The change in atmosphere and pressure in the air roused him to consciousness along with the near vomit-inducing pain in his right arm. Hauling himself to his left elbow, propped up against a rolled up jacket, he squinted through the early morning, narrow streaks of sunlight frying his brains.

Where was he?

Ah, wait. No, he knew where he was. He recognised this place from his childhood. His mind had shown him this place numerous times while sleeping. He used to go here in his mind palace when things began to fall apart. It was popular for him when travelling around the 1900's. Roderich had taken over work for him while he went on the sick-leave due to stress and migraines.

He was in his castle, again. Ludwig's castle - his imaginative, mad counterpart. He'd worked hard on grounding himself since those times.

He lay on the tiled floors, turning his head to the right.

Arthur and Francis were huddled together in the far right of the room, likely unaware of the close proximity between them. Francis was slumped up against the wall beside Arthur, whose head had fallen at an awkward angle to the Frenchman's shoulder. The bearded blond had covered his sleeping face with a plain, red scarf, and the sandy-haired man wore but a simple frown.

He lay there for a while longer before getting up, nursing his broken arm as he walked the corridors.

A sudden thought dawned on him.

Where was Gilbert?

He froze in his tracks, before retreating into the hall again, scanning the area.

"Bruderlein?" He murmured, gunmetal-blue eyes always calculating. All was silent, and Gilbert was nowhere in sight. Ludwig's priorities were set in stone, now.

I need to find my brother.

Furrowing his brow, he stood and began to roam around the palace, searching, rummaging and rifling through various drawers, looking for the documents. His brother's documents. Prussia.

His fingers twitched as though scanning through a filing cabinet, eyes moving rapidly behind their closed lids.

"Shit," Arthur murmured, his mouth hanging open a little in disbelief, "His mind has picked up that something is missing, and remarkably quickly."

Francis placed his palm on Ludwig's sweating brow.

"Keep him under. It's for his own good."

"He needs to complete this new layer, since we bollocked up the second layer. Consider that last layer - the beach - purgatory. If we can't kick him hard enough when he's ready to wake up, he might end up stuck." Arthur warned.

"Still, how weren't we allowed to enter Germany? I thought the candle was fully charged."

"Obviously, Ludwig's mind blocked us out and kicked us back to the first layer."

"But why?"

"I don't have a clue. Obviously, there's something in him that he doesn't want us to see. Why else would his mind shut us back out?" Arthur provided, supporting Ludwig's head. The Brit was clearly becoming stressed again, as shown by the way his face was beginning to redden like a ripe apple.

"So we've gathered so far that each layer is somebody's mind. New person each time you light the candle."

"Exactly."

"And that it is possible to die?"

"As shown with Gilbert. Horrible, yes, but valuable to know. Perhaps it will teach you to be more careful."

"No more arguments, please, Arthur. I'm too tired."

The Brit faltered, expression falling.

"What?" Francis replied, quirking a thin, blond brow.

"You're tired... Hold on, I just thought of something."

"That's a first."

"Don't start, I'll kick your arse." Arthur stated, beginning to pace away from Ludwig, wandering around the street, to the middle of the road. 1880's Paris. He looked up at the sky. "Can you feel tired in dreams?" He tilted his top hat back and straightened out his waistcoat.

Francis' expression softened. "What are you implying?"

"Lie down, and try to sleep. Perhaps he'll let you in. If you can make yourself aware that you're dreaming, then anything is possible. Do whatever it takes to get into his mind. Mess with the physics of his world, but under all circumstances, do not let him become aware that you're the one toying with him. Ludwig's smart - his mind will target the intrusion quickly if you're too forwards with him."

"And if he finds me?"

"If that happens, kick yourself, and when you wake up, kick him. If you can't wake up, that's it. He'll trap you."

"And as for ourselves? What if there are already figures of ourselves in his mind?"

"If you happened to see yourself in his mind, you don't have to worry; every human's idea of themselves is so different from the way they actually appear that if they saw themselves in real life, they wouldn't recognize themselves."

"You will wake me up, won't you?" Francis asked cautiously, forget-me-not blue eyes sparkling a little. Arthur sighed.

"I can't promise that it will work, but I will try. I'm not going to let you die, Francis."

"You are the real Arthur, right? You're not the one conjured up by my head?"

"What makes you think I'm not real?" Arthur said, eyeing Francis. "This is your mind, after all. Even if I wasn't real, I'd still be likely to act in a way similar to how I do in real life - that is, if your perception of me is similar to how most other people view me. It's all in the mind. But yes, this is the real me."

There was a moment in which Francis and Arthur regarded each other with silent appreciation, and then Francis lay back, his hair splayed out like a golden halo.

"Until we meet again, mon ami."

"Cheerio, mate."