Charge of the Light Brigade

As France was disgustingly, England had to concede, the 'stronger' out of the two of them at the moment, he left the motorhome first, opening the door in time to catch the sound of tyres churning up grass and the harsh rev of engines as cars tore into the campsite. The first car pulled into the centre at high speed, bouncing off the dirt track and onto the grassy field, before breaking to make a sharp U-turn and face back the way it had come. The darkness of the campsite made it impossible to see how many people were inside and England pushed France, who was dithering to watch it, to run and press themselves against the back of the motorhome wall.

'We need to find better cover,' England said as the revving stopped, leaving only the fast tick of heated engines in the quiet. Doors opened and another shot rang out loud, followed by shouting. France wasn't listening to him; he was peering around the side of the motorhome to watch what was happening.

England took his hand away from his shoulder and jabbed him in the ribs with a knuckle, 'Oi!'

France turned to angrily swat his hand away before looking around the corner again, head alarmingly unprotected, 'They're not shooting at us.'

'…What?'

'They're not shooting at us, you fool!' France glanced back at him, 'Neither shot we just heard was for us.'

England made a sharp intake of relief, remembering what Wales had told him, 'Scotland and North, then.' Thank God, 'We need to draw attention away from them.'

France murmured an agreement, 'The second car has now stopped; it's best if we move around and try to subdue the driver from behind- I think they're the one with the gun.'

'Right,' England thought for a moment about how this could go. With Scotland and North here, this was doable, 'We should try to stay together until we know where the others are and how many.'

'Obviously,' France gently nudged England's side to move forwards towards the right, 'You are such an incredible inconvenience, please do us all a favour and try not to make this more difficult by dying in the middle of everything.'

England tried to stamp on his foot but missed and France hopped easily away, 'I am well aware, thank you.'

'Although, to be fair,' France came up close to him again, hand around his good shoulder and mouth near to his ear, 'I know from very recent experience that you are a very heavy corpse- at least if you died, they wouldn't be able to run away with you easily.'

'Oh, har-dee-har, yes because this is clearly the best time for humour.'

'Who says I'm being funny? I am quite serious.'

'Can I have that knife back? I'd like to show you how to use it.'

'No, my dear one, you gave me a cooking knife and we both know you have no idea how to use one of those.'

'You know what, that's it, fuck you.' Shoving France off, England quickly scanned the trees around him.

Seeing no movement and hearing nothing, he considered the coast to be clear and broke into a run. He could hear France behind him, slower at first with his cut-up feet but then faster as he found his stride.

As soon as they were out in the open England could see both cars clearly- headlights on to illuminate each other and create an island of clarity in the dark. In an attempt to avoid the car in front -Scotland's, most likely- the second car had swerved at the last minute to career towards the washroom block, stopping just before the brickwork and leaving deep gouges in the grass.

The driver's side door was open and a man was standing by it, shouting something England couldn't make out with gun pointed in the direction of the first car. England couldn't see either of his brothers and guessed that they must be taking cover behind the car, unable to move; Scotland wouldn't risk it. If England and France could distract the gunman, they could move out into the open and plan what to do next.

Pushing down worry at seeing bullet holes puckering the body of the car, England managed to get about halfway across when, to his complete surprise, he was sent sprawling by France launching himself into his back. A shot rang out from his left and he twisted around under France, trying to find the source and ignoring France's angry hiss in his ear to stay still.

Another shot, this time hitting the dirt by his head and France pushed off him to run into someone nearby, hitting their body with a grunt and a yell. Free from his weight, England ignored the sharp pain in his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet, continuing to run forwards towards his original target and leaving France behind. France was more than capable of dealing with someone at close range and England's focus was narrowed to getting the gun's attention away from his brothers; the need to protect members of the national union far outweighing that of anything else.

So much for the plan to stick together.

Closer, England could hear the human shouting for his brothers to come out from behind the car with angry swears and threats. Short and more on the portly side, the man was moving towards the driver's side of his brothers' car with long strides, gun now clearly visible and trained solidly ahead of him.

Not paying attention to anything other than what was in front of him, England was able to tackle him easily from the side, winding his arms around the man's stomach and throwing his whole weight into his back to send them both flying forwards and down. The man gave a cry of surprise, dropping the gun with a muffled, heavy thump in the grass and gasping as the air left his lungs, chest slamming into the ground. Although now weapon-less he didn't stay still for long, twisting and bucking frantically under England to gain an advantage. One of his arms swung wide and landed to grab, hard, onto England's bad shoulder, fingers digging deep into his skin.

With a sudden cry of pain, white hot and causing his vision to blur, England lost his balance and faltered, allowing the man beneath him to wriggle his way out to reverse their positions and force England down instead.

'You're absolutely fucking useless!'

Suddenly, the weight on top of him was gone. England blinked and shook his head. Scotland had grabbed hold of the human by the collar and pulled him upright. The man was struggling to find his footing, attempting to pull away from Scotland and free himself at the same time. He swung out with a punch caught Scotland hard on the jaw and leant backwards, shifting his weight to try to kick Scotland in the knees. England, still on the floor, grabbed his leg fast and tried to unbalance him.

After a few seconds of struggle, England wiggling himself around to get a better grip whilst trying to avoid a boot to the face, the man toppled, allowing Scotland to follow him down and pin him in place. England scrabbled to his knees to help.

'Watch out!'

The cry was from North and came from behind. England looked up just in time to see the man he recognised from inside the motorhome sprinting over to them from behind the washroom, looking furious and determined. In the split second he had, eyes darting to particular danger points he knew to check from centuries of practice, England couldn't see a gun or a weapon of any kind but he was a large man and England was tired. Even without the recent shot to the shoulder that was slowing him down he couldn't think of the last time he'd eaten properly, or even slept. Healing took a lot of energy and Lord only knew he'd been doing enough of that all day. Long and short of it, the events of the last few days were catching up to him and England wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

Before he had time to lament this, however, North came out from behind the car and ran to intercept the new arrival. England and Scotland locked eyes, a quick shared look of panic passing between them, and England forced himself to his feet.

'Sean!'

North ignored him and the man, catching sight of the teenager and recognising him to be an easier, more immediate target, turned to confront North head on. He easily deflected North's initial swing, grabbing his hand and twisting it round in a way that make England's wince in sympathy, but North dodged the subsequent punch easily and rammed his knee into the human's belly, winding him and producing a wet choke.

It was a fact of their kind that they were often raised in and around war. The path to nationhood was often bloody and painful and very few of them grew up clean and coddled for very long, protected by someone bigger who could fight their battles for them. In North's case, he had been born from war, from a bloody splitting of Ireland's lands and peoples that still lingered like poison between England and his elder brother. Nations are not their government, nor their choices, but England himself had been cruel and unfeeling and the bad blood between himself and his brother was warranted.

Regardless of cause or reason, the consequence had been an unexpected new sibling that none of the British Isles had foreseen. He was definitely a brother rather than just another nation- aside from the familial look of him there was a feeling, a sense of shared culture and history which bonded them together, despite the ups and downs they went through.

Although they had tried to shield him when he was very young, hiding a nation from the horrors of war was not something any of the UK siblings believed in and they would have been hypocritical to prevent North's joining his land's politics and infighting once he showed an interest in becoming involved. The result was, although young, North was well used to fighting and defending himself.

Although very competent at what he could do, size was against him this time and once the element of speed and surprise was taken from him the odds were not in North's favour. Despite the well-aimed hit to his stomach, the man recovered quickly and tightened his grip on North's wrist before he could get another hit in, twisting it against the joint and forcing him to follow the movement down or risk his bones breaking. Once North was bent double, the man brought his elbow down with a sickening crack against his temple and he crumpled to the ground, boneless.

The man dropped North's wrist and lifted up his leg, intending to bring it down on North's head when England finally got close enough and knocked into him. It was a weaker tackle this time, he didn't have enough speed in him and the man was thick and stout. He stepped back but didn't go down, twisting around to punch England in his side to get him to release his hold and back off.

Suddenly, the man gave a cry and staggered, dropping to one knee. England looked down to see North, grinning up at him with his pocket knife jammed into the man's calf. This was enough- England used the distraction to manhandle him down and press on his neck as he had done with Jean to subdue him but held the position for longer until he went unconscious. Once the man stopped moving, England rested back on his haunches, panting.

'Fuck me.'

'You were shite.'

'Cheers.'

'You're welcome.'

England huffed a small laugh and covered his face with his hands, letting his head rest into them a moment as a wave of exhaustion hit him. Jesus Christ. There was still so much to do- they still weren't safe.

'Come on then,' brief moment of contemplative self-pity over, England clapped North on the shoulder and shakily got to his feet, 'up you get.'

'Ain't I done enough for you today?' North grumbled, reaching up to take England's offered hand.

'You'd like to think so.'

'Ugh.'

He got to his feet well enough but swayed once up, the colour draining from his face. The hand still holding England's own turned clammy and cold and he winced, attempting to lift the other hand to reach for his head.

England quickly took his brother's weight with concern, bringing arms around his chest to hold him steady, 'Oh no you don't, lad, not yet.'

North mumbled something into his collarbone but didn't make an attempt to move away. Instead, he grew heavier and England shuffled him, trying to prop him upright on his own feet.

'North? North. Come on now,' England tried to move back but North slumped forwards and England clicked his tongue, bringing a hand up to cup the back of his head, 'alright then I've got you, let's go.'

Awkwardly, England repositioned North so he could snake an arm around his waist and manoeuvred them both forwards, stumbling their way towards the nearest car. There, England gently lowered him down to prop him against the door before pushing his head between his legs. As he settled, England stood and leaned over him, legs either side and crossed arms coming to rest on the roof, ducking his upper body down to keep it clear from any easy shots. North curled in on himself and brought up a hand to gingerly explore his head and temple. Hopefully, the partial cover would be enough to prevent him getting hit with anything, should anyone else run at them or shoot.

Thankfully, before too long there were fast, heavy footsteps as Scotland ran over to join them, newly acquired gun in hand. England moved out of the way to let him close to North and could just make out the man he'd been fighting left in a heap on the ground.

'Did you see me knee him?' North lifted his head and gave Scotland a wild eyed, excited look, 'He folded- right in the middle.'

'Aye, and he got you right on your head too, you idiot.' He crouched down in front of North, getting out his phone and turning on the torch before placing it on the ground to help him see better. He then gently took North's head in his hands to look into his eyes.

'I'm going to go and find France,' England said, scanning the place he'd last seen him. There was the muffled sound of fighting in that direction and he could just make out shadows of figures still there, 'there are some cable ties still left in the motorhome we-'

'Sit down, you bellend.'

Scotland's tone had the firm bite of an older sibling that some deep, ancient part of him was trained to react to and England stopped talking automatically, turning to look at him.

When England didn't respond further, Scotland glared at him and jerked his head at the place besides North, 'Shut it and sit; you ain't good for anything at the moment.'

England opened his mouth to retort but Scotland reached up and pulled him down with a harsh tug on his belt. England, caught off guard more than anything, gave in and allowed himself to be manhandled into sitting, back coming to rest against the car.

Scowling, Scotland then turned his attentions back to North who was looking far too pleased at England's treatment, 'You know the drill, give me information.'

North sighed but dutifully answered, 'It's Tuesday, we're in France because England needed saving like a giant child-'

'-watch it-'

'-I got hit on the head and you're now checking for concussion.'

'Alphabet backwards.'

North groaned, 'No one can do that, that's always a stupid one.'

'Alphabet, backwards.'

North huffed but reluctantly did so. Despite stumbling over a few he managed it without too much trouble and Scotland nodded at him, satisfied. 'Good. You might have one but if so it ain't too bad. What else hurts?'

North held out his wrist and gave a yelp when Scotland handled it too roughly. He tutted, probing it more gently. 'You'll live, s'only sprained.'

'Oh goody.'

Scotland picked up the phone and shifted over to crouch in front of England, looking him over. His eyes came to rest on his shoulder. It had stopped bleeding heavily -a benefit of Nation's quick healing abilities- but now that the adrenaline was wearing off England could feel it pulsing with a hot heat; whatever healing that had been accomplished had been retorn in the scuffle.

'Did it exit?' Scotland asked, referring to the bullet. Scotland himself looked fine; his lip was bloody when the man from the car had hit him but otherwise seemed to have come out from the fight unhurt.

'I've got no idea, can't see behind me can I.'

'Don't start.' Scotland reached out and tried to explore it, tugging England's collar down rather than lifting the whole thing up. England hissed at the movement as it jostled his shoulder and Scotland murmured an apology, leaning away, 'I'll need the whole thing off to tell, I can't see like this.'

He waved the phone's torch for emphasis and England squinted, momentarily blinded as the light shone into his eyes.

'It's fine,' England gently rearranged his jumper around his neck, 'I didn't bleed out so it didn't hit anything major; it's mostly muscle.'

'Alright, anything else?'

'Just scrapes, nothing serious.'

'Brilliant,' Scotland said before swiftly cuffing him hard around the head.

England gave a yelp of surprise, 'What was that for?'

'You're fucking idiot, that's why,' Scotland got to his feet with a grunt, 'You're lucky you only got shot in the shoulder, you deserve much worse.'

'Bastard,' scowling up at him, England rubbed the offended area and watched his brother look about the campsite in the direction of the remaining noise.

'I'll go and find the other idiot, you two stay here.'

Now that he was sitting down, England found that he was only too happy to agree.

Scotland found France easily. There was a man crumpled on the floor and he was engaged with another, desperately clawing at him and trying to twist out of his grip. He wasn't winning, that much was obvious- the man had France's arm hooked and pulled back and was punching him in the side. France was attempting to kick his way out of his hold but even at a distance Scotland could see he was slowing.

Both were too occupied to notice Scotland and, combined with the fact that he was well rested and still full of energy, he managed to wrangle the human down easily.

Once he lay still, Scotland stood and wiped the sweat from his forehead, sweeping hair back off his face. 'Right. Any more?'

France shook his head, bent double with hands on his knees and breathing heavily, 'No, if there was only one in the car that followed you in here and you've dealt with a second, then all are now accounted for.'

'Well, there was one more,' Scotland jabbed the man France had taken down with the point of his shoe. He didn't move, 'but I ran him over earlier- if he's still alive I don't think he's getting up quick enough to do us any harm.'

'Thank God,' France straightened up and looked heavenwards. He closed his eyes, seemingly taking a moment to collect himself before opening them and coming around to pull Scotland into a tight hug, 'Thank you for coming.'

He was very warm, despite being only in a t-shirt and oversized trousers, and he smelt of sweat and dirt- neither two things that Scotland associated with France. No matter the heat or situation, France was always well put together and presentable, had been for as long as Scotland had known him. No matter the era, France followed whatever the strictest rules of hygiene and personal maintenance were in fashion at the time and could be counted on to always show up looking his best. Even in war, France could be relied upon to be one of the cleanest soldiers or officers, making the most out of whatever was available and taking the time to look after himself.

Scotland hadn't seen him personally during WWI but had heard through the Commonwealth grapevine that he looked as gaunt and haunted as the rest of them, more mud than man. For France to look so out of character during peacetime was disconcerting.

Scotland stiffened but awkwardly returned the hug before stepping away, 'I didn't have a choice, did I? Shit head over there was causing too big of a fuck up to leave alone for any longer.'

France shot him a wry look, 'Of course.' He glanced over Scotland's shoulder to where England and North were hidden by the car.

'They're okay,' Scotland answered the unasked question, 'just banged up.'

France let out a breath and nodded, 'good.'

'You alright?' Scotland peered at him, looking for anything that looked like it needed immediate attention. His nose looked broken, swollen from what Scotland could see and slightly crooked, but nothing else seemed to be bleeding or hanging off.

France shook his head and twisted his hair into an attempt at a ponytail without a hairband, 'Well, yes, I suppose so in that I'm not going to die anytime soon but no, not really at all. Had you not arrived when you did, I do not think we would have been able to overcome them.'

Scotland didn't want to think about that, imagined clips from unseen internet videos flashing in his mind's eye, 'No use thinking about that, it's done now.'

'Yes,' France gave up with his hair with a tut of irritation and it fell around his face, mud streaked and sweaty, 'that is the better way of looking at it.'

He sounded defeated and Scotland cast about for a distraction, 'Did you…' Scotland trailed off and gestured to the men, 'what do you want to do with them.'

It was a difficult question and Scotland wasn't surprised to see France's face twist in response. One human, in the grand scheme of things regarding their nation, was small and one human's death wouldn't be felt, especially for one with as large a population as what France had. But to personally end a life of someone who called you home was never easy. Killing their people went against everything a nation was, went against their very nature. They were built and moulded to protect, to remember, to push for their people, not cut them down.

Small though these few men may be, in the eyes of the nation they still meant something, were still part of France and Scotland knew he too would be reluctant to end a Scottish life were he in France's position, especially once the danger of death or harm to himself and allies had passed.

'I know what I should logically do to be entirely safe,' France looked away to the motorhome, 'and there is one who we cannot leave alive for that very reason.'

He paused, looking at the man who lay in between himself and Scotland, 'but these men were just hired. They did not ask for this.'

'They still did it. Even if they don't know anything about us-,' "us" being a good many things, '-they still agreed to kidnap and shoot random people for money, most likely.'

France pursed his lips, 'Yes. They still did. And they will face the repercussions for their part. But I do not feel that we are in any danger from them by allowing them to live.'

Scotland said nothing and France glanced at him, watching for a reaction Scotland couldn't guess at providing.

'I know what England would want me to do.'

Scotland shrugged, 'I agree with him but they're not ours, they're yours. You're the one who gets to call it.'

France sighed, 'I know. Maybe I'm too in touch with humanity at the moment.'

'Maybe we're too far out of it.'

France gave a sharp bark of laughter, 'That is the eternal problem we have, is it not?' He nodded to himself, coming to a decision, and clapped his hands together, 'As you're standing there, help me to collect the living- we'll put them in the motorhome for now.'

Men collected easily (with only one needing to be forced back into unconsciousness) Scotland and France separated them into living and dead- those still alive were taken to the motorhome, and those who were dead were lifted to lay in the washroom alongside the ones France had ambushed a few hours earlier. Scotland managed to find the zip-ties England had mentioned, there were a few scattered about a table but there weren't enough for Scotland to feel comfortable about leaving them alone for too long, lest they wake up and manage to escape.

Whilst France ducked into a bedroom at the far end, Scotland made do with pulling out any shoe laces he could and using them to bind ankles, keeping the zip-ties to hold the more useful, and dangerous, hands. All four living men they collected from outside had their arms pulled behind their backs and tied to each other, lacking as they were of any solid furniture.

Scotland and France performed this all in comfortable silence, falling in step together without the need for further communication or instruction. There was nothing much else about the situation to say, and any personal topics or catch ups could be had after a good meal and when everyone was more relaxed.

Once this task was done and he was happy that there was no possibility for any of the remaining men to have an easy escape, Scotland, with experienced ease, reset France's nose for him. It wasn't a terrible break (certainly not the worst Scotland had seen) but it was always easier to have someone else do it and France accepted his offer gladly. After this he left France alone, handing him the gun to use if he wanted, to jog back over to check on England and North.

He found them mostly unmoved from where he left them. North was now slumped to curl with his head in England's lap, either asleep or dozing. England had his fingers buried in North's tangle of hair and was gently running the strands through, tugging at the knots with his eyes shut.

At Scotland's approach England squinted them open and stopped, 'All well?'

'Aye,' Scotland lowered himself to sit in front of him, 'We got them all.'

England gave a sigh of relief, 'Thank God.'

Scotland patted his pocket where he was keeping his phone, 'I'm gonna call the British Embassy, get some people in to take everyone still alive away and guard 'em till France has reintroduced himself; it'll be easier to explain and deal with that way.'

England frowned and opened his mouth. Scotland, knowing what he was going to say, jumped in, 'Don't bother, it ain't your call.'

'I never said it was,' England huffed, 'but I think he's leaving a lot to chance by keeping them alive, especially after all of this.'

'"Especially after all of this", you're the last person who has the right to nag someone else about leaving things to chance.'

'Oh, piss off.'

'I'm serious,' Scotland said, voice hard, 'you fucked up. You should have called either us or the government in bloody ages ago. Right when you got out of France and as soon as you knew there was even the slightest chance that cover might have been blown. This whole thing could have been avoided and it is entirely your fault.'

It was harsh and Scotland had no doubt that England had already come to this conclusion himself, but it was the truth and it needed to be said nonetheless.

England swallowed and looked down at North, resuming his ministrations to his hair. Scotland could see him struggle with himself, his automatic habit of denying that he had a hand in a failure fighting against the bare and clear evidence to the contrary all around them.

'I know,' he said, eventually, 'I didn't realise how bad it was, I thought I could handle it.'

He pressed his lips together and tipped his head back to look at Scotland wearily, 'I know, I should have alerted our government and let France reintroduce himself to his. He only didn't because I pushed for him not to. I just…' he brought up the hand that was resting on North's head up and waved it uselessly, 'I didn't want anyone to find out, I suppose.'

'Yeah well, now the whole world knows, rather than just a few of us.'

England sucked on his lower lip, 'Hmm.'

Scotland sighed through his nose, 'It's done now. France isn't being a fool, like I said I'm calling the embassy in. We've rounded them all up so they can't go anywhere- it's contained. If he doesn't want to kill them, then that's his call.'

'What about Jean?'

At Scotland's, presumably, look of confusion, England elaborated, 'the main one- the bloke who's behind this whole thing.'

'France said there was one that couldn't be left alive- I'm guessing that's him, then.'

'Right,' England looked grimly satisfied, 'If he doesn't kill that one, then I will.'

Over North's head, he moved his hand to rub against his other forearm, around the spot where Scotland knew there must be newly healed, hairless skin. He hadn't seen the videos, he didn't want to, but North had told Scotland enough about them for a spike of anger to shoot through him on his brother's behalf. England might be an idiot, but he didn't deserve to be a guinea pig for human curiosity.

'Yeah, that one I'd back you on.'

England flashed him a tight smile, 'Thanks.'

'Yeah yeah,' Scotland heaved himself back to his feet and shook out his legs, stamping them to clear out the pins and needles, 'don't let it go to your head. I'll go and call our people in now. Once they're here we can shoot off- kip in a hotel tonight and head back home tomorrow.'

'I'll check about, see if my case has been left here in case that cunt was lying.'

England made moves to get up but Scotland put his hand on his good shoulder and forced him to stay still, 'I'll check, I want you to rest here for a bit. I wasn't kidding when I said you didn't look like you were good for anything.'

'You look like shit, basically.'

They both glanced down to North who was looking up at them both from England's lap.

'I thought you were asleep,' England sounded betrayed.

'I thought you were smart.'

North gave a cry as England tugged on his hair, 'Just because you have a slight concussion doesn't mean you can start backchatting me.'

North scowled and reached up to rub at his head, keeping silent.

'I'll shoot the fucking both of you in a minute,' Scotland got out his phone, 'one of you ring Wales before he combusts. I'll go and call the Embassy.'

'Shit, wait a minute,' Scotland turned back to England, 'there was one who was there with me when Jean was- you know,' England gave a jerk of the head to indicate the motorhome behind the car, 'there. When they were filming.'

In the dim light, Scotland saw North curl his lip in disgust.

'He needs to go; he's seen too much.'

'Alright, I'll let France know.'

'No, he doesn't know what he looks like,' England moved his legs to shift North off and tried to push himself up.

'England, for fuck sake sit down, you've lost too much blood to go galivanting off,' It quickly became apparent that England wouldn't listen to him or common sense and Scotland tutted, moving forwards to grip his elbow and help him stand as North shuffled himself to sit upright, 'fine, you go and keel over then. I'm not Wales, I ain't gonna stop you hurting yourself if you don't want to listen to reason.'

Despite this, he kept his hand on England's elbow and waited until he looked stable before moving away.

'North, stay here and call Wales.'

'Already on it- as if I wanna move anywhere.'

Whilst Scotland had been rearranging the unconscious men about the motorhome, France had ducked inside the bedroom to check on Jean.

He was as England said he had been when he left him- tied up, unconscious, and harmless looking. There was nothing about him that gave off the air of a deranged and desperate individual, nothing about him which made France take stock and weigh him up as anything other than a middle-aged man who worked in a care home from appearances alone.

It was odd, how looks could still be so deceiving to one who had lived through and seen so many.

He returned after Scotland had left him to check on his brothers, gun and knife in hand. France didn't know what he was hoping for, but he was hoping for something. Some final resolution, maybe. Closure of some kind.

Not that he needed additional reasons to justify killing this man, certainly not. Treason against the nation of France still carried weight, although not with guillotine precision these days. But he wanted, perhaps with a crueller, more Empirical part of himself, for Jean to know what was coming and why. Who he was and what exactly that meant in a world that mostly turned ignorant and unaware.

He was almost fully awake on France's second visit. Hs eyes were open but glassy and unfocused, and were slow to turn and look at him. 'You'.

'Me.' France shut the door behind him and turned on the light. Jean squeezed his eyes shut and France waited patiently as he became adjusted to the light enough to open them fully, sitting cross legged in front of the door.

'Why are you here.'

'To talk to you.'

'Has the other one not done that enough?'

'The other one? You mean Arthur.'

Jean scoffed and twisted to try and sit up against the bed. France made no moves to help him, 'I know that is not his name.'

France smiled, 'Depending on who asks no, it is not.'

There was a pause. Then, 'My initial understanding of you both was right. You are not human.'

'No.'

'Are there more of you? Many?'

'Yes.'

Another pause, longer.

'It is still hard to believe that you are the same old man from the home,' Jean's eyes looked him up and down and France kept his face smooth and expressionless, 'I know you are the same person but at the same time I cannot fully accept it.'

'No one is ever supposed to see the two sides so close together.'

Jean huffed and his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile, 'You make this all sound so natural.'

France didn't honour this with a reply and Jean's mouth turned hard once more, 'Why are you really here.'

France considered this, 'I suppose I find you fascinating. You are the closest we have come, in my own personal experience, at least, to being found out. You have made the biggest attempt thus far to expose us- the most calculated attack on our careful identity yet. And I have been alive for many, many years.'

'And so, I am fascinating?'

'Yes,' France agreed, 'because you have made me feel things I have not felt for centuries. Millenia, maybe.'

Jean blanched slightly but France carried on, 'I suppose, you made me feel as close to human as I can be, without being one myself. And that is fascinating,' France tilted his head, studying the man before him, 'I wondered whether knowing what I am will change anything in you. Whether I could look and speak with you properly like this and find that something that makes you different. Learn to spot it in the future.'

'And is there? Anything different?'

France's mouth curved into a smile, 'No. Not yet. You are a man, a smart, clever man yes, but a mortal man nonetheless. I believe that fate and chance alone brought us together in this particular and peculiar set of circumstances- any one piece missing and things would not have got this far.'

Jean stayed silent, mulishly thinking this over, 'Then tell me what you are. Let us both see what changes. I am to die, am I not?'

France nodded.

'Well then,' Jean cocked his head, a mockery of confidence glinting in his eyes, 'why keep us both waiting.'

France made sure Jean could keep his gaze and held it for a few seconds, becoming accustomed to how he breathed- the rhythm of it, the depth of each breath. Timed the space between each one, tried to guess the beat of his heart.

'What do you think I am.' There was…something. He knew something, already.

Jean lolled his head back and took a deep breath in through his nose, 'What I think you are… isn't possible.'

'After all of this, is anything impossible?'

Jean sucked in his cheeks, hollowing them. He looked more like his grandfather like that; it aged him. He shook his head and returned his attention to France, eyes cautious, 'I believe, against all logic, that you are France.'

France held his gaze, 'I am.'

Jean made a sharp intake of breath and France could see his pulse beat fast through a vein in his neck- sudden and quick. Then, his face contorted and darkened, lips puckering with something ugly and sad- a desperate yearning, 'I did this for you.'

'No.'

'Yes,' his eyes were intense with an emotion France had seen eighty-nine years ago, 'Yes, this was for you. It started with you, and I continued it for you. Does that mean nothing? That my intentions were good? As were my grandfather's? That what we did what we did in your name to keep you safe?'

'Regardless of intention, your actions are not something I wish to condone.'

People committed terrible acts in the name of love. For the love of their nation, their culture, their family- everything from the small to the large. Love could be shaped as a weapon and carelessly thrown, could be soft and gentle or sharp and brutal. Love was not itself inherently kind or good, it was the actions done in its name that made it what it was.

And this is what France saw. France saw love- for a family forgotten, for a potential unfulfilled. For a selfish redemption of self that wasn't required in the first place. It was a shame.

It was a shame because this was something he had inadvertently created. It was also a shame because, once unmasked, a monster was always just a person after all.

England and Scotland hadn't made it very far across the campsite when a crack of a gun rang out, breaking the silence. They stopped and looked at each other, knowing what it was for.

'Go on ahead,' Scotland nodded at the motorhome, 'that's for you two. I'll call the Embassy folks and dig about for your pandora's box.'

England rolled his eyes but did as he was told, leaving Scotland to pull out his phone and wander off in the direction of the van England had been stowed in earlier.

He found France in the bedroom, right where he thought he'd be.

He was crouched on the floor in front of what was once Jean, now still and silent with a neat bullet hole between his eyes and head angled limply backwards. England felt a strange mixture of emotions at the sight of it. Relief, certainly; with Jean's death the worst of the danger was over, the main leak had been stopped and things could be a bit more controlled and clinical- paperwork and tedium but safe. He also felt a childish frustration, born from being unable to now beat the man into the ground himself as he had wanted to. Jean was dead, but England hadn't done it and oh how England wanted to. He wanted to show Jean who he had offended, let him know exactly what to expect for daring to disrespect him so deeply and this was an itch that could now never be sated.

But also, more oddly, England felt disappointment- he had expected more. Of what, he didn't really know, but to end things like this -a quick shot from a small gun- felt anticlimactic.

Looking back at them, the past few days felt endless- yawning stretches of time that blurred all together into one frantic mess. Had this whole goose chase and panic really only been for a few days? Had England really still been living in his house in Fouras this time last week? It felt like a whole other life, a whole other point in time. And then this happened.

Jean had brought about such a huge, volatile change in England's brief and mundane little life, had so brutally ripped up his paper-thin human existence as Arthur the care worker that to see Jean here, cooling against the bed looking small and fragile, felt pathetic.

This is what had caused England to run? Had caused him to trip and flounder so much? Had outwitted both himself and France so many times and had grown into a true threat to England's everyday hidden existence? For all of his actions, for all the grief he had caused and for the size of the impact he had left in England's life, to see Jean dead in such a swift and easy end felt incredibly pointless and empty.

From the look of him, maybe France felt the same way. He was staring at Jean with dead eyes, emotionless and vapid and with the gun still held in his hand, finger loose against the trigger where it rested upon his knee.

Avoiding looking at the mess on the bed, England stepped closer to France and, after only a slight hesitation, placed his hand on his shoulder. He wanted to say something. Something comforting, perhaps or something to acknowledge how foreign and out of place this whole experience was and how flat it had fallen. But the words he wanted to say caught in his throat and stuck there- the feeling he wanted to share wouldn't form into anything solid and so England settled for squeezing his shoulder instead.

France looked up at him and brought up his hand to rest atop England's own, pressing his thumb to sweep across his skin, 'Well,' he said, 'that's that.'

England made a noise of agreement and France curled his fingers under England's palm to hold it properly, 'That's that.'

AN:

And with this update, we cross the 100k word count mark ;u;

What on earth.

This was only supposed to be three chapters.

I tell you guys what, I really did not want to write that final fight scene and I had a fight of my own to get it done. Hopefully, you can't tell that from the end result! But it sure did give me writer's block on multiple occasions oh yes indeedy. Eventually though, as always seems to be the way with difficult chapters, this chapter grew so long that it had to be split in two- the second half is almost finished so there shouldn't be as long of a wait until you hear from me again.

The end is nigh folks and I'm already getting post-fic depression thinking about it, geez. For all I moan and gripe about it, this fic is my baby and I'm having a blast writing for you all again.

Hope you're all keeping well, and I'll see you all soon!