Chapter Text
“Come on, come on,” Frenchie said excitedly, grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the vast field. The sky was overcast but still light. Mist hung in the air and collected along your skin and clothes.
“Where are we going?” you asked, traipsing through uneven patches of yellowing grass and tall weeds.
“Just trust me,” he said. He’d already driven you into the middle of nowhere, and now he seemed to be dragging you further into it.
You left the treeline behind, along with the car you'd arrived in, sheltered under the thick branches. Straight ahead and to either side was nothing but grassy fields melting into a hazy, mist-laden horizon.
Finally, Frenchie stopped. He turned to grin at you, his eyes crinkling with joy. “There it is, mon ange.”
You peered through the wavering grass and wall of mist, searching for what it was that Frenchie was so eager for you to see.
And then your eyes landed on something poking out of the grass. It was out of place, looking like something made of metal rather than leaves and stems. Curious, you walked toward it. Frenchie followed you, still grinning from ear to ear.
The strange thing became multiple strange things, all arranged in a group where the grass was thin. It was a series of miniatures, like little dolls, all of them clearly handmade but still easily recognizable.
Homelander. A-Train. The Deep. Black Noir. Translucent (which had its head and hands cut off to imitate his invisibility). There were even a couple of other Supes that had terrorized your family in one way or another: Stormfront, Termite (which was a fraction of the size of the other dolls), Crimson Countess. There were also two dolls that weren't Supes at all. According to their tiny, painted-on outfits and the paper label attached to them, they were Stan Edgar and Madelyn Stillwell.
“Babe, what is this?”
“It's something I've been working on. You hate the Supes as much as we do, and it's nearly impossible to get close enough to kill any of them. Translucent is dead, thanks to Petit Hughie, as well as Stormfront, Termite, and Crimson Countess. And Madame Stillwell.”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes it can feel so hopeless, like we are just sitting around. Sometimes it feels like there is nothing we can do. You feel angry about it too, no?”
“Yes, you know I do.”
“So many unimportant Supes are dead, but it feels like we are treading the water. So I think to myself, what can I do? What will make a difference? I, alone, cannot do anything. But I think of what I can do for you, how I can make you feel less hopeless. And, voilà!” He motioned to the miniatures in the grass.
“You made me dolls?”
“Oui, mon ange. But not just any dolls. Dolls of the people who have hurt us most – who have hurt you most. Dolls of the people who have ruined lives, and who don't care about it. They treat us like their dolls all the time. They think that because we are humans, because we don't have V running through our veins, we are nothing, that we can be picked up and discarded like a child's toy. So I say, we can do the same thing to them – even if just for pretending.”
You looked at French, his warm smile nearly hiding the pain in his eyes. You reached out and brushed your fingers along the side of his head, feeling the shaved stubble of his short hair.
“What did you bring me out here to do, my love?”
He grinned again and dug into his pockets. He pulled out a stick of dynamite and a lighter.
“I want you to blow up these dolls. All of them. And I want you to remember that we will kill them, mon ange, even if it takes more time. I promise you, I will kill every member of the Seven for you.” He pressed the dynamite and lighter into your hand. “Envoie-les en enfer!”
You kissed Frenchie warmly, his hands cupping your face as you did so. When you broke apart, you lit the fuse, tossed the dynamite stick among the pile of miniatures, and ran back toward the treeline where your car waited. As you ran, Frenchie clasped your hand and laughed loudly.
He must have been counting the seconds because he stopped suddenly, pulled you to the ground, and pointed back toward the grass where the miniatures were hidden. One, two, three seconds passed …
The dynamite exploded with a deafening boom. Dirt, grass, and the nearly-vaporized miniatures were sent into the air. Debris floated among the mist for a moment, then came drifting back to the earth in a fine spray.
Your laughter joined Frenchie's as he shouted out a string of French curses about the Supes. He leaned over and kissed you, then rolled onto his back in the grass and stared up at the gray sky, a blinding smile on his face.