Nothing prepared Francis for what he would see when he walked into England's home. He was unable to get anything out of the child during the phone calls and spent most of the time trying to comfort him. He parked the car and left the bags inside it. He had entered by the back door since he forgot to take the house keys and had barely gotten through the gate when the child ran over and wrapped his arms around Francis' legs.

Tears were streaming down the child's face. Francis knelt down and picked him up. He held him close to his chest as Little Arthur sobbed again. "Ssshh... It's alright, I'm here now." Francis stroked the back of his head and looked down at the child with a feeble smile.

Then, in the corner of his eyes, he noticed something on the pavement. The colour reflected from the night lights that had come on; a deep red colour. There were bloody footsteps of two different kinds. One looked like someone had been wearing boots while the other was much smaller and bare footed. Francis looked down at the child's feet to find blood soaking the bottom of them. Where had all that blood come from...?

"Keep your eyes close..." Francis said sternly as he placed his hand over the child's eyes and walked towards the back door where the footsteps left from. As he drew closer, he could smell the familiar fragrance of death. It haunted him in his worst nightmares and it was something that no nation would ever forget for as long as they existed.

He almost slipped upon the blood that covered the floor. There's a pair of shoes he'll have to throw out later. He tucked the child onto his hip (the child hide his face into Francis' shoulder) and peered down at the two bodies. Neither had made a sign of recovery. Francis held his breath and tried to keep down the sudden urge to throw up. Would they be able to recover? Nations could not be killed but one that had been ripped apart...? No. As far as he was aware, both the two Arthurs would recover and everything will be fine.

Who would have done such a thing? Was it a common criminal? Impossible. He knew from experience that England was not easy to take down. Even the child in his arms would put up a major fight till the mortal gave up. The only conclusion he could think of was that the spell had failed and someone else broke free. Guessing by the footprints and the brutality of the scene before him, Francis knew it was only person who would have done this.

The infamous Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Back when the death of his wife and queen had caused England to abandon his duties as a nation and become a pirate. He had terrorised the seven seas and, because of his immortal life, had many legends and myths told about him. No one was able to catch him. The mortals could not believe one man would have lived long enough to cause so much damage. Only the nations knew the truth and barely any of them had the courage to confront him. Francis had once, by orders of his King, for the idea of having the English nation in his power again sounded too good to pass up and would provide a healthy income of money if they sold him off to Spain or the people of England (his country was in great debt). Needless to say, it did not go according to plan and he would never speak of the time.

So what would make him so easy to capture again? France was no in position to go hunting for him so what was he going to do? The two Englands would need to be tended too. The sooner they got treated the sooner they would recover. But the pirate was out there somewhere and he was going to be planning something. America and Scotland were on their way but how long would it take for them to get here?

Eager to get away from the smell, Francis carried the child to the back garden and dialled the American's number. Out of the two of them, he should be the closest. But the phone didn't even ring. Instead it was that awful woman telling him that the number has not been recognised Francis wanted to yell at her but hanged up instead. That accused American must have changed his number!

He called the Scot and almost cried in delight when he answered. "Where are you, mon ami?"

"A mile away. Give us a damn minute and I'll be there."

A minute? He couldn't wait a minute! He was getting more frantic with every passing second! He tried to control himself the best he could because of the child but he couldn't cease his fidgeting. He wasted the time by finding flowerpots to cover up the bloody footprints and kept the door closed in case any of the neighbours decided to peek over. Thankfully, most of the neighbours would be heading off to bed at this time so no one was aware of what was happening.

Five minutes later, he heard a car at the front and resisted the urge to sprint over to the gate. The Scot barely got close when the Frenchman smothered him in a tight embrace, crushing the poor child between them. He ranted off in French about the horrors inside. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that the Scot didn't speak any French but the red haired male waited patiently for Francis to remove himself from him and fall silent.

"Mind telling me, what's going on here?" The Scottish nation asked as he raised his bushy eyebrows at the child. "Where he come from?"

Little Arthur looked up at Scotland. Who knew why, for Francis was surprised this happened, but the child raised his hands at him. Scot raised his eyebrow again then removed the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it beneath his shoe. He then picked up the child from Francis' arms and held him close. Little Arthur's hands curled around the Scot's shirt and he sniffed as the tears subsided.

Trying to recover from that shock, for England and Scotland rarely ever held any compassion for each other, Francis lead him over to the back door and opened it. "It's a long story but first we need to tend to these two..."

"Who did this?" Scotland asked as he stepped over the bodies and looked down to examine the wounds made.

Francis wrapped his arms around himself. "That awful pirate."

"Aye?" Scotland narrowed his eyes. He remembered that time period very well. In fact, it only came to an end when he took the British navy under his control and sought out his brother. It was one of the bloodiest battles they ever had but the navy had won and the pirate was soon dangling from the noose. Time in the Tower of London crushed out any of that remaining rebellious spirit or so he had thought.

"Mon dieu, has Amérique arrived?!" Francis suddenly asked in alarm. That would be very bad timing. That is, if America had bothered to show up at all. He didn't sound too sure over the phone. Then again, Francis was rather panicked. But no one could be worse than the pirate, right? No. Not even if another England arrives with a plague. That would be pleasant compared to the pirate. In fact, he found himself longing for the plagued England rather than the pirate.

The child shook his head. No one had arrived since the pirate left. He had been left along with two corpses and France on the phone. He was lucky to be able to call him. He tried three different people until he reached Francis. He yawned. All the panic and terror had left him tired. But he didn't want to sleep until the other two woke up. If they did.

"Take him to bed," Scot said as he stood up and handed the child back over to Francis. "Give him medicine to knock him out or he'll get nightmares."

Francis nodded. It would give him time to calm down his nerves too. He could return to the car afterwards and finish the rest of the wine he brought. That would do the trick perfectly. Despite the orders of medicine (Francis knew the Scot would suggest a shot of whiskey for the child for the Brits always seem to think the alcohol was good medicine), Francis took out a chocolate bar from the cupboard and then left Scotland with the mess to clean up.

After a quick clean to remove the blood from the boy and check for any injuries, France carried Little Arthur to the same spare room they shared last night and tucked him in under the covers.

"Have some chocolate," Francis said with a small smile as he held it out. "It will give you good dreams..."

Unsure, Little Arthur accepted the chocolate and placed a bit in his mouth. He only managed that piece before he was yawning again. Francis kissed the top of his head and left with him with the chocolate in hand. He stopped by the doorway and looked back over at the child. Knowing this would make him look like an idiot, and he would never admit to doing it, he cleared his voice and said, "You there! Imaginary... magical ... friends I can't see! Take care of him now!"

As he left; the fairies, unicorn, brownie, flying mint bunny, and the rest all nodded and settled around the child to guide him into peaceful dreams.

The salty crisp air hung in the air. The seagulls were soaring over head to return to their nests and he swore he could see dolphins below. It was another beautiful fine night upon the fort. Sealand had been hard at work for his fort had needed repairs and it had taken him forever to get around to fixing all the leaks. Had he more people living here, it would have been easier and quicker. But the boy's enthusiasm knew no boundaries. He wiped his sweaty brow on the back of his hand and admired his work achievements as he stood on top of the deck and looked out across the sea. At least he was free to decide upon his own bedtime.

One of the few workers came over to him with a mobile phone in his hand. "There's a phone call for you," he said as he offered the phone for the child to take. It was strange to be referring to a child in such manner and many struggled to remember to. It was no surprise but the child was a hard worker like the rest of them and shared in the dream of having the fort recognised as a nation.

Sealand grinned and took the phone. It would be nice if he was referred to as 'sir' like the rest of the nations but he was far too excited about receiving a phone-call to mind. Maybe it was Latvia again? Did he want to come over? Instead, he was surprised to hear that broad accent he knew since his creation. It was that damn jerk and he sounded smug.

"Hello, Sealand. How have you been doing?"

Sealand frowned. England rarely ever made contact with him. Usually it was only when Sealand was planning something did England suddenly appear out of nowhere to straighten things out. He was hardly the 'daddy' figure that he should have been. In fact, Peter spent most of his time trying to hang around with Sweden and Finland. "Fine. What do you want, jerk?"

"Now now, that's not very nice language."

Weird. Usually England would have given him a month long lecture about how important it was to have manners. A speech that Sealand could almost recall by heart and would often mock England with it.

"I was merely interested if you wanted to go on a trip with America and I."

That lifted his mood. A trip?! With two of the largest powers on the Earth?! There was no chance Sealand was passing up that opportunity! He could impress them so much that they would have to recognise him! Once he convinced those two into letting him be a nation, the rest would soon follow! Success would be his! He grinned. "Sure! Where and when?"

"That would be ruining the surprise. We will be coming to you so wait patiently if you can. Be as close to the shore as possible without picking up attention. We will get a boat to you."

Sealand nodded, forgetting they couldn't see him, and hanged up. He jumped with glee and then rolled up his sleeves. It was time to really put this fort to the test and make her shine! This will be a truly unforgettable trip! He would make sure that neither England nor America ever forgot about it! His big moment had finally come.