Chapter Text
“What exactly is it you expect us to do with him?”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
Jean frowns at his friend and waves a hand at the red coated boy thrashing around upon the church floor. His hands are bound behind his back, and mouth gagged with a dirty cloth because he ‘wouldnt shut up!’ according to Arnaud. Jean also notes that the British soldier's ankles are tied rather tight, and it looks as though the bindings almost cut into his skin through his gaiters and all.
“What is it you want to do with him?” Arnaud challenges. Jean scoffs at the audacity but shrugs. He’s not even sure why they are holding hostages, nor why this particular one seems to be of so much interest to his comrade.
The officer squats down to loosen the gag around the redcoats mouth without answering Arnaud. He doesn't miss the violent flinch of the young man either.
The moment he can speak he spits directly into Jean's eye. The officer gasps and stumbles back and Arnaud only snickers at him.
“What the-”
“He's a brat!” Arnaud says smugly, "I told you, Jean.”
Jean flicks the saliva onto the ground, glaring daggers at the British soldier. He doesn't shrink under the gaze though. If anything he seems to puff his chest more and hold his head higher.
“Does he speak French?” Jean asks, turning to Arnaud.
The soldier blinks- like he had not thought to check and Jean groans.
“You,” he points a gloved hand at the gentleman. “Do you speak French?”
The Brit quirks an eyebrow but doesn't utter a word.
“He won't talk.” Arnaud hisses into Jean's ear.
“Dd you not say earlier he wouldn't stop talking?”
“Ah- well that was, that was different, you see-”
“Thank you for your help tonight, Arnaud, but I think you should step out for a bit. I will send for you if I need you.
Arnaud gawks for a second before composing himself and clearing his throat. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs, making his way to the exit.
Soon, the small offshoot room of the church holds just Jean and the Brit. He doesn't dare get back down on the man's level but stands firmly above him.
With his very limited english, he introduces himself with his name and his rank to the unimpressed soldier. The brit, again, says nothing. Jean sighs and eyes the bread and water he had intended to give to the captive, and an idea sparks in his brain.
He grabs the canteen and the food from the table. It's impossible to miss the way the British's eyes immediately lock onto the resources. His tongue flicks over chapped lips and wide eyes meet Jeans. But, the officer shakes his head.
Holding the food and water close to him, Jean politely asks for the man's name.
“...”
The officer narrows his eyes, and tilts the canteen sideways. Water splashes against the bricked floor. He only tips out half of the canteen before looking back to the brit.
“Name?” he repeats.
The man's mouth opens, and no words come out. Jean dangles the bread by its very edge, already in the motion of raising his boot upon its heel to stomp the thing into the floor but the redcoat speaks just in time to save the morsel of food.
“Barry!” he says, “Barry Williams of the 5th regiment of foot, under his majesty's orders, sir.” he grumbles the last bit but it matters not.
Jean smiles. Was it really so hard?
He squats down, canteen in hand, and tilts Barry's head back with the tip of his finger. Then he pressed the tin to the young soldier's lips. Barry drinks like he won't be given the option again. He gulps down every drop of water and pulls away when he's finished. The liquid dribbles from the corner of his lip.
His eyes dart to the bread, and Jean side eyes it as well.
“Do you speak French?” he asks again, this time in his broken English.
Barry shakes his head and rattles off some words Jean doesn't really recognise.
The officer sighs but brings the bread within reach and lets the lad tear away a piece. Jean wonders why it is Arnaud wanted this particular man in here with them. Why is it that this British captive, out of all the other ones, was just so important to the man.
“Oye!” Jean's attention is grabbed by the sound of the brit and he looks at the man again.
With all the manner of a toddler he indicates his head toward the rest of the bread in Jean's hand. Jean considers it, but does not grant him the food. Instead he stands up and sets the bread on the table. It's within view of the Englishman, but not reach.
“Be quiet.” Jean says simply, before parting.
Outside of the door, Arnaud stands in waiting. He doesn't even bother with any formalities in greeting, but Jean could care less about these things these days.
“So?” the man prods, already stepping forward to walk.
“Barry Williams. He was sent with the 5th it seems.”
“How’d you get him to talk? Twist an arm? I didn't hear much yelling so…”
Jean shrugs, eyes falling upon their other prisoners in the corner. A few of the French soldiers guard them, but they keep their distance, and the Englishmen seem to be talking amongst themselves.
Jean quickly puts a stop to it, yelling at the sentries to keep the men in order before continuing his little discussion with Arnaud.
“Doesn’t matter.” he says to finally answer the man's last question.
They reach the small preaching lectern(?) at the back half of the church- the small area is devoid of anyone other than the two.
“Do any of the other British soldiers speak French?” he inquires. Arnaud only shakes his head though and Jean huffs in growing frustration. “Why did you bring me that man then?” he asks, voice rising before he can help it.
Arnaud’s eye twitches but he keeps his tone level and low. “Sir, not to offend,” a bad way to start, Jean notes to himself. “But I can't help but notice your stress lately.”
“My stress?”
The ginger nods. “Your stress,” he confirms. “I thought I'd like to help you take your mind away from it.”
“Arnaud…” Jean discreetly pulls the man in by his wrist, facing them away from the rest of the French soldiers in the church. “What in God's name are you-”
“Hes just your type! Snappy, young-”
“Arnaud!” Jean hisses, horrified.
The other man shrugs shamelessly. “I cannot alone do it for you these days.”
“That is not true! I love you, my friend!” Jean argues.
Though, his dear companion is right… in some respect. That Barry is cute, the way he holds himself even in bindings, the freckles that dot his face, the lean body of his. Its sinful is what it is, but he cannot seem to help his mind from dipping into the sewers.
“I think he’s rather handsome, myself.” Arnaud purrs.
Jean's eyes flick to his compatriot. Nervous energy takes over his usually more tough and kept together mental state. Blindly he pats down his pocket, itching desperately for a cigar, only to remember he smoked away his last one two months prior. To compensate, he twirls the end of his mustache between his forefinger and thumb.
“I will… think about it. But Arnaud, absolutely nothing he doesnt-!”
“Yes, yes! Nothing of that sort of course!”
“R-right. Right! I am to retire to my quarters now, I’ll see you in the morning. Er- make sure everyone is accounted for before you leave this area, hear me?”
“Understood.” Arnaud nods, and then pushes Jean away.
7w7
The following day, Jean takes Barry out of the church. It's a daring and maybe stupid move, but if they're doing this then they're doing it the right way- by making friends with the boy.
Said boy drinks graciously from the canteen Arnaud had refilled for him and sits leaning upon the side wall of the church. They're in the small graveyard. Only a few headstones are even in the confined space, but it's much safer than the front of the church.
Jean had loosened the restraints on Barry's hands and fully removed the ones on his legs. The brit takes one last sip and sets the vessel down in the wet grass.
The weather has been awfully dreary lately, and right now is one of the few breaks in the rain that they have gotten in quite awhile.
The two men sit in silence, staring out at the grey sky above the surrounding buildings. Jean had for some reason not accounted for the fact that it would be quite hard to connect with someone he couldn't successfully communicate with.
He glances over at Barry, catching the ginger staring, to which he quickly looks away. Jean chuckles.
The boy’s presence has been growing on him. Barry seems to enjoy the special treatment, Jean just has to ignore the longing looks he sends to his fellows whenever he passes them.
The whole situation has been awful grim. Arnaud and a few others had insisted on questioning the French loyalists that traveled with the other British. Tension between the French and their once brothers are high, and Jean even had to tear one of his men off of one of the traitors upon learning they had a distant familial connection.
Though, not all is bad, he supposes.
With glee, Jean twists a cigar between his thumb and forefinger. Arnaud had found a great deal of goodie left behind in some inn on one of his patrols and had hidden away only the best for Jean. though- being the very last officer in this God forsaken area it probably would've gone to him anyway, but the thought is touching.
Barry clears his throat, eliciting Jean's attentions.
The Frenchman gazes at the Brit who speaks tentatively. A mix of quite awful french and an accent so distasteful it nearly offends Jean!
“Think I could see my mates? Since… since you’re being all friendly and what-not?”
Jean considers the request, really, he does.
And then shakes his head. Barry's face falls and the boy sighs before looking out again to the rain. Jean doesn't feel bad for some reason. It seems his once empathetic nature dulls more and more each day they sit idly in this accursed town with these incessant cannibals. He thinks it would do no good to set Barry among his men again. He’d prefer to keep the ginger within his grasp. The more isolated Barry senses he is, the safer he’ll feel to turn to Jean and Arnaud. The less he’ll resist.
Jean touches the cigar to his lips and inhales the familiar smoky Godsend of tobacco. Already his spirits lift and a smile twitches at the corners of his lips.
“Apologies, Barry,” he says softly.
Barry says nothing in return though.
7w7
Arnaud glares at the group of Brits in the corner. All morning the men have been nothing short of the most irritating bunch of apes that he has ever had the displeasure of knowing. Jesting with one another, taunting the frenchman that pass them, and generally being boisterous.
They've grown too comfortable here, much too comfortable.
Being the current man in charge, Arnaud finally stands up and pulls one of his men aside to speak to him. The action is met with the jeering taunt of the British, ‘ooooooh-ing’ as Arnaud and Peirre step to the side.
Pierre is bristling with a hardly hidden rage.
“You recall what Jean told us to do?” Arnaud asks simply.
Pierre nods, eye twitching. “To watch them.” he grunts.
“To corral them,” Arnaud corrects. “Keep them in their place. I would argue all this buddy buddy nonsense is ridiculous, wouldn't you?”
Pierre's eyes are filled with a new light as he looks in awe at Arnaud. “It is…”
“Do you know, Pierre, how the British have treated our own prisoners in the past?” Pierre nods, and Arnaud continues, “perhaps it's time to let this particular bunch know that their situation is not so light hearted.”
Pierre nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes I do so agree, sir! When is officer Jean due back?”
“Oh, not for some time. Don't worry, if he asks I shall not out you. Let Anthony know, and be cautious to some extent.” With that, Arnaud lets go of Pierre's shoulder to walk past the group of men who now study him with narrowed eyes.
Arnaud flashes them a wicked grin to the group as he continues on his way.
Barry's room is quite separated from the rest of the church. Tucked away in some off shoot hall which quarters no soldiers. Jean and he are the only two men to have visited Barry since Arnaud first drug his sorry ass down the hallway, and even then Jean visits more than Arnaud. Though, there's no better time than the present, after all!
He opens the door slowly. Barry, even half asleep, is alert instantly. He flinches at the sight of Arnaud, but quickly controls his expression and stares up at his captor.
“The hell do you want?” tone full of vitriol.
Arnaud has to search his brain for the English words, “to make amends,” he says calmly.
Barry's gaze is sharp. He scoffs. Turning his head away.
“As if.”
“I know you’ve taken a liking to Jean. I do not blame you, that man can be charming at times!” Arnaud chuckles.
“Do you have food?”
Brits and their food, Lord!
“I can… retrieve some.”
Barry nods curtly, and then looks away, ending the short conversation.
Arnaud does go get Barry some food, then sits with him as the other eats. He notices how Barry eyes the wine bottle Arnaud had brought for himself. He smiles and tilts the bottle back and forth tauntingly to Barry before taking a long swig.
The hallway echoes with muffled cries all the while. He can't help but notice Barry's aversion to the sounds. It seems as though he is trying his very best to ignore them as he chews on his puny piece of stale bread.
Arnaud glances at the door for a moment, before cracking it open an inch. The difference is a lot. The sounds of Barry's cronies better reach his ears, not so muffled now, and the red coat stares furiously at Arnaud.
Arnaud tips his head slightly, face contorting into a mock show of concern.
“You’d do well to listen to us, you know. They are, how you say- disrespect filled! They are being taught a lesson.”
Barry says nothing. Just dips his head lower and eats his food and drinks from his tin.
That night Arnaud explains a cherry picked version of events to Jean, who nods along with him and accepts the report as truth.
They move on.