>> Fiction: La Petite Mort - Chapter 10 (original) (raw)

Title: La Petite Mort - Chapter 10
Author: madnesshp
Genre: Alternate Universe/Horror/Romance
Pairing(s): England/America, France/England, Russia/America
Overall Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual innuendos, violence, blood
Summary: Ever since the night England was taken away by the vampires, America has been slaying vampire after vampire with the sole intent of bringing him back. But it has already been seven years since that fateful day, and unfortunately time has a way of changing people.
Previous:: Prologue 1/2 • Prologue 2/2 • Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9

America felt the air rushing out of him— felt something trembling in his chest, like laughter or coughing. His face had fallen, not having expected to hear... what he thought he heard—

He tried to put his trademark smile on his face, but... he just couldn't find it in him to do so. "H-hey, c'mon Finland," he finally replied, trying to keep the conversation light, so he wouldn't break. "That's not funny. Can you even imagine it?" He did laugh then, moving around Finland to continue on to their destination. The other two hunters followed right behind.

"Imagine what?" Finland asked, and Sweden made a sound of disapproval—which America willingly ignored.

"England. Being..." he trailed off, and then he looked over his shoulder at them. "There's just no way."

"So I'm wrong?" Finland pressed, but Sweden placed a hand on his shoulder.

"S' enough, Fin."

"Of course you're wrong!" America said loudly, not wanting to get angry but unable to control his volume— stay calm, he told himself. It's just a misunderstanding, that's all. Turning back around, he saw Finland's confusion and decided to make things clear. "Hey, I just found the guy. He wasn't— he wasn't all torn up or dripping with blood or anything. He looked fine. Absolutely fine! So like..." he waved his hands, trying to find the right words to say. "... you know. Yeah."

Finland stepped forward to respond, but Sweden calmly pulled him back, shaking his head. "No use," he told his younger partner. "H' won't listen."

"Right. I mean, hey! That’s not—”

Sweden shrugged. “Just tellin’ the truth, s’all.”

The two taller hunters stared each other down as Finland nervously looked around the area, making sure they were alone. “And how do you guys know?” America then challenged. “Huh? Riddle me that!”

“Dunno. Experience.”

“Oh come on, what do you take me for?”

Sweden made a pained expression, and Finland crossed in front of him before the man could respond. “Maybe we should continue this conversation after we’ve found our guy?” Finland suggested, but America wasn’t having any of it.

“No way! You—wait, you can’t just drop this on me and expect me to take it like nothing!” He took a step forward, pointing at Finland. “Don’t you understand? How did you expect me to react? And you—“ he shifted his focus to Sweden, whose face was as stern as ever. “Experience? I’ve got plenty of experience! What’s that got to do with—with anything, I mean—“

“You done?” Sweden said, bluntly cutting off the rant. “Don’t have all night.”

America clenched his fists, and he breathed slowly. There was no point in getting into a fight. It wasn’t the best time, after all. If he just acted calmly and rationally— “Just answer me, alright? Are you guys telling me the truth? That’s all I want to know.” He looked up to the sky, not wanting to read the answer off of their faces. He needed to hear it. “Maybe… maybe if it was a joke, you know? Because like, we don’t know each other all that well, and maybe I just didn’t catch the joke—”

“America,” Finland said, pacing himself. “… it’s the truth.”

“Okay,” the American nodded quickly, closing his eyes, his head still turned up to the sky. “Okay. And now tell me. How do you know?”

For a few seconds, he heard nothing.

And then, Finland said quietly, “Because like recognizes like.”

America flinched, and then he opened his eyes. He wished there were stars in the sky to greet him, to comfort him, but all he could see was vast darkness. “I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“I thought you wouldn’t be so… so against it, actually.” Finland sounded so timid, so unlike himself.

America had to look at him again.

And what he saw wasn’t a monstrous beast, wasn’t an inhuman thing with claws or distorted features. Finland was just… normal.

England looked normal, too.

“Well. Ah… well,” America started, but Finland shook his head to stop him.

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I just thought that, well… because you’re part of Bracia and all… that group is about tolerance and acceptance instead of just… killing…” Finland gave a small smile which quickly disappeared. “You know, not all vampires are evil.”

With that said, a thought instantly came to mind.

Prussia.

America froze.

That's right.

If there ever was a prime example of a vampire not being evil, it had to be Prussia. Right? Despite not having talked to him one-on-one in a long while, they kept in contact through messages here and there. And Prussia was always ridiculously direct and sincere. That never once changed.

Suddenly, the whole thing made America feel like a big, hypocritical jerk. Yes, the point of joining Bracia was for thinking outside the box—and he had liked that idea, because it was so positive and uplifting. But somewhere along the way, he had forgotten about it. He shouldn’t have.

Maybe— maybe Finland was right.

“I suppose…” Finland started, fidgeting, “I suppose it’s easier said than done… believing in that idea. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions." He bowed his head. "I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

America wanted to trust him. He felt he could trust him. They were outside, alone in the dark, and if Sweden and Finland were evil, he would have been attacked already. There were plenty of missed opportunities. If that wasn’t an indication of sincerity, then—

“So I guess you’re a vampire, too, right?” America asked in an exhalation of breath, looking at Sweden. The taller man frowned, and Finland responded for him.

“Oh, no, Sve’s human. Guess you wouldn’t think so, huh? But… listen, I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll be happy to answer anything, but we really have to get going. Who knows how long our target will be on location?”

“What, really? Sweden’s human?” America blinked, and then he was smiling broadly. “I would totally think you were one of them.”

Sweden snorted. “So what’s it mean? Y’ alright with it?”

America pursed his lips. “I’m gonna say… I’m not sure. But, you guys haven’t eaten me by now, so…” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. The other two stared at him patiently until he said, “… so I guess I trust you.”

“And England?” Finland asked, and there was hope in his voice.

America had to go with his gut on this one.

“I guess I’ll talk about it. With him. If it’s true.”

“Mm,” Sweden went, nodding. “Prob’ly the best thing.”

It wasn’t the most awesome answer America had been looking for, but if it was true, and if England was a vampire—he could deal with it.

Because it was England, after all.

And if he had to trust anyone in the world wholeheartedly, it could be no one else but England.

---

It wasn’t a bad day, overall.

Admittedly, France had better ones—ones that included harassing a certain stubborn Englishman before sinking his teeth in him—but that particular night wasn’t a total loss.

It wasn’t a bad day, because the night was clear and crisp, and the people who believed they were completely safe at night were in high numbers. All France had to do was stroll into a nightclub and have his pick of the litter, and _voila_—dinner was served.

Humans were so stupid. A false sense of security had been brought about by the decrease in massive vampire attacks, but no one stopped to think about what it meant. Infrequent attacks, France knew, only meant that the lesser-vampires were diminishing in number. After all, only lesser-vampires were so animalistic that they could not carry out premeditated, calculated attacks.

Those creatures were so ugly.

But, he reasoned, they were good in certain circumstances. They could be obedient, sometimes, when they sensed the stronger vampire’s presence. They could sometimes follow directions. But even that wouldn’t last, and France would grow impatient and kill them himself.

He was quite satisfied that when he entered the nightclub, he could sense no other vampire, lesser or otherwise. Hunting would be relatively simple that night. Usually he liked the thrill of a challenging hunt—though no one had beaten England in that department—but France was in no mood for it. His prey would not be for him.

The darkness inside the club was different from the darkness of the outdoors, but France welcomed it all the same. He did have a bit of trouble tuning out the blaring techno music playing on the speakers, but once his eyes set on his chosen victim, ignoring the music was a synch.

The girl had long black hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons, and it swayed with the music as she danced without a care in the world. Her flowing blue dress did not match the tone of the scene—it was too cheerful, too _chaste_—but it was beautiful against her mocha skin that glistened with a sheen of perspiration from all of the activity. She was adorable.

Perfect.

He made his way to her immediately.

There would be other nights for being patient.

She was a little drunk, a little shaken up, but eager enough to latch onto him without a second thought. She smiled and giggled, cooing over his accent and his silky blond hair, and he smiled in return as he led her back to his apartment.

“Would you like some wine, ma bichette?”

The girl—Seychelles, she said her name was—smiled daintily and nodded in acceptance.

“Excellent. Then please, have a seat right there and I’ll return shortly with it.”

She nodded again and took a seat on a chair in the living room, not quite confident enough to take the couch. Her back was to him, just as he had hoped. He would have to use one of England’s bottles of wine to deliver the blow to the head, rendering her unconscious.

And when she awoke, Seychelles found herself tied to the bed, fully clothed save for her shoes, arms and legs spread wide by knotted bed sheets used as rope. Her head ached dully, both from the alcohol and from the hit. She opened her mouth to scream or cry for help, but her throat was far too dry, and her energy and will to act was drained.

A stinging sensation in the side of her neck made her tremble.

Finally, the sight of France, sitting across the room on the same chair she had sat on in the living room, frightened her beyond all reason.

She twisted and turned, feeble attempts at escape, and her mumbling sounded pathetic even to her.

France shook his head at her, condescending, as he played with a cellular phone in his hands. “Now, now… Seychelles, was it? What a lovely name for a beautiful young lady who I’m sure would like to live through this night… am I right?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing it were a dream.

“I suppose I’ll tell you something, Seychelles. In confidence, of course,” he winked at her, though she did not see it—and if she did, perhaps she would have been more afraid of her fate. “Normally when I find someone worth capturing, I don’t take them back to my home. Normally, an alley would suffice, or an empty closet… what may have you.”

A finger trailed down the sole of her right foot, jarring her enough to reopen her eyes and gasp out a whimper. France sighed.

“But in those cases, I am selfish. I don’t share my prey. And, oh, I don’t know… what do you think?”

Her eyes narrowed in both panic and confusion. France shrugged once.

“What do you think of sharing?” he asked her, leaning forward in his chair, cell phone still in hand, twirling about his fingers. “The way I see it, sharing is something you do with someone you… care about. And oh, I know what you’re going to say.” He waved his hand at her, as if she were responding in kind. “You’re going to say, France, sometimes sharing is simply a form of politeness, even amongst strangers. Well I suppose you would be completely right, Seychelles. Still…”

He flicked her toe with his index finger, eliciting a shaky gasp from the poor girl.

“Still, I think it is the mark of something deeper. A hint of one’s infinite kindness and consideration. And I am very considerate. Wouldn’t you agree?” France then took it upon himself to climb onto the bed, over the shivering girl, until he straddled her comfortably—or at least, comfortably for him. “Seychelles, ma petite, you are so quiet. Aren’t I being kind? If I were unkind, wouldn’t you be dead?”

Her breath hitched and tears began to trail down her face. She shook her head, but France was unsure of what it meant. He took it as a positive response.

“Oh. Oh, don’t you worry, I have no intention of forcing myself on you,” he told her, tweaking her cheek painfully before pressing his lips against the part of her neck that stung. She hissed, but the sound was ignored. “I find that distasteful, truth be told. I am quite sure that if I put forth the energy into seducing you, you would be more than willing. But, as I have said, you are not for me.”

He pushed himself up, and drops of blood were smeared on his lips—her blood, she knew and feared.

Still straddling her, his attention went back to the cell phone in his hand. He hit a number—speed dial, such a useful little thing—and he brought the phone to his ear.

One second, two seconds, three seconds—

“Ah, you answered my call. I am pleased… oh listen, now,” France rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, a show for his pretty young guest. “I know you are angry with me, and I understand that. But I am willing to make it up to you.” He grinned, and then he brought the phone down to Seychelle’s face. With his other hand, he grabbed her by the throat, and she choked and panted into the phone. Apparently content with that, he released her throat and resumed his conversation with the person on the other end of the line.

“Did you hear? I am sure that, if you return soon, you will have a lovely present waiting for you.” He paused, listening. And then, “Well I’m sorry, but you cannot expect me to release her if you never return. I went through some trouble doing this for you. You could at least be a little grateful. And besides, I’ve already had my taste of her… you know how it is.”

Seychelles had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t matter anyway. She felt her life was over. There was no need to understand anything now.

After another pause, France smirked. “Wonderful. Then I’ll be awaiting your arrival with bated breath, Angleterre.”

---

“You think it’s a good idea to be in the bushes like this?” America whispered to Finland as the two of them crouched behind the shrubbery lining the target brick building. “Vampires like hiding in these th— I mean, not saying that you guys are fans of hiding in bushes or trees or… parks, or whatever…”

“This is our best bet to get a glimpse of the target. It’s the closest to the door without catching too much attention.” Finland shimmied about, digging his knees into the dirt and peering through the small branches. Sweden, who had his own hiding space half a block down—he had been too tall to hide in the bushes—had the only camera with a proper and precise zooming function.

“Okay. I guess so. Usually, I just hide behind another building, but this is cool too.”

“Remember, we’re not confronting him. We just want to see what he looks like.”

“How do you know who to look for if you don’t know what he looks like?” America wanted to know.

Finland smiled. “We got basic details, like… he’s got long blond hair. Blue eyes. And he’s fairly young.”

“Yeah, but that could be me.”

“And he lives in this building. Not many people live here. Besides—” Finland stopped for a second, hearing a sound. Deciding it was nothing, he said, “Besides, if the guy is indeed the target vampire, I’ll know. Trust me.”

America shrugged, noncommittal. They had been waiting for almost twenty minutes, and no one had stepped foot in or out of the building. He didn’t want to waste any more time, and with the sun coming up in about an hour or so, he still had other goals to accomplish. Such as, find that damn Russian and rescue Lithuania and Latvia from his evil clutches—

“Oh, oh! Shh, I think I hear something—“ Finland whispered, and he and America crouched down even further, making themselves as small as possible.

From down the street, England jogged to the building.

America gaped and made to stand up so that he could make himself know, but Finland held him down. “Wait, I’m telling you to wait!” Finland whispered harshly. “Don’t ruin the goal.”

With a pout, America remained still. He didn’t understand why he had to hide from England, but it didn’t really matter all that much because he knew that he would be having lunch with the man soon—

From his line of vision, he saw England going through his pockets for something. Pulling out a cell phone, England dialed and waited for a response. Then, “I am not playing games with you. Get down here this instant.”

America frowned and looked back to Finland, whose expression matched his own. What business did England have in that building?

“What are you thinking?” America said as softly as possible. Finland shook his head.

“I don’t know. Shh.”

England cursed as he hung up the phone, and he began to pace back and forth in front of the building before someone came down to open the door.

Blond hair, blue eyes. Some stubble. Simple white dress shirt, black trousers. America knew that man. “Hey,” he said to Finland, poking him in the ribs. “I know that guy.”

“Yes,” Finland whispered, swallowing down. “I can tell… he’s our target.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question. America knew that France wasn’t to be trusted. Prussia’s old text was assuring enough, but Finland’s confirmation was the clincher. “Then, why is England—”

“Shh, let’s listen.”

England was angry. “You unbelievable sodding bastard, I just— how dare you—? Where is she? Let her leave, already!”

“You know that that’s impossible now, Angleterre. She’s already half-drained.”

America turned to Finland again. “Are they talking about… about a person? Being eaten—?”

Finland didn’t answer, but his mouth was down turned and his countenance, coupled by the shadows of the leaves, was grim.

“If you come upstairs, you’ll change your mind. She’s a sweet little thing, and I’m sure you’ll relish the taste of her immensely.”

America shivered.

“Or, if you’re so disgusted with it, I’ll guarantee her freedom—but I’m not sure I can say the same of her humanity,” France drawled, leaning against the doorway, inspecting his fingernails. “Would that be a problem?”

“I can’t believe this. Move aside,” England went to push by the Frenchman, but he was stopped, grabbed by the arm and swung against the door. America could see everything perfectly, from the attempted forced entry, to France’s show of dominance, and—

France was—

France pressed his lips against England’s temple, his hands moving up England’s torso until they came to a rest on his shoulders. And then, he shifted, just barely, so that he could capture England’s lips.

And it wasn’t a small, chaste sort of kiss. France was thorough, humming as he kissed the other man, moving slowly yet holding him tightly. And England—

England was still angry, that much was true— but he didn’t stop France. And he even clutched the front of France’s shirt as it went on, before switching back to his defiant routine and eventually using the same hand to shove the man off of him. “Well,” England said, panting heavily, “if she’s as good as you say—” Laughing darkly, France stepped aside and let him in.

As the door clicked shut behind them

America—

felt nothing.

“America?"

Nothing.

As if... as if something had been ripped out of him with a pair of rusty pliers.

Finland chewed on his lower lip. "Um. That’s definitely our guy. You said his name's France, right? I’m sure Sweden’s got a picture… now we can follow him better when he goes on hunts… he’s a real strong one. Gosh…”

America looked (but not looked) at Finland, then back at the closed door. “Yeah. France is the target, yeah.”

“And that poor girl… I feel bad saying this, but she’s unquestionable dead.” Finland paused. “M-maybe England… maybe he knows that France is… bad, right?” he commented as he stood up, brushing himself off to distract himself.

America remained kneeling. He felt weak. “Uh… yeah. I don’t, uh… I don’t know.”

They stood silent for a long moment before Finland gave a small sigh. “I… I need to get back to safety. It’s almost dawn. At least we got something out of this trip…”

“I’ll say we did,” America mumbled.

“I’ll… I’ll go get Sweden and we’ll take you back to your hotel room.”

“No,” America said, shaking his head. “You should get indoors before the light comes. Or something. I’ll be all right. Seriously.”

“America—”

“I’ve been hit with worse,” America said, smiling—it was a tired, beaten smile that was painful to look at. “At least he’s not… dead, you know? I think that… maybe… if he were dead, it would be worse.”

Finland looked straight down, staring at his shoes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be all right. These things’ll work out.” And the American got up, brushing off the leaves from his pants. “I just, uh. I just got to go home, get some sleep. I really need to sleep this off.”

“I understand,” Finland replied, putting his hand on the other hunter’s shoulder. “Please, take care of yourself. Here, I’ll give you my number… if you ever need anything, or if you have any questions… I’m a good resource, you know? Because I’m… one of them, after all.”

America bit his lip and nodded. Finland was a good guy. It was hard to set him in the same category as the vampires… but it was a good learning experience. A positive one.

Only—

“Here. Keep this.” The Finnish young man handed a card to America. “Please don’t hesitate to call. I’m on your side.”

He liked Finland a lot. So… it wasn’t a total loss. He gained a friend.

But lost something else.

And he didn't know what to do.

---

America returned to the street of the inn on auto pilot, his feet doing the work and his mind doing nothing but replaying the scene in his head.

England let that vampire kiss him.

France made it clear in the conversation that England was fond of the taste of blood.

And Finland confirmed everything.

America passed the inn. He didn’t want to return so quickly. That would mean having to face at least Japan or Greece and explain what had happened.

He just didn’t feel like speaking to anyone at the moment.

He progressed two blocks, three blocks. Eight blocks down, and he wanted to keep going, his mind blank and his body numb.

With thirty minutes left until daylight, he didn’t expect a couple of lingering lesser-vampires to close in on him from the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

A shriek alerted him to a vampire coming at him from his right, but his body just couldn’t properly respond. His bag of equipment fell to the ground as he himself hit the pavement with a sickening thud. His head hit concrete, and the world turned white—

One of those monsters crawled over him, talons moving to his chest, ripping the clothing there, shredding through his skin in the progress. He howled in agony, and managed to shake the vampire off and stumble to his feet—but his counterattacks were slow, hindered by the numbness pervading his body.

I found him anyway, America thought as two more vampires came from behind and knocked him back down.

He’s alive, and that’s all that matters—

The vampire was suddenly ripped away from him, and the screaming— was silenced.

A mutilated corpse of a lesser-vampire landed in front of America’s face.

He cringed and rolled away. His senses having only slightly returned, he realized that upon his second fall, his arm collided awkwardly against the ground, breaking bone through skin.

Looking up—

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon.

The two other lesser-vampires were dead, their throats having been ripped out and their skulls crushed.

The person who fought them off for America… he couldn’t see properly, the pain and the nothingness too distracting—

The shock and the pain died when he fell unconscious.

But the whispers from a familiar foreign accent—_”Sleep now, Солнышко._”—lingered even in his dreams.

*****
Next: Chapter 11
"Truth will always be truth, regardless of lack of understanding, disbelief or ignorance." — W. Clement Stone

A/N: Surprise update is speedy and satisfying! Please accept it as my apology for the delay of the previous chapter. :3

x-posted to hetalia