
The only other historical note - 793 specifically refers to the sack of the Lindisfarne monastery, which is widely considered to be the start of the Viking Raids in England.