A/N - Well, this is rather awkward... Sorry an update to this has been so late coming. I got a series of contract jobs which meant I had very little time and energy to write. However, the muse came to me today, so here's a little update on me. Thank you all so much for your continued favourite-ing, reviewing and for sticking with this story even thought it's almost 5 years old! Can't believe 58 reviews for just two chapters. My mind is blown.

Just a quick note to say that unless noted in the summary, I will not abandoned any of my stories. So, while it may take me a while to get to them, I will eventually finish what I've started!

CHAPTER 2.

"Now, what are you?"

Britain frowned. He was entirely too hung-over to be dealing with this shit.

"Look, obviously we've both had far too much to drink tonight, so if you would just lower your gun, I'll be on way back to my hotel,"

The two men – definitely brothers, you could see the similarities in their faces – glanced at each other for a split second and turned their eyes straight back onto Britain.

It looked like they weren't going to give him the opportunity to sneak away. Bugger.

In actual fact, they didn't give him an opportunity to do anything, as after a large bang, Britain collapsed once more into the darkness.

When he next opened his eyes, Britain had to squint at the blinding light being shone directly into them.

Okay, this had stopped being even remotely amusing two bullets ago.

He attempted to knead his pained forehead, but was literally stopped by the ropes wrapped around his arms, his torso and an incredibly uncomfortable wooden chair.

And good grief, had they used hemp? In his opinion, it was a little outdated. Through personal experience, the memories of which that he often needed to drink away, he knew that even France had long moved onto polypropylene.

Those two American Idiots must be seriously old-school.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he took quick stock of the empty room he was bound in – the open brickwork, the subtle hint of mould in the air, the steady drip from somewhere indiscernible and the single uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling directly over his head – he could only be impressed by how those two men stuck to the classics.

Spain would be so proud.

Britain, however, didn't have much time to think on his situation further, as a previously unseen door banged open.

It was those two men again, both with their weapons trained on him, but this time they were not alone. A shorter figure in a trench coat with dark hair and striking blue eyes accompanied them. To his credit, Britain thought, he looked just as bewildered as to why he was in this room as Britain was.

"So, Cas, what the hell is this guy?" Shorter-shouty brother waved in the direction of a fuming Britain. Britain decided he probably was named something quite boorish, like Francis. Definitely someone who acted before they thought. Maybe a Barry. Yeah. God, this headache was making him think the most asinine things.

The so-called Cas's eyes narrowed and his head tilted in confusion as he stared at the Winchester's bound captive.

"I'm afraid I do not understand, Dean. This man is a human,"

Heh, Dean. Knew it. Perfectly fine for a forest, but certainly a name with connotations in humans.

However, at that statement, both brothers turned to stare at their friend. Leaving them completely distracted from their captive. A potentially fatal move if Britain was inclined to get serious.

Amateurs – quite honestly this really was getting beyond the pale. If anyone was going to kidnap him, at least let it be by someone more competent than this!

"Look, I am really getting a bit annoyed at this charade, would someone mind telling me what the fuck is going on? Why the hell am I tied to this chair and who the bloody hell do you think you are?!"

All gazes now on him, Britain decided to humour them a little and wiggled a bit in his chair, gently rocking side to side as he pretended to try and escape from the restraints.

'That's right, fools, underestimate me…'

"Dean and Sam, why have you captured this man? And why is his face covered in blood?"

Ah, yes. Britain had been very much trying to ignore the crispy sensation of dried blood on his cheeks. Not that he wasn't used to it after being nearly 2000 years old, but it did not half make his skin itch. He just hoped that his shirt had come out of this unscathed. He had only packed a few for this meeting and two had already been ruined with ketchup by certain loud-mouth.

Speaking of, now that he knew Dean and Sam were the names of his capturers, when he got out of this he would be making a very loud and formal complaint to America about the behaviour of his citizens. He may even write a strongly worded letter. Especially as all three of them were ignoring him and his questions. Though, saying that, this 'Cas'… Britain got a very strange feeling from him. Something supernatural. Not like his close friends, the fae, but similar and familiar. He almost had a name for it on the tip of his tongue, when he was quite rudely interrupted.

"Cas, are you sure he's human? Could he hide his true form from you in any way? Because that blood comes from when we shot him point blank! He should be dead and he ain't, so surely he's made a deal, or something, right?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked quite sceptical about this.

Thankfully, Sam backed him up with this.

"Cas, it's true. Dean shot him by accident-"

"Hey!"

"-while we were trying to apprehend a Skinwalker and then he came back to life. To further prove our point, we shot him again to bring him here and as you can see he is now completely healed from any wounds,"

"Excuse me, is anyone going to answer my questions? Or do you just expect me to sit in silence while you come up with the most fantastical nonsense?"

It seems that the thing they had tied to a chair was a getting a bit antsy, but judging from the way it didn't try to put up a fight earlier and the way it had struggled to move in the ropes, they had nothing to worry about. It seemed that immortality was the only thing it had going for it.

As this was the case, Dean holstered his gun and sauntered towards their captive.

"Listen up, you're here because you should be dead, but you're not. What we wanna know is what the fuck you are and if you plan to hurt anybody,"

All Dean got was a blank stare.

"Dean, I cannot sense anything demonic, supernatural or angelic from this individual," Castiel interrupted before a word could come out of the unknown creature's mouth. "If what you tell me is true, then I am afraid we are facing an impossible being,"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as he too put his gun away. It seems that Sam also agreed that between this guy's lack of physical ability and the magic arrays worked into walls of this cellar, their prisoner was going nowhere.

"Without a source of power, from above, below or from the very earth itself, the instance you are saying happened is impossible. Not even Cain's immortality was without the intervention of my Father. I am afraid that I have never encountered a being with this ability before. In fact, without my trust in your word, I would not believe that this man was anything other than a normal human,"